Chapter 9 A Bit Much #3
“My wife, Martha,” he says. “Didn’t Penn tell you? She kept fresh flowers around the house and baked bread all the time, so I like this place to feel how it would if she were still here.” Nodding at Penn, he adds, “This young man helps it feel like home. Like she’s still around.”
I glance at Penn, who remains focused on the flowers. “That’s really sweet.”
“Martha showed her love,” Earl says. “She didn’t say it, but you always knew.”
Almost imperceptibly, Penn mutters, “Acts of service.”
“What?” I ask.
“It’s a love language,” he says. “Acts of service. Doing things for other people.” When he catches my eye, a blush crawls up his neck. “You’re telling me you’ve gone thirty-five years without learning the love languages?”
“I’m just surprised you consider yourself fluent in any languages at all.”
Earl laughs, and Penn purses his lips, smugly satisfied he’s gotten me to bite. He points to the toaster. “Could you toss in some sourdough?”
I do as I’m told, struck by the familiarity between them.
Penn moves around Earl’s place the same way he used to move around our house, and how he already moves around the mansion: unselfconsciously, like it’s his, too.
Meanwhile, I’m literally tiptoeing across the tile, and I can barely open Earl’s fridge without feeling like a criminal.
I’ve never understood how Penn could make himself fit in anywhere. In the past, it’s annoyed me, too, how he steps up and takes charge. But it’s also brave. And here, where he’s doing what Earl can’t, it’s deeply kind.
I study him, curious. I still have so many questions.
They talk baseball, and while Earl monologues about visiting Wrigley Field as a kid, Penn and I work side by side. At one point, he grabs a pink flower—a dahlia—and bops it on my nose. I make a face at him, and he grins back. It’s contagious.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. Am I actually enjoying spending time with Penn?
Maybe it’s the scent of all these flowers sending dopamine to my brain. Martha must’ve been onto something.
When the bread pops out of the toaster, Penn whispers, “However much butter you think you should put on that thing, triple it.”
He sets the jars full of flowers throughout the room while I bring Earl his toast—which, considering the ratio at play, is more like bread on butter.
“Nothing better,” Earl raves. He closes his eyes and inhales, a satisfied smile on his face. Then he sets down the plate.
A second goes by. A few more.
I hesitate, unsure if I’ve messed up. “Do you need a fork or something?”
Earl squints up at me. “Do you eat toast with a fork?”
“Um, no.” I stumble over my words. “I wasn’t sure if…”
Earl laughs. “I’m giving you a hard time, kid. Just not hungry, is all. But it smells heavenly. Thank you.”
He inhales again, and I remember: It isn’t about the toast. It’s about her.
My chest tightens. I’ve never known a love like that.
“We’ll get out of your hair,” Penn calls to Earl from the kitchen. “I know you’ve got a Daily Herald with your name on it.”
Earl stage-whispers to me. “Ruby, you’re welcome anytime, and you don’t have to bring me treats to be my friend. Those terms only apply to this guy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Penn teases. “See you next week.”
I wait until we’re in the hallway to start my interrogation. “You visit Earl every week? How do you even know him?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Is it, though?”
I’m tired of him being so cagey. Inside the elevator, he studies me, and I can tell he’s thinking far more than he’s saying, which isn’t like him. And I prefer Penn how I know him: not thinking at all.
“Why are you giving me that look?” I ask.
“I’m not giving you a look,” he says, continuing to give me a look.
“You are giving me a very heavy look, Penn.”
“It’s Pennjamin.”
I fight a smile, but the smile wins, and victory shines on his face.
His tongue traces his lip. “Let’s go somewhere,” he says.
“Now? We told Theo we’d be at The Disco Diner, like, an hour ago.”
“It’s not like there’s a crowd.”
“Rude.”
“Consider it your lunch hour.”
I narrow my eyes. “And you’ll explain everything? Including the non–booty call?”
Penn laughs, and when the elevator pings, he backs himself against the door to hold it open for me. As I pass by, his hand finds the small of my back. I feel his touch like a hot spark.
“I’ll explain everything,” he says quietly. “And I promise we’ll get to work in time for your Friday-night rager.”
I lift my chin. “Is that sarcasm?”
His eyes are sparkling. “When is it not?”
We pass through the lobby and I offer my pal Walter a salute. Outside, we’re met by warm sunshine and a cool breeze. The perfect fall day. Ideal for playing hooky.
Which I’m doing only because I need answers.
“Alright,” I say, arms crossed. “Where to?”
Penn twirls his car keys. “How about our spot?”
I pull in a breath.
So much of our history is missing here, but not that.
Our spot is the community boathouse by the lake.
It’s where, as kids, we fished and learned to skate.
Where we took prom pictures. Where we sat and watched the Fourth of July fireworks.
Where, on Bridget’s surprise sixteenth birthday, her then boyfriend jumped out of a cardboard box, and Penn threatened to do the same for me, which was mortifying.
It’s also where we almost lost Ryan.