31. Penelope
thirty-one
penelope
“Alright, people. Put your midterms in the turn-in bin on the way out. You are officially home free for the week. Make good choices!”
I give the spiel to my last period class like a robot. But they wouldn’t know. I’m like one of those animatronics at Disney that Aaron keeps raving about—like an actress with one final performance to give before she gets a sabbatical.
I have equally been looking forward to and dreading Thanksgiving break. On the one hand, I get a week off—much needed by this point. The students are getting restless, making the teachers short fused. We could all benefit from a little week-long separation.
Although, I have to say, this behavior program that Ant has implemented is kind of magical. I don’t want to speak too soon, but with permission to use some of the frequent fliers from our classes, he has severely cut down on the amount of times we’ve had to conference with a kid or call home to report behavior.
Still. I’m drained. I need the break.
I slump into my seat as the final bell rings, not even bothering to stand in the hall today to see the kids out. I simply don’t have it in me.
“Got any big plans for the week off?” Hank, the retiring English teacher from Meadow Ridge, asks as he takes his tweed jacket from the back of Ant’s desk chair and lays it over the crook of his elbow.
“Not thinking about congruence and similarity of shapes, that’s for sure.” I barely crack a smile to meet his. “What about you?”
“Me and the missus are headed up to Vermont to see our kids.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three. And seven grands. It’s nice that they’re the hosts now. I just get to show up and be Grandpa.”
My heart swells in both envy and longing.
I had no grandparents to see on holidays—Mom’s parents disowned her for the final time when she went on a rebellious streak and stole money from them, and I couldn’t even tell you what my father looked like, let alone who his parents are.
All of a sudden, a flicker of Ant with a redheaded little version of him on his shoulders stumbles into view. I’m so thankful for Hank’s pat on my shoulder, because that fantasy surely would have spiraled me to the point of no return.
“Take some time off, kiddo. You’re doing an excellent job.”
I wish him a happy holiday, but remain in my own desk chair, slumped so that my butt is barely on the edge of the leather seat, neck bent at an odd angle. I’m a blob of a human, weighed down to the deep end of where I am and what I’m doing here.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
Teach .
The same routine day in and day out, year after year. I know my curriculum and material like the back of my hand. I could teach this content in my sleep. Numbers have structure, which is why I chose to teach math. Teaching is an everlasting job in some way shape or form, which is why I majored in it—that, and the summers off, to still enjoy a little bit of freedom.
I’ve always craved stability. But suddenly, even a firm foundation isn’t bringing me the joy and security it once did. Because the truth of the matter is, while most—if not all—of my colleagues are in this job for the kids, I went into teaching for the anchor of it. Routine, rhythm, a solid ground beneath my feet. Teaching offered stability, just like school was always my safe place. But when your foundation no longer brings you joy, do you stick with it for the anchor, or take a leap and let yourself face the possibility of drowning?
“Hey, Nathan gave us the okay to head out since the busses are gone. You coming?”
Aaron and Lucy poke their heads into my classroom. We’re doing Friendsgiving tonight, since everyone has travel plans for the upcoming week. I groan, lofting myself from my desk in my overdramatic mask of being. I make some trademarked Penelope remark about how there had better be wine, and my friends laugh it off, none the wiser.
When I show up at Sam and Juliet’s later, I don’t expect to see Ant’s truck out front. Except, here he is, in the middle of the little sanctuary I’ve made with people I can trust. The stability I built for myself. I wish I could say that he was here to ruin it, but my body betrays me by relaxing at the sight of him in the middle of my people.
The fact of the matter is, I don’t hate it. I don’t hate that he’s standing in Sam’s kitchen, pouring Lucy a glass of wine. I don’t hate that Aaron and Lucy are captivated by whatever story he’s weaving with his signature animation of an Ant-look on his face.
I just hate that my heart pitter-patters at the sight of it. If quitting teaching would sacrifice some of my stability, letting Ant back in to play the what-if games that have been on an endless loop in my head for the past two years would take my foundation of stone and turn it to sand in the middle of a flood.
But then, he catches my eye through the cutout, and I swear I can see his body soften, his shoulders melting like warm butter, the swirl in his blue eyes calming in an instant. And the flood stops. The sand turns to clay. And I have to will myself to remember how it felt when my heart had shattered in his fist.
“Let’s get this party started!” I yell, adding a bit of spice to mask the fact that my heart just ran through the wringer. I snag the bottle of wine from Ant, grab a glass, and give myself a healthy pour.
“You gonna need a ride home again, boss?” Ant asks, side-eyeing me with a tiny smirk.
“I might. Might just crash here, though.” I shrug and take a hearty gulp of my red.
“And pass up the opportunity to give Elvis Squirrel a second showing?” he says quietly as he waggles his eyebrows, turning his shoulder so that our little conversation is closed off from the rest.
Leave it to Ant to have me turned on by Elvis. I pinch my eyes closed, and level him with my gaze upon opening them. One that is mixed parts warning to tone it down, and a fire that I can barely contain. We really haven’t had much time together this past week, despite living and working together, to talk about what happened between us.
