Chapter 22
Twenty-two
-GRAYSON-
“Ms Worthington, so nice to see you.” I snicker.
“What’s so funny?” Penelope asks.
“I can’t believe I found out your surname in court, and that Ms Worthington never heard of Noel Coward.”
“Is there a connection? Otherwise, it’s a pretty random comment.”
“It doesn’t matter. Sometimes I think I’m an old soul with too much useless information.”
“My, my. Aren’t we melancholy today.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a gin and tonic?”
“I’ve given it up, Grayson.”
“Now that really is a magic trick.”
Penelope gestures to the couch, beaming at my new retro style. She already looks at home in a dress printed with geometric diamond shapes, all orange and white.
She hugs me, holding on as if there’s no problem staying like this for hours. She knows what I need and I cherish the intuition of my friend.
“I don’t know why you threw Milo out,” she says softly.
“Really? You don’t know as much about me as you claim.”
“I have flashes of memory sometimes. His name began with A, didn’t it?”
“Albert.”
“Like a Prince Albert?”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“I remember how happy you were with Albert. I saw glimpses, but not enough to know what happened. But I remember how you drowned your sorrows afterward.”
“He walked out with my money, my new shirt, and my dad’s watch.”
“After an argument?” As Penelope stops hugging me, I see she’s confused.
“No. He disappeared, robbing me in the process.”
She holds me again, squeezing tighter. “Milo is not Albert.”
“Isn’t he?”
“You know he isn’t.” She waves her arm and two large mugs appear on the coffee table.
“Is it tea, Penelope? Or some herbal concoction made of eye of newt and tongue of dog?”
“It’s hot chocolate.”
“Even better.”
We sit in silence. She waits patiently for me to speak but I’m shaken, even though I just avoided heartbreak. Narcissists are narcissists, whether they are self-centred sociopaths or influencer wannabes.
“Did you see me throw Milo out?” I ask.
“Of course I did. He was being cheeky, wanting a nude shot, and you turned on him.” She ponders. “What did you see in Milo that you saw in Albert?”
“Selfishness.”
Penelope shakes her head. “Milo is not selfish.”
“Did you hear our conversation?”
“No. I just glanced into a cauldron from time to time, keeping an eye on you.” She grins.
“A cauldron?”
“Hey, I gave you a wand. The classic magic props do their job. Now, why did you throw Milo out?”
“His best friend is missing and all he sees is an opportunity for more likes on his socials.”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century.” But Penelope thinks for a moment. “What has Milo posted?”
“Weird pictures of himself looking sad. And nude pics to capitalise on the Coips movement.”
“Hmm.” She takes another sip of cocoa, then wraps both hands around the mug, embracing its warmth. “Tell me about your days in solitude, Grayson, or to put it more bluntly, your days drinking yourself into a stupor.”
“Where do I start?”
“Tell me why it took you so long to stop drinking.”
“Well, I was obviously heartbroken.” I’m not sure what she’s getting at.
“Okay,” Penelope replies. “Why do you think I drank?”
“To forget your three husbands. Like the way I drank to dull the pain of Albert.”
“The pain he bestowed, or was it another pain?”
The answer comes too quickly. “The pain of me grasping how foolish I was for letting myself get played.” I ease my back into the couch.
“You’ve been holding on to that for a while.” She puts down her cocoa and places her hand on my knee. “Considering what you just did to Milo, you let your past guide your fears.”
My sigh leads to a shudder.
“It’s okay,” Penelope says. “Let it all out. You’re home.”
Soon, tears fall. And while my body shakes, it’s the howls in between which give me the most release. My wrist makes the perfect handkerchief.
“You took a chance on love with Albert. That’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
“I thought he would heal me. Help me put my trust in people again.” Another rush of tears.
“But he didn’t.” She rubs my back. “You were given a lesson you didn’t take heed of. You didn’t move on.”
Penelope opens her arms and we hug again.
She smells of sugar and spice and all things nice.
Like the poem my sister used to recite while telling me I was made of frogs and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails.
And as I nestle into Penelope, I sense that security I often feel when my sister is around.
She’s been my only sounding board. My only true friend up until now. Too bad she lives far away.
“Sit up,” Penelope says. “I have more to say.”
I compose myself, wiping my eyes again.
“Grayson, humans are creatures of habit. Even if something doesn’t feel right, we’ll stick with it too scared to find something better.
Because taking a leap of faith can be more terrifying than putting up with the problems one lives with.
It’s the fear of the unknown. So we find solace in the bottle, or loneliness, or admiration on social media.
Think about this, Grayson, because we skirted around this argument at The Mystic Moon. ”
“But Milo’s addiction is egotistical.”
“Why do you think Milo finds solace in his socials?”
“Because Summer made him feel less than himself.” I’m surprised the answer was there all along.
“And when you came into his life, you helped him be himself.”
I sit with this thought, repainting my image of Milo. “Summer is just missing as far as Milo is concerned,” I say, with Penelope’s hint of her fate coming to the fore. “And he is holding onto hope that...”
“He’s expressing himself to people who should care, even if he hides his feelings by burying himself in his socials, taking nudie pics to avoid the loss over Summer. And because you don’t care about her, you’re not seeing this from his perspective.”
I swallow. “Yeah, I’m not. And her disappearance has been good for me in several ways.”
“In several ways?”
“She tried to blackmail me before she disappeared.”
Penelope glares. “She did what?”
“She had video of me turning into a kitten and she was going to post it if I didn’t split up with Milo.”
“That cow!”
“I know.”
She’s quiet, processing this revelation, then shakes off her disappointment. “Anyway, Milo loves you. And you were there for Milo in court, playing lawyer when I was indisposed. And I’m sorry I put you in that position.” She lifts her mug, encouraging me to also take a sip.
“There’s no need to be sorry, Penelope. I played lawyer that day.”
“But that was my job. Please, just accept my apology with grace. I won’t let you down again.”
I know she’ll keep her promise, even if her track record suggests otherwise. I take a sip and think of Milo, considering how selfish I was to throw him out. “I just drove a wedge through his heart.”
“You gay boys are so dramatic. Really, Grayson, he’ll have a reality check and after his pride stops hurting, he’ll work out what annoyed you and be a better person for it.”
“I should ring him.”
“Not yet. He won’t answer.”
I try anyway, but it goes to voicemail. I record a heartfelt apology, wavering in between sentences. And when I’m not certain what else to say, I don’t hang up, waiting for inspiration to strike.
“End the call, Grayson.”
“No. I have more to say.”
Penelope shakes her head.
“I’ll come up with something.”
“You already said all you needed to say.”
I reluctantly hang up.
“That’s all you can do for the moment,” she tells me.
“For the moment?” I sense a glimmer of hope.
“Yes. For the moment.” She taps her chin, evaluating. “Your next step is to create a grand gesture.”
“Like what?”
She stands, looks around the room, then strolls to my science fiction prints, staring at them with a big cheesy grin. “I know just the thing.”