Chapter 2
Penny
NOW
Cooler bags line my countertop, stuffed to the brim with groceries from my own kitchen, because one thing I can be certain of is that my little sister lives like a true college student.
The last thing I want is to do a grocery haul in my hometown and risk running into someone from high school—honestly, I’d rather light my wardrobe on fire.
Once I triple-check my list, making sure I have everything—including the already wrapped Christmas gifts for Fia—I go room by room through my condo, shutting off the lights.
A deep sigh rattles my lungs when I pull the plug on the little Christmas tree next to my TV, all decked out with pink ornaments and ribbons.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed to be spending my winter break away from here. It’s my sanctuary.
I worked so hard, literally busted my ass all year, so I could take this time off just for me.
No editing bridal photos, no boarding destination wedding flights, no hotels, and absolutely no mothers-in-law shouting random instructions at me. Just me, the plush bubblegum-pink velvet sofa I splurged on when I bought this place, and an endless stream of holiday Hallmark movies.
But the fact of the matter is I’m the only reliable family member Fia has left, so what choice do I have? My twin brother, Danny, is in prison, and she might not be asking for my help, but I practically helped our Nan raise her. I can’t let her down now.
After the final light is off, and my bags line the wall outside my front door, I exhale a bittersweet sigh and lock the door.
Every inch of my baby-blue Mini-Cooper convertible is stuffed, including the trunk, seats, and floorboard.
Most days, I have nothing but adoration for this car I worked so hard to buy; it’s a true extension of me—petite, stylish, and with just the right amount of sass.
But as I turn onto the freeway, barely able to see out of the rearview mirror, I suddenly wish I had something bigger.
“Adios,” I whisper, taking a sip of my green smoothie as the Raleigh skyline fades behind me.
Only two hours separate me from my coastal hometown of Wilmington, North Carolina.
I begin the drive by playing my favorite true crime podcast, but end up pausing and rewinding it no less than thirty times, eventually giving up halfway into the episode.
It was a futile attempt to distract myself from the continuous chatter running rampant in my head.
I touch the silver angel dangling from my rearview mirror. It hung in Nan’s car my whole life, and now it accompanies me. Keeping me safe, I like to think.
“Nan, why did you have to let Fia read all those romance books?” I half laugh, half groan, talking to my late grandma out loud.
My sister is a hopeless romantic. Her bookshelves in high school were full of love stories, and she would much rather spend her days with her head between the pages than out with her peers. Nan thought that was a good sign, and so did I—until Brett came into the picture.
I still have no idea why Fia stuck with him for four years.
Sure, on paper he’s a catch. Brett comes from a good family and goes to UNCW with my sister.
Plus, he has the whole classically handsome jock thing going for him.
But I know how he treats Fia—like she’s meant to be a trophy on a shelf and not much else.
Pretty to look at, but to be seen and not heard.
Another hour passes, and I’m so worked up thinking about her loser ex that I almost miss my exit. I swerve, crossing two lanes, and fly down the ramp, immediately getting that same old tightness in my throat.
It doesn’t matter that I haven’t called this place home since I left for college ten years ago. And it doesn’t matter that the people who hurt me no longer reside here, either. Their ghosts still haunt every corner.
I squirm uncomfortably in my seat and smooth my long blonde ponytail over my shoulder.
Nausea continues to bite at my anxious stomach, and I wish more than ever I was arriving at a warm house where Nan greets me, where my sister isn’t drowning, and where I can let down my walls.
But that place doesn’t exist, not anymore.
The walls are crumbling—quite literally—and I have a sinking feeling that I’m the only one who can do anything about it.
As I turn onto my old street, warmth spreads in my chest, and I loosen my grip on the wheel ever so slightly.
The houses on the street are a mix of grand Colonials and storybook Victorians, all strung with twinkling Christmas lights, and fresh green garland wraps the porches and pillars. It’s beautiful.
But then I arrive at my family home, and the warm twinkly cheer in my body dims.
Our house is a faded-blue, century-old, Victorian-style home with clapboard siding, hurricane shutters that sit askew, and a front porch that was once stately but now sags slightly at the steps.
The rose bushes Nan once lovingly tended to are now more thorn than bloom, no longer weaving through the scroll-iron fence in the front yard.