Which might be for the better. I still haven’t decided what it means myself.
My body betrays me by reacting to his comment, but this is one decision I can’t make lightly, in the heat of the moment, in the middle of my friends’ kitchen.
Thankfully, Aaron and Sam announce that the take-out arrives before I have to—Friendsgiving is lazy this year, given all of the wedding and baby talk within this group. We all jump up to help, conveyor belting the Chinese and pizza boxes to the long tables they’ve set up in the kitchen. Once we all have our plates loaded, we crowd around the coffee table in the living room, sitting on the floor, our plates overlapping each other just like our conversation.
The guys are talking about hockey and the upcoming middle school baseball season somehow at the same time; Nathan and Lucy are debating some new behavior method she learned at an online conference; Juliet is trying to convince Claire to look at wedding dresses even though she and Nathan aren’t even engaged; and I am sitting back and taking it all in.
My people. My stability . And the fact that Anthony Ellis has somehow found his way into the center of it all again.
“Hey, Pen, how’s the house coming?” Aaron asks me.
I exhale heavily. It’s a topic I’ve been avoiding for too many reasons.
“I was supposed to be able to move back in after Christmas, but ‘move in’ is a loose term. I’ll still have to paint, redo the flooring, get new furniture. It’s like a chore at this point.”
And one I’m so not looking forward to. I just moved into that place and settled a little over a year ago. Now, it’s like I’m starting right back at square one.
“You know, Ant is kind of a handy man.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I roll my eyes.
“Oh, you mean Anthony Ellis , whose father owns a contracting company? The same Anthony Ellis who is currently building his own house? I had no idea.”
My gaze meets Ant’s and he’s smirking to hide his blush.
“What about you?” Juliet asks, shifting the conversation over to Ant. “How is your house coming along?”
“About the same as hers. Although, mine might take a little longer. There have been some setbacks…”
He trails off, and I don’t miss the way he averts my gaze. What the hell is that all about?
“I’ve just been swamped with all of this new stuff going on at school.” He scratches beneath this chin, still avoiding eye contact with anyone in particular, like he has crimes he doesn’t want to answer for. “It’ll get done eventually. I’m in no rush.”
That piques my interest. “In no rush” means he has no intentions to get out of the townhouse anytime soon. There’s a short list of reasons why, and I’m pretty confident that the Elvis Squirrel is not on it.
We fall into talk about everyone’s Thanksgiving plans: Lucy and Aaron are hosting his entire family and her parents; Juliet and Sam are taking the kids to visit Sam’s dad in the nursing home; Claire and Nathan are taking a big step and spending a holiday with her family while his brother is on call.
“What about you, Pen?” Lucy asks.
I startle. I’ve been so good at hiding my holiday plans behind closed doors that I sometimes forget that my friends care . Little do they know, I’ve been lying to them for years—when I say I’m visiting family, I’m usually in New York for the holidays working with Rafe, or on a writer’s retreat somewhere outside of Boston.
My brother, Connor, spends his holidays with his dad’s family. My mom and I don’t speak—the last time we talked was two Christmases ago when she asked me to go to Florida with her. I’d had my heart broken twice in one trip: Once by her, and once by Anthony.
I can’t lie this year, though, because one of the people asking is also my roommate. He’ll know if I’m lying. It’s not like I can lock myself in my bedroom and hide.
“Uh… Honestly, I’ll probably be doing a lot of writing. Lock myself in the writing cave and try to finish this book.” I take a big swig of my wine to avoid the silent stares that I know will inevitably be followed by invitations. Thankfully, Claire comes to the rescue.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, when do I get to beta read for Finn and Delilah?”
I wince.
“Soon…ish? They’re giving me a headache.”
And in all reality, they are . But only because their happily ever after has somehow turned into what I expected Ant and mine to be. It started as stealing a little nugget here and a little nugget there, but lately, it has been spiraling out of control. I even typed “Anthony” instead of “Finn” the other day while writing a sex scene, and had to take a lap around the neighborhood to clear my head.
“I just want them to have their happily ever after. And, okay, they need to bang already. There was so much tension in Evy and Beckett’s book, and they were only in the background! ”
“Geez, woman, control yourself!” Aaron jokes. “You’re talking about your friend’s smut in front of her boss.”
My heart stutters.
This was always one of my fears: Being a teacher that writes bestselling romance on the side has been my best kept secret. Now, though, my boss is in my circle of friends. I was just getting used to sharing meals with him when I moved in for a few weeks after the pipes exploded. Now, he has been plopped into the awkward position I never wanted him to be in.
But Nathan, being the simple man that he is, simply tilts his head.
“I don’t mind. She writes on her own time. Several employees in the district have two jobs. I’m quite certain, actually, that one of our first year teachers has a YouTube channel. What you’re doing isn’t illegal, and you’re good at it. You do it on your own time, and not during school hours. Who am I to judge or stop you?”
Tension melts off of me like ice on a summer sidewalk. But in the same moment, it mounts right back up.
If there’s nothing standing in my way, what the hell is stopping me from going after what I want?