Chapter 10 Miller - We’re late for school. Again.
“Puuuuh-leeaaaaase,” Penelope whines, enunciating each individual letter in the word. Her spoon clangs into the empty cereal bowl in front of her, and she kicks her tiny feet as they dangle from the barstool she’s sitting on.
I turn my head away from the scrambled eggs I’m trying not to burn to face her, pointing the spatula at my perfect, very opinionated, extremely determined almost six-year-old.
“I don’t get why I have to be Anna.”
Penelope giggles and sticks that button nose I love so much up in the air. “Because I said so, and it’s my birthday.”
“It’s my birthday too, punk,” I remind her.
“Yeah, but you’ve had more than me. It’s my turn.”
She has always been this smart, and the hardest thing I’ve ever had to learn is how to keep up with her. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to pretend to put up a fight. If the kid wants me to dress up as a Disney Princess on Halloween, our shared birthday, then so be it.
I sigh, prepared to give in to this ridiculous request in the name of fatherhood. “And you’re sure you want to be Olaf.”
She nods her head aggressively, sure as shit, just like she always is. “Do you think Red would want to be Elsa?”
“Uh, I don’t know if she planned on going trick-or-treating.”
Penelope has tried to include Gwen in every part of our lives since we moved in above the cafe.
Gwen is at our place more nights for dinner than not.
Penelope jumps to invite her to run errands with us or go to the park just about every other day.
Mostly, she tries to weasel an ice cream trip with all three of us. It hits me in the chest every time.
I’m lacking somewhere. As much as I’ve tried to make up for the fact that I gave her a mother who checked out before she was even discharged from the hospital, I’m falling short.
While Sara deserves her peace, it can also be true that Penelope deserves to have a mom who wants to show up for anything and everything.
And the fact of the matter is, that didn’t happen.
“But we could ask her! And I know she’d say yes! She loves Frozen, just like me! She told me! We watched it, remember?” It’s like a lightbulb went off above her head, and now she’s shouting out every thought zinging through her brain.
“Can’t forget your rendition of Let It Go, P,” I say.
“What’s a rendition?” she asks.
“Like how you danced and sang it. Rendition is like…” I pause to think of how to word this in a way she’ll understand and hopefully it sticks. “It’s like your version of something,” I answer.
Penelope thinks about that for a minute. She rests her chin on her fist to tilt her head to the side and everything. “Like Taylor’s Version?”
Yeah, I should have seen that one coming. I smile at her and shake my head before turning back to the stove. “Yeah, P, like Taylor’s Version.”
“Cool.” You can hear the satisfaction in her voice. It’s adorable as hell.
Selfishly, I love how much she loves having Gwen around. The three of us have so much fun together that I’m starting to forget why I always thought we could never add someone else to our little family when someone like Gwen shows up and is present so naturally.
And the past few nights, after we put Penelope to bed—which feels domestic as fuck, by the way—Gwen’s been staying just a little later each time. We’ve discovered we have the same bad taste in comedy movies and have committed to rewatching each other’s favorites.
My goal is to pull as many laughs out of her as I can. She’s so Goddamn beautiful when she smiles, but especially when she laughs.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask her,” I answer Penelope. “But if she says no, that’s final. No trying to change her mind like you do with me.”
Penelope’s off the stool and barreling into me, wrapping her arms around my waist within seconds. “Thanks, Daddy.” She releases me and books it into her bedroom to hopefully get dressed so we’re not late for school. Again.
I hear a drawer slam shut, and I call out, “Please try to match your socks!”
“Not happening!” she yells back.
Well, I guess I’m picking my battles today, and that’s not one of them. I turn the burner off and transfer my eggs to a plate that already has a bagel waiting for me so I can scarf it down before we have to head out to school.
I sit my ass in the same barstool Penelope was just occupying and take a couple minutes for myself to eat and get lost in my head. I really wouldn’t mind seeing Gwen in that ice queen dress if Penelope somehow convinces her to come with us.
I say “somehow” like Gwen has said no to this kid even once. She’s just as bad as I am with Penelope, and it melts my fucking heart, even when she’s still keen on keeping me at arm’s length.
Baby steps though.
I scarf down my breakfast and place the dishes in the sink, leaving them for an after school drop-off kind of problem.