I roll up the bumpy driveway, my gaze locking on the front door with its dull sheen, and my heart sinks further.
A lonely wreath hangs crookedly over the brass knocker, but that’s it.
There are no swagging lights, no red velvet ribbon on the bannisters.
It would be crazy to expect a twenty-one-year-old college student to handle the upkeep and decor of this house on her own. But nonetheless, it still hurts to see.
This will be the last Christmas she spends alone in this house, if I have anything to say about it. If she stays here, she too will decay. I have to get her out.
Drawing in a steadying breath, I step out of the car onto the cracked driveway. Tall weeds push up through the cement, brushing against the sides of my leather boots. The air is thicker here—warm and a little humid.
I have to shuffle the bags around the trunk just to get one out, grunting as I do.
The largest one is stuck, so I leverage it with my boot against my bumper, and it flies out with a thud, right against Fia’s car.
My stomach drops at the sound of scraping, but then I remember Fia’s car is made of scratches and dings.
It was Nan’s car, and she left it to Fia.
Though it mostly sits there, because after driving for thirty miles, it begins to smoke.
Fia said it’s fine, she enjoys walking and owns one of those weird electric scooters.
I need to remind her you can’t strap a car seat to an electric scooter.
The walk to the front door is difficult. I’m dragging half my wardrobe behind me. And I don’t know what the hell to say to my sister when I see her.
Guiding her through college applications?
Easy. Soothing her after her first breakup with Brett?
I got it. Teaching her how to pace herself when she discovered alcohol?
That’s what sisters are for. I even showed her how to do her makeup to highlight her freckles, how to shave her legs without cutting herself, and how to tame her impossibly beautiful red hair.
But pregnancy and motherhood? I know nothing about that, literally zilch. Our mother left us two weeks before my eighth birthday.
However, I don’t have time to consider the best way to phrase things, because as I gingerly step on the rotting porch steps, praying I don’t fall through, shadows of movement pass by the front windows.
A chilly breeze rustles the last clinging leaves on the giant oak tree in the front yard, ushering me closer to the house, and I catch my breath on the porch, glancing up at the ceiling.
Haint blue.
It’s Southern folklore that you’re supposed to paint your porch ceiling this color to keep bad spirits away. That’s what Nan used to tell us, anyway. But as I stand underneath it, I wonder who thought of that stupid idea, because this house is full of bad spirits. Or at least bad memories.
The door swings open, and my eyes fall on my sister’s reluctant smile. Then my gaze drops again to the curve of her belly, gently cradled in her hand. I jerk my head back. I didn’t expect it to be cradle-worthy yet.
“Hey, sis.” She glances at me sheepishly, braided hair falling over one side of her UNCW sweatshirt.
I blink rapidly. Bewildered doesn’t cover it.
“Hi… I...” I stutter as Fia’s porcelain face flushes. “Can I come in?”
I cross over the threshold as she steps aside, dragging my belongings behind me into the foyer.
Fia shuts the door behind me as I spin to get a better look at her. From the side.
“I didn’t expect you to have a belly,” I say, followed by a tiny nervous laugh. Probably not the right thing to say.
Fia ducks her head, avoiding my eyes as she rubs the back of her neck. “Yeah, I know—”
“When you said Brett broke up with you weeks ago, I assumed you meant you just found out…” My sentence trails off because I can’t wrap my head around this timeline, or peel my eyes off her mid-section.
“I told you Brett broke up with me weeks ago, but that’s because that’s when I found out.”
“I don’t understand…” I reply, folding my arms over my tan wool coat. The insulation in this house is non-existent, and there’s a constant cool draft.
“I’m twenty-six weeks.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head, and I grip the oak banister beside me, rubbing my forehead. Holy shit. I quickly do the math…that means only three months left until there’s a baby in this house.
“I swear I didn’t know until a few weeks ago, okay? It’s been a really stressful semester, and I thought I was just missing my period from all the stress and gaining weight. I had none of the classic pregnancy symptoms they teach you about.”
I nod, unable to look at her.
My foot hits my suitcase as I take a step back, and the pale-yellow walls of the foyer suddenly seem to be closing in on me like a fun house. Even though Fia’s the one who should be freaking out, she’s standing there calm as a fucking cucumber. Which only makes my own spiral worse.