I wait for my last text to send, but the message pops back undeliverable. The rain is coming down in buckets, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it started hailing. I lean forward to check the navigation system for our ETA. It reads Travel Time Not Found.
“How long have we been stopped?” I ask Smith. “Do you have cell service?”
“Long enough for Aidan to go through my parents’ entire discography.” Smith takes his phone from his pocket. “I don’t think so. I do have a traffic alert notification.”
“Mind sharing that with me, boss?” Aidan asks.
“Sure. It looks like there are two separate accidents on the Coronado side of the bridge. No major injuries, but we should expect delays.”
“For how long?” Aidan asks.
“It doesn’t say.”
“It doesn’t say?” Aidan’s voice tightens. “What kind of cockamamie traffic report doesn’t bother to tell you how long to expect a delay?”
Smith and I shoot each other a look just as my phone rings. It’s Phoebe, which is kind of like the first warning flare when it comes to my family’s alert system. “Service might be sketchy, but it looks like it’s back. I need to take this. Keep an eye on him.”
“Where’s he going to go?” Smith unbuckles his seat belt and moves to the front of the van.
“To hell in a minivan,” I say over my shoulder as I climb into the back seat, which Ozzie and Harriet have unofficially claimed as their new home. “Hey, Phoebe—”
“Where the hell are you?” Phoebe snaps. Rarely does my sister raise her voice or fly off the handle—that’s my thing—but right now I can tell she’s dangerously close to losing it. “Just tell me that you are still coming, and that you didn’t suddenly get hit by a bus or get bitten by a rabid squirrel and now you’re foaming at the mouth.”
I take it back. Phoebe has officially lost it.
“First, I would never be bitten by a rabid squirrel because small woodland creatures make me uncomfortable. I avoid them at all costs. Second, if you keep talking nonsense like that, I might strongly consider letting a moped run over my foot.”
“I’m going to ignore everything you just said and just ask you to confirm that you’re almost here.”
“Well, I can’t exactly do that.”
“And why is that?”
“Because we’re stuck on the bridge.”
“Really, Penny?” She makes zero effort to hide the disbelief in her voice. “Is that the story you’re going with now? Penny can’t make Thanksgiving because she can’t cross the Coronado Bridge?”
“It’s not a story. Google it if you don’t believe me,” I reply defensively. “Why are you freaking out? You’re Mom and Dad’s favorite. You’re always spending time with them. Are they giving you too many compliments or showering you with too many mentions in their will?”
“I’m not their favorite.”
Phoebe is hands down my parents’ favorite. She’s the twin that did everything right. She’s Beyoncé, and I’m Kelly Rowland. No disrespect to Kelly, of course. She’s just no Beyoncé, and I am no Phoebe Banks.
“It’s OK, you can say you’re their favorite. I actually really like being first runner-up. There’s so much less pressure. Plus, if you die first, I get the title anyway, so it all works out.”
“Mom and Dad are the ones freaking out.” She lowers her voice. “They’ve been trying to make sure everything is perfect for the return of their prodigal daughter, and now that you’re running a little late, they’re worried that you’ll no-show on them.”
There it is. Proof that I’m the black fly in their chardonnay. Proof that my presence, or lack thereof, throws off the entire family balance. But most of all, proof that they don’t trust me.
“Tell them I’m going to be there, Phoebe. OK?”
“I will.” She pauses, and I worry for a second that she still doesn’t believe me. “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Falon and I have some really big news.” The excitement in her voice is palpable through the phone.
“If the news is that you’re engaged, everyone already knows.”
“It’s not that. It’s different. A little scary, but exciting. We want everyone to be here when we share it.”
“I’ll be there,” I say. “I promise.”