The car ride is mostly uneventful. Smith tells us about Berkeley and an art installation project he’s working on for a local bar and music venue. Phoebe gives him the rundown of what life is like at Princeton—or at least what life is like for the people who do more than spend every waking hour in a classroom or being tutored. It kind of feels like old times. Maybe even better. I used to be the one with all the stories to share while Phoebe sat quietly. Now our roles are reversed, and to be honest, I don’t mind it right now. In fact, having someone else do all the talking about Princeton is a huge relief. Phoebe looks happy. Smith looks happy. And I, for once, am happy to be in the same zip code as Smith Mackenzie again.
When our car turns onto Clementine Street, Smith’s mother is sunning herself in a crocheted bathing suit and sarong on the front lawn. In her defense, it is an unseasonably warm fall. I smile just thinking about my mother losing her mind over the fact that our dining room has a clear view of the Mackenzies’ front lawn. This is almost as good as the Easter that Fiona invited the entire Lilith Fair tour to sunrise yoga. Nobody was naked or anything, but according to my mother, she’d never seen so many unrestrained breasts and ungroomed armpits in all her life.
Fiona Mackenzie is a goddamn legend.
“Looks like your mom’s taking advantage of global warming,” I say.
“God, I want to look like her when I’m that age,” Phoebe whispers.
“I’ll get you her doctor’s number, and you won’t have to wait,” Smith deadpans.
We pull to a stop in front of my childhood home, and immediately Fiona rushes over to greet us. She gives each of us one of her signature choke-hold hugs before looking us over as if we’ve just returned from war.
“Phoebe, you’ve never looked better. College suits you,” Fiona says.
“It does.” Phoebe blushes, tucking her blond bob behind her ear. “You look amazing too. It takes a lot of dedication to work on a tan in November.”
“Oh, I’m not working on my tan, honey.” Fiona adjusts her aviators and motions toward her yard. “I’m doing a twenty-four-hour charge on my crystals. It’s a full moon in Gemini tonight.”
Phoebe’s eyes start to glaze over. “Oh. Right. Of course.”
Phoebe’s not exactly a fan of crystals and astrology. She’s way too practical and logical for any of that, despite the fact that she’s a triple Pisces like me. Smith’s never been a fan of it either. I, on the other hand, can’t get enough of it. I could listen to Fiona go on for hours about crystals, the moon, and birth charts.
“You girls should come over tonight when you’re done with dinner. I’m doing a little moon ritual later, and with Mo and Jasper on safari, it’ll be awfully lonely, just Smith and me,” Fiona says. “Penny, you especially should come. I’ll make moon water.”
“Count me in,” I say.
The driver brings our bags, and we say our goodbyes for now. Smith whispers something in my ear about how good it is to see me again, and I can’t help but melt a little inside. I’ve dated a few guys at Princeton, but nothing even remotely serious. To be completely honest, only one made it to the second date, and that was mostly because he caught me trying to sneak out of his apartment early in the morning. It seemed rude not to accept his invitation for Starbucks. Otherwise, he would’ve definitely been a solid one-night stand.
It’s not like I’ve been pining away for Smith or anything. Princeton just seems to be full of all the wrong guys. Guys who already have the next ten years of their lives planned out. Guys who know exactly what companies they want to work for and who they have to impress to get there. To be honest, I think most of the dates I’ve gotten are because of who my father is. Never in my life have I had so many dinner conversations about what it’s like to be Carter Banks’s daughter.
“There are my girls!” Nana Rosie calls from the front door. “Hurry up, you two, so I can get a look at you both.”
Nana Rosie wraps me in her arms like a warm blanket on the coldest day. I miss this. I didn’t realize until now how much I crave physical touch and connection with people who care about me. The only person I have a consistent relationship with at school besides Phoebe is my tutor, and I think he might fire me as a client if I ask him to hold me.
“You smell like pie, Nana,” I say.
“And you smell like patchouli.” Nana runs her delicate fingers through my wild curls. “I take it you stopped to visit with Smith’s mother.”
“She invited us to a moon ritual.” Phoebe rolls her eyes.
“Really?” Nana Rosie hooks one arm with mine and the other with Phoebe’s. We cross the threshold together. “You know, I’m pretty sure I participated in a moon ritual once.”
“How was it?” I ask.
“Chilly. We were all naked, and if memory serves me, we were all the tiniest bit drunk.” Nana Rosie chuckles. “Or were we high? I distinctly remember a suspicious mushroom in my salad.”
“Sounds like an orgy, Nana,” I say.
“Do me a favor and bring up the moon ritual again at dinner, Penny.” Nana Rosie’s eyes glisten with mischief. “I’d like to remind your parents that while I may be old, I’m not ancient enough to ship off to a nursing home.”
“I don’t think telling them about your wild teenage years will help,” Phoebe says.
“Teenage years?” Nana Rosie shakes her head of tight gray curls. “Darling, that was last summer. That’s another reason why I can’t go to a home or move in with your parents. It’ll cramp my style.”
She guides us into the dining room, sharing a few other colorful details from her moon orgy that I highly doubt I will ever be able to erase from my memory. The moment Phoebe and I sit at the table across from each other, something feels off. Mom’s in her usual spot opposite the head of the table, with her usual glass of white wine in hand, but she doesn’t bother to get up to say hello or offer us each a hug.
“What can I get you both to drink, ladies?” Marie asks. The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingers on her uniform, further confirming the tension in the room.
“Club soda,” I say.
“Me too.” Phoebe adds, “Mom, where’s Dad?”
“In his study,” she replies. “Marie, after you get the girls their drinks, please bring out the first course.”
“Without Dad?” I blurt out. “You can’t start dinner without him. He’ll riot.”
She doesn’t even look at me, much less acknowledge that I’ve said anything. How the hell can she be pissed when we’ve only just gotten here?
“Marie, will you let Carter know that we’re starting dinner?” Mom asks. “Then bring out the first course exactly five minutes after you’ve alerted him.”
Alerted him? Is my father one of Pavlov’s dogs now?
I shoot a look at Phoebe across the table. She shrugs back at me. Maybe it’s Fiona charging her crystals in her front yard? She’s no longer sunning herself, from what I can see through the window, but her lawn chair is still there along with her crystal collection. My mother would definitely find that disturbing, but I doubt it’d be enough to make my father hide out in his study.
“Hey, Mom, do you have any plans tonight?” I wink across the table at Nana Rosie. “Because if you don’t, there’s a moon ritual happening—”
“Well, it’s true.” My father’s voice booms from across the house. “You didn’t want to believe me, Silvia, but it’s official.”
My mother’s eyes double in size. She looks straight at me like a deer watching one of its deer buddies standing in the road, just seconds away from being run over.
“What’s official? Is Dad pregnant?” I laugh nervously. “Did Maury Povich just confirm it?”
“Oh, Penelope.” Mom shakes her head. “For once, spare us the jokes.”
The soles of my father’s loafers squeak on the marble floor as he comes to an abrupt stop. He’s clenching a fax in his hand. The Princeton letterhead is visible from my seat, as is the disappointed look on my father’s face. My stomach flip-flops.
“Penelope, do you know who I just got off the phone with?”
“I’m guessing not Maury?”