Chapter 36
Tuck
The real estate agent is talking, but his words slide right past me, blending into the low drone of city noise outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Something about market trends. High demand. Low inventory. A prime opportunity.
I nod, like any of this matters, my eyes drifting over the skyline. Glass and steel stretch endlessly, cold and impersonal. And this apartment complex? Bland and gray, except for the curated touches of throw rugs, floral arrangements, and vanilla scents, so commonplace that every investment opportunity I’ve viewed today feels like a copy-paste job.
“Rent’s are up,” the agent says, swiping through stats on his tablet. “Skyrocketing, in fact. Now’s the time to tap in, make a move.” He gestures around the space with a practiced smile, listing off a string of features—imported marble, custom millwork, heated floors. “Those luxury elements are exactly what’s trending. It’s what people want.”
What some people want. Not people like my parents—I tried to buy them a new modern house, and they turned me down.
‘We have everything we need right here,’ Mom had said, standing in the doorway of the same old house where I grew up. The floors creak. The kitchen cabinets are outdated. The front porch leans a little to the left. But they love it.
Everything they need.
I glance around this space. Another box in the sky. That despite all the styling feels so damn empty.
My phone jolts to life in my pocket.
I check the screen, and heat needles through my veins.
Damn. I can’t pretend. Pen still demands my attention even after everything that went down.
But as I rapidly open the message, I’m left scratching my head.
Pen: Knock knock
I tune out the agent rambling about chilled bathroom drawers and frown at the screen. It’s no use trying to ignore her. Guess I may as well play along.
Me: Who’s there?
Pen: Arya
Me: Arya who?
Pen: Arya ever going to talk to me again?
A reluctant smile tugs my lips even as I shake my head at her silliness.
Me: I’m talking to you now aren’t I?
Pen: Wait I got another…what do you call the employee who keeps jamming the Kellogg’s conveyor belt?
Me: Dunno
Pen: A *serial* screw-up…get it? Cereal?
Me: (EYE ROLL emoji)
Pen: And…what’s *another* name for a serial screw-up?
Me: …
Pen: Me. *I’m* the serial screw up
Pen: But I’m hoping there’s a redemption arc…
I look up from my phone.
“Hey,” I cut off the agent mid-spiel. “This is urgent. I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Of course, Mr. Allen. Just remember, these properties are in high demand—”
“Yeah, got it,” I say, already walking out the door, hitting the call button before I can think better of it.
The phone barely rings twice before she picks up.
“Hi,” she says breathlessly…way too sexy for my well-being.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to apologize.”
I shake my head. “And what wisdom tells you that texting lame jokes qualifies as an apology?”
“Well, it got you to call me, didn’t it?” she says smugly.
“Just as a wellness check. Because you’re acting pretty sketchy.”
“You mean you really don’t want to talk to me?”
I can picture the pout on her lips as I step onto the sky-deck between apartments, staring over the city. Our city. The one we got to know together. The one that holds layers of memories I can’t seem to escape. There’s no running from her.
Fuck. I may as well face it.
She’s in my head so deep I don’t think I’ll ever get her out.
I grip the phone. “Well, talking to you has got me exactly nowhere, Pen.”
A pause.
“I know,” she says finally, small and uncertain.
“So what’s this about?” My voice is tight, edged with frustration I don’t bother to hide. “You want to send me around the obstacle course again? Got some new hoops for me to jump through? Some hidden surprises you’ve added for maximum entertainment?”
“You’re still angry.”
“I guess I am.”
Another thick silence. Then, quietly—
“Tuck…I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to ask you for another chance.”
A sharp exhale leaves my chest, and I lean on the railing barrier, pressing my knuckles hard against my forehead. Maybe someone should sculpt me like this—instead of The Thinker , this version could be The Knucklehead . The idiot who keeps giving in.
Another chance? Yeah. For a kick in the guts.
“Pen. Listen. I think, if I want to keep an ounce of self-respect here, I’m gonna need more than an apology that starts out with a knock-knock gag.”
“I was just being creative so that you’d respond!”
“Sure. But do you get that it might feel like you’re not taking this seriously? At all. That you’re still not ready to address the barriers that are holding us back? How do we ever move forward if we can’t discuss— ” I wince as I realize I’m dredging up Mason’s words. “What’s blocking the way?”
“You’re right.”
“ Again ?” I stare at the phone, stunned at her acknowledgement.
“You’re right! It’s me. I self-sabotage my own happiness because I’m screwed up. And it affects you unfairly. And you did all that amazing stuff all week long to convince me to take things seriously between us and—”
“All week?” My voice holds more anger than I expected. “Try twenty eight fucking years, Pen! From the day you moved in next door, I’ve been trying to gain your trust….trying to prove myself to you. Do you think it’s normal to take your entire birthday haul of toys over to the neighbor’s fence line? I did that to get your attention. To encourage you to talk to me. Our whole lives I’ve been breaking my balls to have you let me in—and all these years later it hasn’t made a single fucking difference.”
Now, as I look out over the glinting high rises, it morphs into an expanse of rippling blue…and of standing on a rocky edge overlooking an impressive drop.
“Tuck—” Pen starts.
“No. Listen. You remember going out to Eagle’s Cliff and that secluded section beyond? With the oat grass and overhanging ridge?”
“ What ? Well, yes—I tore the ass out of my denims sliding down that rock face.”
“And remember the first time we went there—how you were too scared to jump off the ledge into the water? But you had to do it because I dared you?”
