They are, however, incredibly gifted when it comes to being efficient. Within twenty-four hours of informing them that Smith had filed for divorce, I had a one-way ticket to San Diego. Upon landing, I had an attorney and a moving truck filled with my belongings from my LA apartment. Seventy-two hours later and I’m back in my childhood bedroom and have a plethora of interesting job opportunities to choose from, thanks to my mother. So far, my top picks include assistant to the vice president of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and secretary to the treasurer of the Women’s Historical Society of Southern California. It’s always been my dream to get coffee and take notes for busybody housewives who use charities as excuses to host tea parties.
“Penelope, you’re sure you don’t want both dogs?” My father peers at me over the brim of his reading glasses from across the table. He’s got a stack of divorce papers next to his half-eaten slice of pie, and I’ve got a knot in my stomach that hasn’t managed to untie itself since the appetizer course. This going page by page through Smith’s divorce filing is about as painful as plucking out my eyelashes one by one. “Your mother and I are more than happy for you to keep both of the dogs here while we figure out living arrangements.”
“Smith and I agreed that we’d each keep one of the dogs.” I push my plate of uneaten pie to the side. “They’re puppies, and it’s too much work for either of us to take care of both of them. Plus, a lot of apartments in the city only allow one pet.”
“Why would you need to look at apartments, Penelope?” my mother asks. “We have everything you could possibly need here.”
“You know how to perform an exorcism, Mom?”
“You don’t need an exorcism.” She scowls.
I will if I stay here long enough. Already my mother has become obsessed with planning our calendars for next year. She thinks if I stay busy, then I won’t have time to be upset about the fact that my marriage fell apart. Little does she know that I’m usually too exhausted during the day to be sad, because my insomnia makes sure that I don’t miss a single midnight thinking about how I lost Smith.
“Fine. One dog each.” Dad scratches his beard, examining one of the hundreds of documents my divorce has amassed. At this point, I’m fairly certain that the number one threat to the rainforest is divorce paperwork. “Now, your attorney noticed that you’re also entitled to shares from that magazine you were writing for with Smith. What’s it called again?”
“Digital Slap.”
“That’s a terrible name for a publication.” My mother shakes her head. “Sounds like some sort of online bullying group. You know that’s on the rise right now. I saw it on Live with Kelly. Do you watch her show, Penelope?”
“I don’t, Mom.” I sip my now-cold coffee. “And Dad, I know about the shares.”
“So you know you can cash them out? I’m not sure what the value is, but I could look into it. Seeing how fast these online start-ups crash and burn, I’d suggest cashing out now.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“When?” my father presses.
“When what?”
“When will you think about it? You only have two more weeks to file a response with the judge, and there’s still so much we have to cover. This is the problem with elopements. Two kids get so caught up in the idea of being in love that they let Siegfried and Roy walk them down the aisle before they’ve had a chance to think about a prenup.”
“It was actually Elvis and Madonna,” I mutter under my breath.
“Carter, give the girl a break.” Nana Rosie rests her hand on top of mine. “We’ve already sat through an entire dissertation of her divorce in between courses, and I, for one, would like to put the kibosh on divorce talk for the rest of the evening. Thanksgiving is a time to appreciate family.”
Hearing her say the word family stings. I know she means us here at the table, but I can’t think family without thinking about the Mackenzies. I haven’t spoken a word to them since the split, even though they’re right across the street. Smith’s house used to be my refuge when the walls in this house started to cave in. Now I can barely look at his house without feeling sick to my stomach.
The worst part is that I’ve never wanted to talk to Fiona more than I do right now. I want to cry on her sofa and tell her how hard I tried to be happy on the road with Smith. He tried too. I know he did. The fighting was both of our faults. I want to tell her that she was right, and that I should’ve listened to her. She told me that compromising my happiness for Smith’s would only lead to resentment on my part and distrust on his end.