“I hope National Geographic paid you workman’s comp.” My father dabs at the tears streaming down his face. “That sure would’ve been an interesting claim.”
“National Geographic?” I ask.
“Smith works for them as a traveling photojournalist,” my father says. “Didn’t he mention that to you on the drive home?”
“No, he didn’t.” I shake my head. “We were kind of busy with our driver.”
“Whatever happened to that digital magazine the two of you got involved in?” Nana Rosie asks. “If I remember right, you ended up becoming a partner in the group?”
“Nana, Smith doesn’t want to talk about work the whole time,” I say.
The truth is that I don’t want to hear Smith talk about work, particularly if that work involves Digital Slap, the online music magazine that played a key role in the demise of our marriage.
“I’m still involved with the company,” Smith says. “But Penny’s right. We don’t need to focus on me. We could talk about the two—”
“Lovebirds at the table.” I motion to Phoebe and Falon, desperate to turn the spotlight away from me. “Phoebe and Falon are newly engaged. It’s all very exciting.”
“It’s true.” Phoebe eyes me, like she knows exactly what I’m doing. “We’re in love. We’re engaged. Next subject.”
My mind races trying to come up with something—anything—to talk about that can’t possibly lead back to me and Martin. To my relief, Martin chimes in.
“Have any of you read Penny’s latest novel?”
To my dismay, he’s picked a landmine of a conversation starter. My family hasn’t read any of my books. They know I write, and they know I’m successful enough to not have to sell my organs to make ends meet, but that’s it.
“You know, I always thought I would have traveled more by this point in my life.” My father interjects himself so quickly, it practically gives the table whiplash. “I just never seemed to find the time. The company always needed me. My family needed me. Now look at me, I’m in my seventies and there’s so much of the world I’ve never seen.”
Phoebe shoots me a WTF look from across the table. Our dad is a man of routine. He’s up every day at five o’clock with the same three newspapers and a pot of coffee before work. He’s eaten the same lunch at the same delicatessen across the street from his office since I was five. The man has a written inventory of his wardrobe so he knows when to buy the identical replacement pieces of clothing after they start to look too worn.
He’s never once mentioned the desire to travel to exotic places. He barely tolerates traveling to local places. He’s never even traveled to San Francisco to visit me. Of course, I’ve never extended an invite, but regardless, he wouldn’t go. He doesn’t go places. He likes his routines, and he likes the control he has over them.
“Well, now you’ve got Martin,” Smith says. “I’m sure he could keep an eye on things while you and Silvia do a little traveling.”
“Wouldn’t mind at all,” Martin says.
“I would love that, Carter,” my mother says. “We could do that trip to Europe we’ve always talked about. Phoebe and Falon, the two of you could meet us on your honeymoon. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“I mean what girl doesn’t dream about going on her honeymoon with her parents,” Phoebe deadpans.
“To answer your question, Martin”—Smith clears his throat—“I haven’t read any of Penny’s books. Which would you recommend?”
“Phoebe, I think you’re underestimating the benefits of traveling with a foursome. We’d get much better rates on travel with a good agent.” My dad polishes off the last of his scotch. “Of course, a trip like that would take a couple of weeks to do properly. A lot of planning would need to go into it, and there’d still be some things I’d need to make myself available for. Smith, have you traveled to Europe recently?”
I can’t believe it. It’s as if my father’s made a game out of avoiding any mention of me whatsoever, like I don’t exist.
“Uh, well.” Smith shoots me a confused look. “Yes, I was there this spring. I covered Glastonbury for Digital Slap. It was busy, but not as bad as during the summer.”
“Glastonbury!” My father’s eyes widen like saucers. “That’s impressive. Isn’t that impressive, Silvia?”
The man literally has no clue what Glastonbury is.
“Carter,” Nana Rosie growls. “I believe you’re monopolizing the conversation. Martin was asking Penny about her writing and you bulldozed right over it.”
“I guess I must’ve missed that part of the conversation.” My father stands, visibly shaky on his feet. He palms his empty glass. How much has he had to drink? “Can I get anybody else anything to drink while I’m up? Smith, your glass is looking dangerously close to empty.”
“I’m good.” Smith checks his watch. “I should actually call it a night. Harriet gets nervous when I’m out for too long anyway.”
“Harriet? Is that your girlfriend?” My father sways, leaning against the table for support. “Wife?”
“It’s his dog,” I snap. “Ozzie’s sister. We bought them together.”
“I thought it was an odd name for a girlfriend.” He shrugs, ignoring my tone completely. “Why don’t you bring the dog over here? We’re still just catching up.”
Out of everything that’s happened today, this moment right now is the most shocking of all. My father has never once asked Smith Mackenzie to stay longer in his home. Never. In fact, he’s been known for doing quite the opposite. Now, he’s fangirling over him. He’s a glass of scotch away from throwing his panties at the man.
“Gee, Dad, why don’t you invite him for a sleepover?” I grab Martin’s Jack and Coke and take a sip. It tastes like kerosene. “Maybe if you ask Mom nicely, you can go over to his house tomorrow.”
“Penelope, stop it.” My mother scowls. “Your father is just being polite. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen Smith.”
“Really? Remember when you saw him on the front lawn half an hour ago and wanted to deck him?” I fire back. “You called him a douchebag.”
“I did no such thing,” my father snarls. “I called him a jackass, and that was before he apologized to your mother and me.”
“Apologized to you?” I stand, seething with anger and hurt. “What the hell does he have to apologize to you for?”
“Let’s calm down now.” My mother taps on the table, trying to regain some semblance of order. “It’s been a long day for everyone. Why don’t we retire to the living room for the evening and catch up on some television.”
“Yes. We could have Marie prepare sandwiches and have a little picnic,” Nana Rosie adds. “Martin, Smith, have either of you seen The Bachelorette? It’s a fascinating program.”
“He needed to apologize for leaving you in an airport.” My father slurs his words. “For running out on his commitment to you. That’s what he apologized for.”
The room goes still. Frozen and icy cold. Nobody seems to have any idea where to look, other than not at me. The secondhand embarrassment is brutal.
“I need some air,” I say quietly.
“I’ll go with you.” Martin takes my hand. “Smith, it was nice to meet you.”
“Pen, wait.” Smith starts to stand, but Martin waves him off.
“I’ve got her,” he says. “She’ll be OK.”
Will she? I think as I make a beeline out of the dining room. I grab a coat off the hook and pause. An immediate feeling of déjà vu washes over me. Why am I always running out of this house? And why doesn’t anyone in my family ever bother to stop me?
Chapter 11
The night air hits my face like pins and needles. I struggle to put the coat on, until I realize that it belongs to Falon and there’s no way it’s going to fit me.