Chapter 26 Penny
Penny
THEN
The smell of cinnamon and fresh-baked rolls overwhelms me as soon as I step inside the house. The music’s loud—some symphony playing on the radio—and I only make it three steps into the foyer before it sounds like a herd of elephants is rushing down the staircase.
“Oh, thank god you’re home!” Fia flings her body onto mine, unruly red hair and long arms flying everywhere as she smiles, flashing shiny new braces.
“Hey, Fi.” I squeeze her back before she twirls down the hallway leading to the kitchen. It’s only been four months since I left for school, and two months since I saw her last, when Nan brought Fia to Chapel Hill for parents' weekend, but to a twelve-year-old, I guess that’s forever ago.
“My college girl is home!” Nan dusts the flour onto her yellow apron and rushes over to pull me into a warm hug. She smells like a mix of sweet apples and spicy nutmeg, and there are bits of flour in her pale-blonde hair that’s piled high on her head—her signature style.
“Hi, Nan.” I smile softly, guilt gnawing at my core for not having been back since the day I left.
This weekend is Thanksgiving, though, and I wasn’t about to stay on campus and miss out on Nan’s famous dinner.
She goes all out with a feast, making everything under the sun—from scratch with love, she says.
Cooking and hosting people is something she doesn’t get to do often, but it’s her love language.
Even if the act of stepping into this home feels suffocating for me, I did it for her.
However, the state of the house is undeniably jarring.
I’ve only been home for ten minutes when I realize that every TV is on, but the blasting music drowns out all the voices coming from them.
Dozens of wooden utensils, ceramic bowls, and baking sheets cover every open inch of the kitchen counter, and all the lights are turned on, even though it’s a sunshiny day.
Fia dances around the living room like a ballerina, blissfully oblivious to the stacks of library books and crafting supplies strewn about the floor around her.
Nan always kept an orderly house. Even if it was crammed full, it was neat.
This is a tornado.
If it’s their attempt to fill the empty void, distracting from the fact that Jesse and Danny are spending their holiday in prison and not at home with us, it’s not working on me. No amount of clutter and stimulation can make this feel right.
Frustration simmers in my chest. Why did I come back? I can’t handle this yet.
But Nan’s eyes find mine, just as I feel myself start to come undone. Her expression is soft, knowing. A small smile pulls on her rosy lips.
She knows.
She knows what I’m thinking. And that breaks my heart a little more.
“Why don’t you get all settled in, honey, and come join us? We’re about to start on the pecan pie, and I could use your precision blending skills.” She winks, and I let out a little chuckle.
“Oh, can I make something, too?” Fia flitters over, observing everything Nan has going on.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and Nan doesn’t like to leave anything to the last minute.
“Grab an apron, wash those hands, and grab a spoon. You can stir the caramel,” she instructs Fia, who listens without hesitation.
I’m worthless in the kitchen, but a little piece of me feels better knowing I can busy myself with a task.
“I’ll be back soon.” I head upstairs with my duffle bag slung over my shoulder, fighting the urge to look at the room across the hall from mine.
Luckily, the door is shut.
I decide then and there that while I’m home, I will not set foot in Jesse or Danny’s rooms under any circumstance. I have to keep that door shut and bolted, or I will rightfully come undone the moment I leave this town again.
I quickly toss my lightly packed bag onto the bed and drop my phone beside it. On my way out of the room, my gaze falls on the pinboard hanging on the wall, collecting dust. It’s full of magazine clippings and photos of my planned-out dream life.
The pictures of Jesse and me are no longer there, replaced with empty spots. I make a mental note to bring the board to my dorm and fill it with new photos.
The moment I step back into the messy kitchen, Nan hands me an apron, and I swallow down the feelings budding in my throat and smile. I can pretend everything is completely normal. I can pretend like I’m not living with a shattered heart.
“How are your classes going, Penny?” Nan passes me a wet plate, and I mindlessly dry it, stacking it on the counter next to me.
We’re both tired, the house recently emptied from the Thanksgiving dinner guests.
Nan’s cousin, who we only see once a year and never seems to remember me and my siblings' names, came from Jacksonville.
She brought her husband and their little dog, whom Fia obsessed over the whole time.
Usually, the house is busier for Thanksgiving with Nan inviting people from her work who have no plans, but this year, she kept it small.
I wish it had been full.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and our guests asked how my first semester of college was going. I answered politely and truthfully. My classes were interesting, I was doing well in my courses, and I loved my roommate.
The food looked like a spread out of Southern Living magazine; enough Turkey for a small army, stuffing, cranberry sauce, four different pies, and all the sides you could possibly dream of.
The house was also clean—thanks to Fia and me working all morning to shove every random item into a closet and dust every nook and cranny of this old home.
During dinner, I found myself glancing at the chair across from me every few minutes. Muscle memory, perhaps, because he should’ve been sitting there. My Nan’s cousin, who was seated there, started giving me concerned glances.
Her husband waited until dessert to address the thing no one wanted to talk about—asking Nan if she had plans to visit Jesse and Danny in prison anytime soon.
They were at the same facility for now, but in separate buildings, which made it hard for Nan to visit them both on the same day. But Nan said yes—she was going to visit them on Monday, her day off. He had more questions, none that I thought were appropriate, so I excused myself from the room.
No one came to ask me if I was okay.
No one asked me if I was riddled with guilt that my twin brother got addicted to drugs and took my best friend down with him, while I was off partying, and studying, and moving on with my life.
A light knock sounds on my door before it swings open, and Nan peeks her head into my room. She has on a white robe and slippers, with a healthy serving of pumpkin pie in her hands.
“You didn’t eat dessert, and I don’t know a Penny who skips out on her Nan’s pumpkin pie.” She grins, and I can’t help but return the gesture. The lamp in my bedroom casts a soft glow as I remain cross-legged on top of my paisley bedspread.
She steps all the way in to hand it to me, but lingers, readjusting her hair clip. “Classes don’t start again ’til Tuesday, right?” she asks.
I swallow a bite of pie, and it gets lodged in my chest. I know where she’s going with this, and dread fills me as she continues.
“Fia will be in school on Monday, so I can’t bring her, but I know it would cheer the boys up greatly if they could see you.” Her brown eyes are hopeful, and I hate that I’m going to crush her spirits.
“Nan…I can’t,” I reply, and she nods, but her mouth is ajar. Ready to convince me otherwise. “I need to get back and study.” It’s an easy overarching excuse.
She exhales a little puff, sitting on the edge of my bed, studying me. I put the pie plate down, suddenly not craving it anymore.
“Baby, I know you’re upset with them, but they love you.”
I peel my eyes away from hers, unable to handle the hurt in them.
“No one can force you to go, but I want you to think it over. Maybe by Christmas, you’ll feel ready.” She pats my knee and smiles, and I give her a little shrug. “That’d be a nice surprise for them!”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I say to appease her.
When she shuts the door behind her, the silence in my room is deafening.
Nan doesn’t know about the drawer full of letters I wrote to Danny—unfinished, unsent—half-drunk and heartbroken, the ink blurred by tears until the words dissolved into nothing.
She doesn’t know about the ring Jesse gave me, the one I lost somewhere in this house, like so much else.
Or the old black shirt I stole from his room before I left for college four months ago, worn thin from time and sleep, the one I still pull over my head on the nights the sadness won’t loosen its grip.
She thinks I’m just angry that they’re gone, locked away from us.
But it’s more than that.
I can’t live in this in-between—half holding on, half trying to breathe.
Most days, letting them go feels like breaking my own heart, but if I don’t, I know I’ll drown in the weight of what could’ve been.