Page 123 of And Now, Back to You

“Okay, that’s a little dramatic—”

Penelope launches herself across the room, both of her arms wrapped around my waist. “I’m so happy for you. Your first crush.”

I sigh, defeated. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Technically, you didn’t say anything.” Penelope tips her chin against my chest, staring up at me with wide, wet eyes. Christ. “But that’s okay, Jackie. We’re gonna get you through this. We’re gonna help you get the girl.”

Adeline barrels over the kitchen counter, knocking over the box of pancake mix and the bag of chocolate chips. They scatter across the floor, probably sticking to the bottom of her smiley-face slippers as she collides with my side, wrapping her gangly arms around the both of us. I remain squished in the world’s most uncomfortable group hug.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Penelope whispers.

Adeline nods. “You finally get to use your spiral notebook,” she tells her.

“Do I want to know what’s in the spiral notebook?”

“It’s a fifteen-step plan to get you a girlfriend.” Penelope’s voice is muffled, her face buried directly into my shirt. “I’ve been working on it for a while. The time has come.”

“All right. Let’s . . . stick a pin in that.” I pat both of their heads. “I actually needed to talk to you about something else.”

Adeline gasps. “Are you finally asking us for a makeover?”

“What? No.” I lift my hand to my hair. “Why?”

“No reason,” they answer. Quickly. In unison.

I frown. “Is it the glasses?”

“It’s not not the glasses,” Adeline says, somewhere around my armpit.

Penelope pulls back with a sharp look at her twin. “What did you have to talk to us about?” she asks, deftly changing the subject.

I lean against the counter at my back and pick up my coffee mug. I’ve been back and forth over it, but I think it’s time. They’re old enough to make their own decisions.

“Camille insists she wants to come for a visit. She’s been texting me for the last week.” I watch them carefully for a reaction. Penelope’s face blanks. Adeline grows cautiously hopeful. “She says she’s eager to have a relationship with the two of you.”

They exchange a searching look. “What about you?” Penelope asks. “Does she want a relationship with you too?”

I buy some time by taking a long pull from my mug, considering the question.

“That’s not on the table,” I finally say. My relationship with Camille is set in stone. I’m not willing to revisit it. But I could be convinced to make an effort . . . for the girls. “This conversation is about the two of you and what you want.”

“Will you be mad?” Adeline asks quietly, toying with the mood ring on her thumb. Hers is a burnt orange. The matching one on her sister’s ring finger is a pale pink. “If we talk to her?”

I shake my head, feeling her question like a baseball bat to the solar plexus. “Of course not,” I tell her.

She glances up at me before her attention skirts away again. Up to the window above the sink. Down to her slipper-clad feet. Reluctantly, back to me. “Do you promise?”

Penelope reaches for her sister’s hand. “We don’t want you to think we’re not Team Jackson,” she adds.

I scrub my hand through my hair, then set my coffee mug on the kitchen counter. “There are no teams. Having a relationship with her won’t impact your relationship with me.” Shame grips me by the back of my neck. I can’t believe I ever made them feel like they had to make a choice. That I wouldn’t support whatever they needed. Lighten up, Jackson. “There’s nothing you could do that would change the way I feel about you short of, I don’t know, creating a catfishing cult. And even then, I’d probably find some way to defend you.”

I grip Adeline’s shoulders so she can’t look away. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” She and Penelope exchange a look. Penelope gives her a small, encouraging nod. “We need to think about it. Do you need an answer today?”

“I don’t need an answer at all. Take your time. It’s the same deal as usual. You guys let me know what you need and I’ll make sure it happens.” They nod again and I reclaim my coffee mug with a sigh and a roll of my shoulders. This feels like the right thing to do, but I’m still struggling with it. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“Can we go back to the fifteen-step plan?” Penelope straightens her stool at the kitchen island, climbing back onto it. Her face is way too eager for my comfort. “I think you’ve progressed past steps one through six, so we’ll need to make some adjustments. Maybe start at phase two.”