“Come here.” He pulls me in close to hold me, but I step back. He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I just want to give you a hug and tell you that everything’s going to be all right. Penny, I like you. I think you’re brilliant, and I hate to see you self-destruct.”
I don’t want him to “hate to see me self-destruct.” It’s too much pressure, because inevitably I will self-destruct, just as I always do when I’m home, and when that happens, I’ll have let him down too. Then he’ll look at me the way my parents and Phoebe do. He’ll look at me and think, What a shame. She had so much potential. If only she could’ve followed through. I can’t have Martin look at me that way. I won’t allow it.
“You’re a nice guy, Martin,” I force myself to say. “But I’m not looking for someone to comfort me or hug me or kiss me. I’m not self-destructing, and if I do at some point, it’s not your problem. I don’t need you to worry or even care about me. I just need you to be my fake boyfriend for one more night.”
I leave before I can take it all back.
I pour myself a glass of red wine in my father’s den before anyone notices me. My goal isn’t to get drunk. I just need to take the edge off. I need to blend in. Maybe I’ll have a glass and then ask Nana Rosie to take me on a tour of her greenhouse.
I pop my head into the foyer to see if I can spot Nana without blowing my cover, but the minute I do, Smith eyes me. Stupid Smith Mackenzie with his mud-wrestling air fryer of a girlfriend. I duck back into the den, but it’s too late. He’s standing in the doorframe within seconds, and to add insult to injury, slung over his shoulder is his leather travel bag. The same bag that had my engagement ring in it yesterday. Why the hell would he bring it here?
“I hope this isn’t too weird,” he says. “Sarah and me coming over, that is.”
As if I needed the clarification.
I open my mouth with the intent of saying It’s fine because that’s really the only appropriate response to a question like that. Anything else would make things awkward and uncomfortable, and my whole life, I’ve been trained to not make people feel uncomfortable when in my home. I’ve been taught that if anyone is to feel awkward or uncomfortable, it should be me.
I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to tell Smith exactly how much undue stress his invasion of our Thanksgiving has caused my family. I don’t need to be rude about it or uncivil. I just need to communicate the facts.
“You’re an asshole, Smith.”
Not exactly a fact and not necessarily civil, but it’s a vast improvement over some of the choice phrases running through my head.
“Huh?” He lifts his brow and leans forward as if he’s somehow misheard me. “Did you just call me an asshole?”
“Yes, I did.” I stand a little taller. “You’re an asshole, and I think you should leave.”
“You want me to leave?”
“Right now.”
His initial expression of confusion shifts into something in between wounded and annoyed. “I asked you this morning if you were OK with us coming over. You told us dinner was at seven. You remember that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I remember that.” I reach for the wine bottle and top off my mostly untouched glass. “And now I’ve changed my mind.”
“What am I supposed to tell Sarah? You want me to interrupt her talking to your sister and tell her that you’ve changed your mind and now we need to leave? That’s not right. You can’t just take back an invite after you’ve already given it, Penny.”
He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and something inside me pops like a champagne flute shattering on concrete.
“Why not? People take back things they give all the time.” I press my finger into his chest. “In fact, some people not only take things back, but they also give them away to new people. That, Smith Mackenzie, is not right.”
“What are you talking about?” He pushes my hand away. “You’re not making any sense at all.”
“I’m making perfect sense.” I lower my voice to a growl. “What isn’t making sense is you and that air fryer sitting in my dining room.”
“Are you drunk?”
“There you two are,” my mother says. She’s standing in the hallway holding a glass of something bubbly. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys.”
She glides across the den in her silk chiffon caftan. Her hair is done up in one of those big, sweeping updos that Southern women come out of the womb knowing how to do. Her makeup is bold and dramatic, which makes her look a little like a love child between Blanche Devereaux and a drag queen.
“Honey, did you forget to finish your makeup?” She grabs my chin. “Your lips are naked.”
“My lips are fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
“If you say so.” She turns her attention to Smith. “Carter is looking for you. He has another travel question. I swear the man thinks he’s Indiana Jones or something now. You can find him in the living room.”
Smith’s gaze darts between my mother and me like a child unsure of which parent is the one he should actually be listening to.
“Smith, is everything OK?” my mother asks slowly. “You do remember your way around the house, don’t you?”
“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Must’ve had a brain fart. I’m going to go into the living room because you told me to, Silvia.”
He backs out of the den cautiously, keeping eye contact with me as if at any moment I might tackle him to the ground.
“Brain fart?” My mother crinkles her nose. “I hope he doesn’t say that at the dinner table.”
“Would you prefer he say brain flatulence?”
“I’m going to ignore that.”
“I think that’s what Emily Post recommends.”
“So, what do you think of Martin?” She runs her fingers through my hair. “You two seem to be getting along nicely.”
“Yep.”
“That’s it?”
“It is.”
“Knock, knock!” A voice sends a chill down my neck. “Oh my gosh, are we wearing the same dress, Penny?”
Sarah leans against the doorframe, and for a moment, I wonder whether I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Not only is she in the same floral dress as me, but our shoes are shockingly similar and our hair is styled almost identically. The woman full-out Parent Trapped me.
“Everyone’s in the living room listening to Smith talk about traveling.” She rolls her eyes as if nothing in the world could be more boring. “I’m trying to round everyone up so we can eat. I’ve got a ridiculously early flight tomorrow.”
“Well, we’d hate to keep you late,” my mother says in her best “bless your heart” voice. “I’ll go get Marie.”
My mother leaves me alone with the air fryer, which feels a million times more offensive than the time she accidentally left me at the grocery store. At least at the grocery store I could scream at the top of my lungs and cry and people would come and help me. If I do that now, they’re probably just going to have me committed.
Sarah leans back and forth on her heels, like she’s waiting for me to say something. I probably should say something, but my brain is in a state of anarchy. I don’t know how to make small talk with this woman, and I don’t want to. But I also don’t feel like I can be mean to her, because the truth is that none of this is her fault. It’s my idiot ex and her future idiot husband’s fault.
“Thanks for being so cool about us coming over,” she says. “Smith was really bummed when his sister had to leave, especially with this being the first holiday since their mom’s death. He says you guys are the next closest thing to family that he has.”
Well, that’s a stretch.
“It’s no trouble,” I force myself to say. “My parents always have a ton of food, and they enjoy entertaining.”
A warm smile spreads across her face. “If you think about it, we’re kind of like family now.”
I imagine my jaw falling to the ground like a cartoon character and me physically having to crank it back into place. Maybe I misheard her. Maybe she’s new to life and isn’t sure how families work.
“I need a drink,” I say.