33. Penelope
thirty-three
penelope
In the most shocking turn of events, I am standing on the porch to Anthony’s parents’ home for Thanksgiving dinner. It really is a true one-eighty. This time last year, I was working on my latest release and saying that I was thankful that Anthony wasn’t in my life over frozen pizza. This year, I’m on his parents’ front porch with a pie and a secret want to sleep beside him again sometime soon. When I told him that I wanted to take care of my heart first, I didn’t realize that the words he spoke right after would be stitching a soft cushion for it to land on.
“There’s my girl!”
Debbie Ellis welcomes me with open arms just like she always has. No matter the years between our seeing each other, this woman helped raise me. You can’t take that type of bond away from two people. Her hug feels like home, and I curse myself for even thinking that when I didn’t even reach out to wish my own mother a happy holiday.
“I brought pie,” I smile sheepishly.
“Let’s bring it into the kitchen. The boys are over at Ant’s working on the house. They should be by soon.”
Working on Ant’s house . The home that he’s building for his future, the one I once envisioned myself a part of. The parallel that we’re both creating our futures with our own fingertips doesn’t pass me by. The only difference is that his has the potential to be filled with home and happiness. What do my books hold for me, aside from tying up the loose ends of my failed relationships?
That’s how they started, when it all comes down to it. A terrible heartbreak led to a story idea, and in a matter of seventy-two days that I marked by the day I found out he was cheating on me, I had an ode to my ex fluffed up and ready to send to potential publishers. From there, my Tinder dating woes turned into money. It’s exactly how I’ve been convincing myself that doing the same with Ant is okay.
It’s what you’ve done in the past .
Yeah, except with all of those other stories, the past stayed in the past, and the plot lines were entirely derivative. I’m three chapters away from finishing Finn and Delilah’s happily ever after, and the only real difference between their story and mine and Anthony’s is that it takes place on the west coast.
I take off my coat and hang it on the rack by the front door, then find Debbie in the kitchen. She’s pouring a second glass of red wine and hands it to me when I join her at the island.
“How’s my girl been?”
“Good.”
I smile, because it’s the truth. She just doesn’t need to know that her son has been a big part of it. We talk about school, and the progress on my house. I ask how retirement is, and her face lights up.
“I’ve been getting back into knitting! It’s been so nice. The NICU down at the hospital is always looking for hats, so I joined a local knitting circle. We can’t make them fast enough!”
“Do you need more hands? I remember how you taught me during that one summer.”
That one summer being one of three times Anthony and I ever really knew each other. This one in particular, my mom had wanted to do something nice for me since Connor’s dad had taken him on a two-week summer excursion to Europe. Of course, that meant piggy-backing on the Ellises family vacation to their house on the Cape. And, being thirteen years old meant that Ant and his brothers wanted nothing to do with me. When I wasn’t reading books and tanning, I was holed up on the back porch learning simple finger-knitting techniques until I could handle needles. All the while, my mom was down at the beach bars looking for a new man to fool.
“Absolutely! Come by any time and I’ll give you the pattern. We can have girl time.”
Girl time . Something I should have been excited to have with my own mother. At least I have Ant’s mom as my consolation prize.
She tells me about the antics of her three sons, about how Grant will probably settle down when he’s forty, and about Ian’s new neighbor and her son.
“I think he’s got a crush, but the boy is too stubborn to admit it. Not when he can’t do anything to provide for her with his arm still laid up,” she says, finishing her glass of wine.
“Does he have a complex or something?” I chuckle, then pour us each a second glass.
“Ian takes the world upon his shoulders. Honestly, I think that breaking one was good for him. Maybe it’ll teach him to slow down.”
“He’s taking over Ed’s business though, right?”
“Yes, which is why he’s all the more frustrated. He needs to be in control, and everything has slipped right out of his fingers. He’s overseeing all of the current projects, but can’t get his hands on the tools. Hell, he’s probably barking up their asses over at Anthony’s place right now. I wouldn’t put it past him to be sour as a grape all evening. He’s so opposite of his older brother.”
Ah. Sneaky woman . I was wondering how long it would take to bring up her eldest.
“Have you been taking care of my boy?”
“Ant does pretty well for himself,” I say, tiptoeing around the question I know she’s dying to ask.
“I worry about him. He’s struggled to find his place all his life, but I haven’t seen him this happy in years.”
She levels me with her gaze, and I begin to wonder if we’ll be speaking in non-sentences all evening, until she finally stuns me with a question.
“How’s Margie been?”
I choke on my wine. Catching the bit that dribbles out with the back of my hand, I set down my glass and find a paper towel, distracting myself in that while I answer.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Last I heard, she was in Vegas with some new schmuck. I wonder how long it will take him to realize she’s just after his money.”