“Yes.”
“And I held your hand so we could jump together?” I remind her.
A pause. Then her voice returns softly: “I remember.”
“What I never told you, Pen, was that I was scared too. It was a big drop. But we faced it together.” I swallow. “That’s what I want every day. You and me against the elements. I want that when you’re hurting, you let me in, instead of shutting me out like everyone else. Like I’m just anyone else.”
A sniffle through the phone. “Tuck…” Her voice is taut. “I want that too.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. And I can’t keep at it, Pen.”
I stare out at the view, the smog, the congestion. The dense expanse that has never felt this empty before. Without her here.
“Maybe I could have continued the way we’ve been all this time,” I say. “Never realizing how much more I wanted. But then you started talking about kids and being a mother, and it hit me that I want to be with you on that adventure. I want to do life full-scale with you, Pen. I want the whole scenario. That’s what I always wanted. But how many times do you think I should keep trying when you just shut me down? As if you can’t trust that I would never let you down.”
She sniffles. “I want to let you in…and I know I can trust you; of course I do.”
“I wish I could believe that, Pen. I really do. But when you say the things like you did before I left it makes it pretty damn hard.”
“Tuck. I went to see my father.”
I turn my back to the view, focusing on those unexpected words.
“You did?”
“Yes. Because I want to understand why I mess things up all the time. The anxiety I carry. The fear of us not working out…”
“What happened?”
“I think it helped me understand why they separated. That it wasn’t my fault. And that Dad genuinely seems to care about me. And he wants to create a relationship.”
“Pen, that’s amazing. How do you feel about that?”
“I think…I want to try.” Her voice gains momentum. “Tuck—there are all these emails Mom wrote to Dad and his wife, Laurie. About me! For years and years. All about the stuff I was doing, my business, the awards I won…even my apartment in New York. There are literally hundreds of emails. I stopped myself from binge-reading them and decided to read just one every day. And…they’re so detailed and…I think they were proud of me after all.”
Now I really wish I could see her face. “Pen, that’s awesome.”
“And I know I have a lot to work through. But that’s a kind of breakthrough, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It is.”
“And I’m willing to try, Tuck. To stop hiding my insecurities. My fuck ups.”
“Okay. Well, then—where does that leave us? When are you coming back?”
“That’s another thing.” The uncertainty in her voice returns. “My business is in trouble, Tuck. Not like the early days with teething problems that I had to iron out. This runs deeper. I still need to sit down and crunch the numbers. But I already know the main problem.”
“Which is?”
“Basically? Being a perfectionist, I hired the best team, I use premium products, and I handcraft everything. My overheads are enormous and my output…isn’t.”
“Pen, I can help.”
“Maybe you can. But not with money. Not by offering me funding or buying me out.”
“But—”
“No, Tuck,” she says firmly. “It’s the same with the money I inherited from Mom. It’s not massive, but it’s something. And at first, I considered using it to prop things up, but—”
“You’d lose it. Your core business model is unsustainable.”
“Right. And I tried so hard to pretend otherwise.” Her voice is sad and deflated. “But now, my landlord’s decided to jack up the rent. So there’s no dodging it; it’s obvious I have to downsize. But Tuck, I can’t just kill the lights and walk out. I’ve got my staff to consider. Clients who believed in me. I need a plan. Something strategic—before everything implodes.”
“But wait,” I scramble for options. “What about the wedding? The dress you’re designing for Mia—it will be everywhere! People will flock to your business. That’s a huge opportunity.”
“I know. But what’s the point if I can’t upscale production? A better option will be to go more exclusive, I guess…But I never wanted that. I’m actually not sure yet.”
“So. The studio. Want me to do it?”
“Maybe you could recommend someone?”
“Yeah. Me.”
“Can we switch to FaceTime?”
I pull the phone back as the video pops through, Pen adjusting her position in front of the camera. Her deep brown eyes, those full lips…fuck I want her so bad.
“Hi.” She smiles, running a hand through her hair.
“Hi, Pen.”
I look over the planes of her face, her skin. As if I need to familiarize myself with her when I already know every inch of her body intimately. But, wait—
“What’s that on your wrist?”
“Oh, this?” She waves the bandaged hand erratically. “Just me being clumsy. It’s nothing.”
“And your bracelet?”
She drops the hand, and her eyes follow. “Yeah, seems its time was up. Maybe it’s a sign that I need to face my fears instead of hiding from them.” She shrugs. “Or maybe bargain bracelets come with an expiration date.”
We stare at each other. And I strive to pick up on the meaning. An apology, being open about her problems, her missing security bracelet…what does all that add up to? My mind snags trying to decipher meaning where there might be nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
“Tuck—” She moves her hair from her neck, and my hands ache to hold her. “Surely you’re too busy to handle that job yourself?”
“Turns out I have some time on my hands…waiting to see how an important negotiation pans out.”
Her eyes glint. “I really hope the negotiation falls in your favor.”
“Well, since it’s with the most stubborn, argumentative, frustrating woman I’ve ever met—it could take some time.”
A smirk. “I see. Well, I promise to make negotiations as transparent as possible and provide some confidence that we may be able to advance things rapidly.”
“Well. I might need a lot of convincing, Pen,” I say honestly. “But I sure hope you can. I hope you want this as much as I do.”
Her eyes are glassy with tears, but I’ve learned not to mistake emotion for certainty.
I can’t afford to get ahead of myself. Not without something solid.
So I take a breath.
“Let’s start by fixing your business.”