22. Penelope
twenty-two
penelope
For the first time since we moved in together, I stayed up later than Ant. I only know this because my office is technically on his side of the house, so I had to cross through the living room to get to my bedroom at three-o’clock this morning. He wasn’t half asleep on the couch with an old Red Sox game on, or that weird show where the New England guy goes fishing.
It would have taken me less time, had my wrist not been bound by a cast. But I wrote three new chapters after a week and a half of writer’s block. I’ll plead the fifth if anyone asks me where the inspiration for the shower scene between Finn and Delilah came from.
I have to stop using Ant as inspiration for my writing, but when the words simply don’t come until he does something—like making me —I have to take what I can get. Especially since this is the last deadline extension I’m being granted. Especially when the fear that my writing isn’t getting better with each book, that my readers don’t want the next story, and that my publisher is going to drop me if I don’t start putting my face out there—or worse, force me to do some sort of book tour as part of my next contract—is a constant presence.
They call it “imposter syndrome.” I call it the monster in my closet.
My eyes forced themselves closed for the few hours before my alarm went off. I’ve never been more glad that Ant is an administrator, because it meant that he had to be out of the house early today for some meeting with Nathan and the other cross-building principals. I thought I’d get a minute of peace to myself, but then I found breakfast, a packed lunch, and a note left on the cork board I hung up on the garage door for him, reminding me that he’ll be home late, but that there’s dinner in the fridge. Instead of peace, I got a mental smoothie of last night’s dirty and this morning’s sweetness to go along with my Frosted Flakes.
Luckily, the kids are absolute terrors today. If they were on task and focused and had their behavior in check, there would be time to daydream. After a conversation about the sheer amount of missing work and using class and study hall time wisely, I hop into the lesson.
“We’re going to start in chapter ten today.”
“Ten?” Ant asks while the kids start to take out and open their textbooks.
“Yes. Ten. Did you read the lesson plans I sent you?”
“I uh… Guess I didn’t get the chance to.”
He scratches the back of his neck, then flips his teacher manual to the back of the book while I start writing an example on the board.
“Why are we starting ten? They just finished two last week.”
“Because,” I say, continuing to write my notes for reflection on the board, “geometry is our lowest test score every year. We don’t get to it until after state testing. We have some down time before Halloween, so I figured I’d slot a little of it in at a time to at least get them exposed.”
He doesn’t respond, and doesn’t add much to the lesson until second period, once he knows what we’re doing. By our prep hour, I pop a pill that’s half for the pain in my arm, and half for the headache.
“You okay?”
“Just a little frustrated,” I admit, rubbing my temples.
“What about?”
I tilt my head and toss him an impassive look.
“I write all of these lesson plans, with detailed little links to the online textbook, and you still have no idea what we’re doing.” His gaze turns stony, but I interject before he can speak. “I understand that you’re filling in as an administrator half the time. I just find it unfair that it cuts into the support I’m supposed to be getting with almost double the regular class size. They should either take you on in the office full time and give me more support, or find an outside person to fill in as the administrator. It isn’t your fault. It’s just a little draining.”
Ant sighs, then drops into his desk chair.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. There really isn’t a rhyme or reason to my AP duties, and that isn’t fair to you. I’ll talk to Nathan about it. And, I’ll start reading the lesson plans. That’s on me.”
That simple act, the listening and the fact that he’s willing to meet me halfway, cuts the tension in my muscles in half. And I hate it. He’s supposed to be my enemy, isn’t he? I can’t spend my free time wondering if our conversation while he washed my hair—about words and actions matching—is already causing a change between us.
Because what would that do to our dynamic? He doesn’t think we’re going to get a second chance, does he?
I can’t put my heart through that wringer of instability again. It’s been my rule to myself since the beginning: Once the foundation turns to sand, you build your home somewhere else.
But then, he has to go and pull out his phone and send a text to Nathan right there in front of me, solidifying that he’s going to follow through, and I don’t have the time nor the head space for this.
I tell him I’m having lunch with the girls and leave him in the dust.
“Please tell me one of you has gossip or something,” I plead as I burst into Juliet’s classroom, where she and Lucy are eating at her kidney bean table.
“You can help me plan my bachelorette party!” Lucy says with an excitement that’s still a pinch reserved. After ten years in an emotionally abusive marriage, I don’t blame her. I get exactly where the reservation is coming from.
“Oh, hell yes! What’s the theme? Your budget does not matter because PJ Layne is footing the bill.”
“Stop,” she blushes. “I’m not taking your author money.”
“Then I’ll give it to Aaron,” I smirk. Aaron Russo, who is as over-the-top and extravagant as they come. If I offered up a Mickey Mouse ice sculpture for their wedding, dude would burst into tears.
“The theme is ‘Famous Disney Couples.’ We’re having a joint party at our place over Halloween, since it’s on a Saturday this year.”
“You would,” I snort, then smile.
“Sam and I already claimed Peter Pan and Tinker Bell,” Juliet says.
“Oooo, you know what we should do? Include a spreadsheet or something so no two people can have the same costume.”
“All great ideas! Do you guys want to come over after work to help plan? I’ll order pizzas!”
We do just that. It’s a much needed respite from being at home with Ant every night, especially after leaving the offer of ringing a bell for “help” on the table. I can’t tempt myself.
Juliet puts Sam the tech-wizard in charge of making a costume spreadsheet, while Lucy and I begin prep for decorations and themed drinks. Claire has joined us too, and is looking up games to play that aren’t super rowdy.
“Aaron and I aren’t really big partiers.”
“What are your thoughts on karaoke?” Claire asks.
“Oh, he’ll love that,” Lucy nods. “Add it to the list.”
“We should have a signature cocktail. Disney themed! I’m thinking Stitch,” Aaron interjects, leaning over the back of the couch. He kisses Lucy on her forehead when she tilts her head back to smile at him.
“Isn’t the signature cocktail supposed to be for the reception?” she asks.
“We can have two!”
“Speaking of my wedding party…” Lucy lifts off the couch and disappears to the kitchen. When she returns, she passes Juliet, Claire, and I each a gift bag. “Well… Open them!”
I’ve gotten the opportunity to see Lucy blossom over the past years. From someone who had no control of her life, to this woman who has clearly taken back the reins of her heart—and let Aaron help guide her too. She looks joyful. Happy. In love.
And when I open my gift bag to reveal the proposal to be her bridesmaid, I definitely start to tear up a little. We each receive a bracelet of two linking hearts and a Polaroid photo that Aaron has snapped since he made his silly little purchase this past summer. Which, speaking of…
“Ladies! Let me document this moment!” he exclaims, coming out from his hiding place to gather us for a photo. He snaps four, so we can each keep them, then runs off to refill the film.
“So?” Lucy giggles.
We all burst out into various yesses, and wind up in a group hug before settling back into our spots between their couch and love seat.
“You guys welcomed me with open arms, and reminded me that I have a place in this world. I couldn’t have gotten through the transition into a brand new place without you.”
We all clip on our bracelets, but as the rest of the girls resume Googling and Pinteresting, I slide my finger over those two hearts.
I’ve never been part of someone else’s wedding. Sure, I’ve attended them, but I never let myself get close enough to people in my past to be considered the person they wanted standing next to them on their big day.
I know these girls have my back, and that they’ve been the people around me for a while now. But this bracelet—the matching ones that we all share—feels like more than that.
It feels like something stable.
And it’s a feeling I don’t want to let go of.