I’m not usually this frank with my bitterness, but Deb gets it. She was there for all of my mom’s ups and downs. She and Ed helped us out on more than one occasion before I finally had to step in and say something. Our vacation two years ago was the last straw.
“I just don’t understand where it all went so downhill.”
I don’t think Debbie meant to say that aloud, and I pretend I didn’t hear it. The silence between us says all that we do not. We both wish my mom was better than she is. We both wish my mom could just, for once in her life, make a stable choice.
And I wonder where I get my craving of a foundation from?
I want to tell her everything. Everything a girl should want to tell her momma.
I want to tell her about my books, and how I’m waffling on my career. I want her to tell me to go for my dreams, to take the book tours that Rafe has been dangling in front of me and live for me for once.
I want to tell her about her son.
How I fell head over heels in love with him, only for him to break my heart at the bottom, and how he’s picking up those pieces one by one and putting them together with his bare hands.
I want to tell her how much that scares me, and I want her to tell me to trust my heart, to give him a second chance.
The guys choose that convenient moment to barrel through the front door all at once. Debbie and I pass each other a knowing look to pin this conversation for the time being. By the looks of it, she can see all of those unsaid wishes written clear as day on my face.
“You all had better wash up. I don’t need sawdust in my side dishes!”
Anthony’s brothers and father come in the house first, kissing the matron of the house on the forehead or cheek before passing me a grunt or salute in greeting. They leave Ant for last, and just the sight of him sweaty from a hard day’s work, but still wearing that sunshine smile for me, has my heart doing backflips all the way into my belly.
“Hey, boss. Glad you could make it.”
He approaches me, crowding just enough so that I have to tilt my head back to look at him, just enough so that I can smell the cedar and jasmine deodorant mixed with the scent of hard work emanating from him. It’s enough to make me heady.
I scrunch up my face and cross my arms to stop from wrapping myself around him and inhaling.
“I heard your mom was making lobster rolls. Sounded better than a frozen pizza.”
He shakes his head and laughs in that disbelieving way, like he can’t help but saying, God, this girl.
He reaches out and cups my head, and time stops. We’re in the middle of his kitchen, and his mother is right there, for crying out loud . He must realize it in the way I freeze. His eyes widen, and to cover, he shifts his bear paw to the top of my head and ruffles my hair like we’re teenagers.
“I’m gonna go shower.”
“Good.” I nod, then swallow the lump of desire that’s burning in my throat.
Deb lifts a brow at me, and I hide behind my wine glass.
Dinner is ready by the time the guys are all showered and changed into nice sweaters and jeans. Deb has really outdone herself. Lobster rolls serve as the main dish, with a plethora of sides ranging from sweet potato fries and veggies, to clam chowder and biscuits. I am in heaven.
“What did you boys work on today?” Deb asks as I’m in the middle of digging into my second lobster roll.
“Ask your idiot son,” Grant guffaws, slathering butter onto a roll. When I look to Anthony, he is suddenly as red as our main course.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” he says, staring down at his plate. His gaze flicks to me in desperation as he tugs on his collar. “Just had a few windows to board up.”
“Dummy had six of those half-moon windows and decided— after drywalling—that he didn’t want them anymore.”
Oh. Oh that’s why he’s blushing.
I ignore the rest of the conversation, now staring down at my plate as I contemplate why Ant boarded up those windows. It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I mentioned I would never want them the other day. Right? Because that would mean Ant wanted me to like the house. And that would mean…
When I tune back into the conversation, it’s pretty evident he’s still getting railed. And I hate that. I know they’re just jerking him around in brotherly fun, but there has to be a line.
“Did Ant tell you about his promotion?” I interject. They all stop, and Grant and Ian nod.
“Anthony, you got the promotion?” Debbie asks.
“He’s filling in as the assistant principal while our schools are merged, and he’s doing a damn good job of it.” I meet his eyes, and though he still looks torn up—either from his brothers railing him, or the fact that I found out his secret, who knows—his lips lift a fraction in gratitude. “He even brought some behavior management program to the school. It has helped a ton with some of the behaviors we have. He’s the right man for the job. We’re lucky to have him.”
“Good for you, son,” Ed says, clapping him on the back from where Ant sits beside him.
“What does your behavior program entail?” his mom asks.
Before jumping into his spiel, Ant tilts his gaze toward me. The gratitude is a deep well now. All I did was brag about him, but it’s almost like I can see his heart beating in his eyes. Watching him wax poetic about his behavior program fills me with pride. He really has done so much for our school in just a few short months, and under a serious mountain of pressure at that. It’s what he was meant to do. I wonder if he realizes it?