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She and Falon don’t just work for my dad. They don’t just live in the same city. They actively participate in their lives. They have dinners together and go out together. They share a life, and quite frankly, I think the loss of that family connection would be far more devastating to both of my parents and Nana Rosie than any possible health crisis.
“Then I’ll move here.” I take a bite of my sandwich. “I’ll help them get things squared away. I can write books anywhere. You guys take your adventure, and I’ll hold down the fort.”
“What about your bookstore?” Phoebe asks. “You can’t run that from anywhere.”
“I’ll figure something out. Maybe my focus can be on marketing and social media, stuff that doesn’t require me to be in San Francisco. I can fly out for special occasions.”
I chew in silence as they mull over my proposition. Both seem a little skeptical, and I don’t blame them. I haven’t exactly proven myself as the most reliable person in the family.
Ozzie taps on my leg, begging for a slice of turkey. “I’ve kept him alive.” I pick Ozzie up. “I mean, look at him, he’s healthy and safe. I give him vitamins. I take him to the vet twice a year, and I walk him even when he doesn’t want to go anywhere, because I know it’s good for him. If I can keep a five-pound ball of fluff alive, surely I can keep three old people alive.”
“Your pitch is that you haven’t killed your dog?” Phoebe narrows her eyes. “That’s what you’ve got to show?”
“Hey, it’s more than what you two have.” I set Ozzie down. “I see your Instagram. You two kill plants like it’s a sport.”
“Plants are hard to keep alive,” Falon says defensively. “They’ve got too many variables. Some need full sun. Some need half sun. Some like to dry out completely. Some need to be misted daily. Some die if there are too many cloudy days in a row, and you know what I can’t control? The weather.”
“I’m also the only one who didn’t get high last night. That has to count for something, right?”
“Don’t be mad at me, Pen.” My sister bites her bottom lip anxiously. “But what happens if we get settled over there and you change your mind? I mean, it’s been two days and you haven’t been able to make it through a single night without running out the door. I don’t want to move across the world only to have to come back a few months later because you decide you can’t deal with them.”
A couple of days ago, her honesty would’ve hurt me. It would’ve made me defensive and reinforced the idea that my family doesn’t have faith in me. Now I realize that their lack of faith is just as much my doing as it is theirs. They don’t know me. My family knows a version of Penelope that no longer exists, and if I’m being honest, the Penelope that I morph into when I’m around them isn’t someone I would trust either. But the real me—the Penny that I am when I’m back in San Francisco—she’s the kind of person who is trustworthy. She’s the kind of person who is willing to throw herself into the fire that is Thanksgiving with the Bankses because her friends are counting on her. And if they give me a chance, they’ll see me for who I really am: a thirtysomething writer of smut who shows up for the people she loves. And still says no to drugs.
“If I run out,” I say, “then I’ll come back. I promise.”
“Why can’t you just promise to not run out?” Phoebe asks.
“Because that might be a lie, and I don’t want there to be any more lies between us.”
Phoebe and Falon exchange nervous glances.
“Let us think it over,” Phoebe says.
“OK. But I’m going to cancel my flight in the meantime.”
“Then you’ll be stuck here with us. Are you sure you can handle that?”
I fight back the urge to say something snarky or crack a joke. I hug my sister instead, and I don’t let go until we’re both teary eyed. “I’m sure, as long as you’re sure you can handle being stuck with me.”
“I’ve never been stuck with you.” She pulls away and her hazel eyes lock with mine. “And even though you can’t pick your family, if I could, I’d choose you to be my sister, Penny. I’d choose you one thousand times over.”
“Me too.” I wipe back a tear. “I’d pick you one thousand and one.”
“Show-off.” She pulls me in for another hug.
It’s late afternoon before Martin returns from the hospital. Phoebe and Falon take the next shift so Mom and Nana Rosie can be fully rested for tomorrow. Martin assures us that they won’t be missing anything. He explains that my father has slept most of the day since the procedure. Dr.Vance assures us that everything went as close to textbook perfect as possible and not to worry. She says that some people just need sleep, and if there’s anyone who needs a long rest after the past two days, it’s my dad.
“Can we talk?” Martin asks after we finish a dinner of frozen pizza. Nana Rosie has instructed that all non-heart-healthy food be consumed before my father’s return from the hospital, which is a task everyone under forty has taken very seriously. “Outside maybe?”
“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll grab Ozzie’s leash.”
It’s cold out. Much colder than last night, but I don’t mind it. There’s a new moon, which makes everything feel a little better. Not necessarily warmer, but hopeful. I reach for my smoky quartz necklace, and I’m quickly reminded that it’s probably buried beneath three inches of manure in the Donaldsons’ yard. Fiona’s ring is still in the Tiffany box next to my bed. I like knowing that I have it, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to wear it just yet.
We make small talk, mostly about my dad. I get the sense that Martin is hovering around the real reason he invited me out for a walk, but I don’t press him. Time is the least I can give him after all he’s done for me and my family over the past few days.
We reach the end of my neighborhood, and I try to turn right down Orange as usual, but he grabs my hand and stops me. “I knew your dad was sick,” he says. “Your dad started having chest pains a few days before Thanksgiving. I tried to get him to take it easy or go see a doctor, but he insisted that he was fine. I should’ve told you. I should’ve told all of you, but he swore me to secrecy. He didn’t want anything to ruin this Thanksgiving.”
I’m not sure what to say. Of course, part of me wishes he would’ve said something. I know it wouldn’t have changed the outcome of my father needing surgery, but it’s possible it could’ve prevented the heart attack. That’s assuming my father would’ve allowed us to take him to a doctor. He’s a stubborn man—an Aries if there ever was one—and so it’s possible we would’ve still ended up at the hospital last night. The truth is that Martin was in a no-win situation, and as the unofficial queen of no-win situations, I can’t really be upset with him.
