Chapter 20
I had no idea it was possible for me to hate Smith Mackenzie more than I already did, but here I am, halfway through the main course of dinner, and all I can think about is him choking on a turkey bone. I’m not saying I’d let him die at the table. I’m not a monster. I’m just asking for him to pierce a vocal cord so that he’ll finally stop talking about Dubai.
What’s worse is the man seems to have virtually no memory of the fact that I was there with him. It was one of the happiest times of my whole life—certainly the highlight of our marriage—and he has no recollection, or if he does, he has zero desire to ask me about it. That would be the polite thing to do when you’re a guest at your ex-wife’s home. It might not be Emily Post worthy, but it would definitely make Dear Abby.
When talking about the exotic vacation you plan on taking with your future wife while at your ex-wife’s Thanksgiving table, include the old ball and chain in the conversation so she doesn’t spend the entirety of the dinner plotting your demise. Also, bring a dessert or casserole.
“Penny, you spent some time with Smith’s family in Dubai, didn’t you?” my father asks. “If I remember right, you enjoyed the food. Maybe your mother and I should consider traveling there first.”
At least my dad remembers I went.
“Food was great,” I say as unenthusiastically as possible.
I grab my phone from the table and pull up the group chat with Falon and Phoebe.
Penny: Now would be a great time to share your news.
Falon: Nope
Penny: Why?
Phoebe: still 2 hi ?
Judging by her grammar, I’d say Phoebe and Falon are more than just a little high. How long does a person stay high after smoking weed? Curse you, Nancy Reagan, for making me such a drug noob. I google it, which is about as useful as asking a Magic 8 Ball. There’s math involved, but the general gist looks like one to three hours.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“What’s wrong?” Martin whisper-yells, attracting the attention of my mother and Nana Rosie.
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “I just need to think.”
“About what?”
Honestly, it’s like sitting next to a five-year-old. It’s worse, actually. A five-year-old can at least understand tone and body language. Martin is painfully oblivious to the fact that I’m dangerously close to stabbing him in the thigh with my fork.
“I need to change the subject.” I shove a bite of turkey in my mouth. Maybe I’ll be the lucky one who accidentally pierces her vocal cords. “I can’t listen to them talk about Dubai anymore.”
“I have an idea.” Martin taps on his wine glass with his fork, which still has a slice of turkey hanging from the tines. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have an announcement.”
Shit!
He’s standing before I can stop him. Panic spreads through my body like wildfire. He moves to the head of the table, right next to my father. God only knows what this man is going to say. He’s like a runaway train, and none of us are safe.
“Martin, are you feeling all right?” my father asks. “Your eyes look a little funny.”
“He’s fine, Carter,” Nana Rosie says. “He’s just had a little too much to drink.”
“That’s right.” Martin winks at my grandmother. “I smoked a little too much wine.”
“Martin.” I smile nervously. “Come sit down. No need to embarrass yourself in front of your boss.”
“Penelope, he’s fine,” my father says. “It wouldn’t be a proper holiday at the Banks house if someone didn’t have a little too much to drink. What’s your news, Martin? It had better not be that you’ve been snatched up by a new firm. We’ve got big plans for you.”
“Nope, that’s not it.” A ridiculous, dopey grin spreads across his face. “The news isn’t even about me. It’s about Penny.”
Oh fuck.
Why does it have to be about Penny? What does that even mean? Is he going to tell everyone that he’s my fake boyfriend? Is he—
“She has a new business venture, and it’s a doozy.”
“A business venture?” My father’s eyes flicker between Martin and me. “Well, this is intriguing. Go on.”
“Dad, we don’t—”
“She’s opening a book McDonald’s,” Martin interjects.
I’m having an out-of-body experience. My soul has left my body, and in some cruel twist of fate, it won’t leave the room. Instead, I’m being forced to watch as Martin takes my pitch for an inclusive romance bookstore and turns it into a fast-food catastrophe. How is it possible that out of everything we talked about, the only thing that cemented in that blond head of his is McDonald’s?
“You’re opening a diner or something with books?” My mother makes a face. “Won’t that be messy? If someone gets a little ketchup on a book, it’s ruined.”
“I’m not opening a diner, Mom.”
“She’s in a coven,” Martin says. “There’s three of them, and they all have special talents.”
“A coven?” My mother’s voice is shrill. “Isn’t that a cult?”
“A coven is for witches, I think,” Sarah says. “I don’t think cults deal in witchcraft. I think they’re more for religious zealots. So are you a witch or a zealot?”
“My daughter is just a witch or a religious fanatic.” My mother covers her face with her hands. “How lovely.”
“Mom, calm down,” I groan.
“The coven is for smut,” Martin says, as if that will somehow calm my mother down. “You know, the stuff she writes.”
“Martin, I think you’ve possibly had a little more than too much to drink.” My father dabs at his temples with his napkin. “Penelope, a little help here would be nice.”
My father glares at me from across the table as if I’m the one who’s somehow responsible for Martin’s present state of mind. I mean, technically, I was responsible for that bong hit in the greenhouse, but Phoebe is the one who invited Mary Jane to dinner in the first place.
“I’m not drunk, Carter.” Martin pats my dad on the top of his head. “Penny’s idea is brilliant, but she’s too scared to pitch it to you.”
“Why would she need to pitch it to me? Penelope’s never once felt the need to include me in her career endeavors.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Martin, please,” I beg. “This isn’t the right time.”
Never mind the fact that it’s not even the right pitch.
“She needs money,” Martin says. “Actually, she really needs a sound business partner, which is something you’d be great at. She just doesn’t want to let you into the coven because—”
“Martin, stop.” I stand and motion for him to come sit down. “Please. Dad, I’m sorry.”
“Wait a minute.” Phoebe stares wide-eyed at me across the table. “That’s your big news? Your big news is that you need money? You wanted my big news to share the main course with your big news, and your big news is money?”
“Girls, let’s calm down now,” Nana Rosie says.
“What’s with all this talk about big news?” my mother asks.
“Can we go back to talking about Dubai?” I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off the headache that is most definitely on the way. “Or what about The Bachelorette? Remember when we were all happy watching other people behaving badly? That was fun.”
“That’s the reason you wanted to come here for Thanksgiving, isn’t it?” Phoebe scoffs. “I mean, why else would you choose to spend time with us if it wasn’t going to benefit you in some way? And to think, for half a second, I thought I could count on you to help out down here once we move.”
“Move?” my mother asks. “What do you mean, move? Where are you two going?”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Phoebe says.
“Australia,” Falon says with a thousand-yard stare. “We’re moving to Australia, where they don’t even celebrate this crappy holiday.”