Penelope loved the idea of the bus last year even though it felt like my worst nightmare sending her on it every day. I always gave her the option of riding in with me or letting me pick her up. But, she stuck with it all year and seemed to like it.
Until she didn’t.
I noticed a change in her morning attitude early this spring. It was subtle enough where I second guessed myself about questioning it which led me to beating myself the fuck up for not addressing it sooner.
She was grumpier than usual. Didn’t want to get dressed, dragged her feet through every step of our usual routine. For a little, I chalked it up to growing pains.
But Penelope was dealing with a bully on the bus and had no idea how to talk about it. One morning after another really out of character battle between us, I finally asked if something was bothering her, and it was like the floodgates opened.
This fucking little twerp of a third grader was picking on Penelope for anything and everything: the clothes she wore, her missing teeth, the way she had her hair. I guess he was relentless.
She told me a few of the other kids had started to notice and stuck up for her, but this kid never let up.
I don’t give a shit if I’m not supposed to have beef with an eight-year-old. I did, and I still do.
I called the school for a meeting immediately.
I talked to the bus driver and the principal.
It was handled well enough where I’m sure there wouldn’t have been more issues, but I don’t care.
Penelope finally agreed to riding with me in the mornings and afternoons, and I’m thankful for that, because she was riding with me either way.
We continued the pick-up and drop-off routine at the start of this school year with little conversation around it. It’s better this way.
Well, except for the fact that the two of us can’t get our shit together to leave on time some mornings.
“Penelope Grace, we need to go!” I yell, putting her lunch bag into her backpack and zipping it up.
“I’m coming!” she huffs while finally leaving her room.
I hold out the straps of her backpack, and she loops her arms through. We both slip our shoes on and are barreling down the stairs in record time.
Forgetting about the like, eighth tardy slip Penelope’s probably going to be given, the both of us stop dead in our tracks when we reach the cafe.
Apparently Penelope and I aren’t the only ones with Halloween on the brain this morning.
By the looks of the place, Gwen must have gotten here hours ago, although I didn’t hear her car or any movement down here at all this morning.
There are a few of the morning regulars, quietly sipping their coffee and reading the paper or checking their phones. A few people are leaning against the counter, waiting for Margot to finish their orders. She waves to me when she has a free hand, and I wave back.
Sawyer and Gus are the loudest in here, sitting on two barstools, hanging out while Margot works, before they head off for what I assume is a day of work at the riverside.
When they see me and Penelope, they stop their conversation.
“Morning Caswells!” Sawyer calls out, holding up his mug. Gus nods once at me and shoots Penelope a peace sign. She matches his greeting back.
There’s something downright hilarious about a dude as big as Gus Burton—he’s got to be at least 6’5” and built like a house—throw out a peace sign to a five-year-old without a care in the world about who might judge him.
Not that anyone would openly judge him. They’d be in the ground.
“Hey!” Gwen calls from the floor. She’s sitting on her knees under a pile of fake spider webs. Her head pops out, and she’s fucking beaming.
I don’t move. I don’t know if I’m afraid I’m gonna spook her or what, but I know I’m sure as shit not going to be the reason the light I’ve been craving to pull out of her fades away when it’s finally back and shining so goddamn bright.
Penelope’s not as cautious as I am, never has been, probably never will be.
She’s never had to walk on eggshells in her own home to avoid punishment, so I understand and love her carefree spirit.
It’s one of the things I worked so hard to protect.
Penelope books it to Gwen’s side, ducking underneath the layers of white material to join her.
“Good morning, my little witch.” Gwen pulls a witch’s hat from the big bin of decorations that’s opened on the floor and plops it onto Penelope’s head.
“It looks crazy in here!” Penelope says with so much amazement in her voice. This kid fucking loves a holiday, especially one that lands on her birthday.
“A good kind of crazy?” Gwen asks, chuckling.
“Duh!” Penelope starts helping Gwen loop the spider webs through the hooks I now see she’s placed around the counter.
Mrs. Harrison in the front office is definitely going to ream me out for the late morning whenever I finally get P there.
“I was hoping you’d say that. Halloween is my favorite,” Gwen tells her.
“Oh, is it?” I chime in.