Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“No need to get testy.”
“Then stop thinking you don’t belong.” With me.
Pen turns and looks out the window, giving me a view of the long, pale arc of her neck. Outside the mountainside is a blur of wavering dusty brown grasses.
“I was only asking because I thought you might want to be with your mom,” I put in to fill the silence.
“You forgot, didn’t you?”
“No!” Yes. Fuck. “Uh, remind me again?”
She shakes her head but smiles as if in exasperation. “Your parents and my mom are going on a murder mystery cruise that week. They’ve been planning it forever.”
Right. Some sort of Death on the Nile reenactment. In Egypt.
“Sure, I remember.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, I’d like to see March. I hate to think of him alone during the holiday.”
March. She wants to see him? Since when? In all the years of college, I never had a visit from Pen. I doubt she gave two thoughts about my existence. Now she’s worried about March’s tender feelings?
Just stop right there, asshole.
Being jealous is not normal for me. Being jealous of my brother is repugnant—both as point of personal pride and because he is the closest person in my life. Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites. But siblings are another matter. I have no qualms about it: March is my favorite sibling.
Worse? This isn’t the first time the ugly green fuck-face, jealousy, has sprung up with regard to March and Pen. I’m spiraling here. I need clarity. Unfortunately, that’s going to require some space from the temptation of Pen. Fuck, but it’s going to hurt.
Taking a breath, I compel myself to relax, pull up my usual easy tone. “It’s a good idea. Let’s do it.”
I need to figure this the fuck out. Until I do, I’ve got to keep as much emotional distance from Pen as I can.
Twenty-Three
JuneBug: We’re taking off soon. I’ll miss you, Penny Lane!
Penny: Me too. I wish you didn’t have to go. I love having you guys with me. Safe flight.
MayDay: I hate that we have to go back to class! WHYYYYY???? Love you, Pennywise! Give our bro a big ol’ kiss will you?
PennyWise: uh-huh
MayDay: Srsly. Kiss him! Bet he melts into a puddle of jock-goo
PennyWise: That sounds disgusting
JuneBug: I agree; kissing August is disgusting.
MayDay: Yeah, but someone has to do it. Might as well be Pen
PennyWise: I’m not kissing August
JuneBug: What never?
MayDay: Or hardly ever?
PennyWise: BYE!
MayDay: Mwah!
Augie: Safe flight, brats
MayDay: Good game, noob
JuneBug: Take care of our Penny
Augie: Of course
MayDay: I swear to G, Aug, if you don’t tap that and wrap it up in a bow, I’m gonna be pissed at you forever
Augie: March? Did you steal Thing 2’s phone?
MayDay: So even our goober brother agrees? Should tell you something, bro-ho
Augie: Bro-ho? Simmer down there, mini March
JuneBug: May’s colorful suggestion aside, be careful, Aug. It’s Penny. She’s special
Augie: I know
Pen
The girls go home. Weeks pass. October rushes toward November. I attend August’s games, and we go out for dinners so the press can take pictures. But August has become increasingly busy. It isn’t a surprise; he warned me his schedule was nonstop. And, really, we aren’t a real couple. What personal time he has should be spent with his actual friends.
The thought hurts. More than is safe. Somewhere along the way, I’d convinced myself we were real friends.
“No, we are,” I mutter, pacing my empty kitchen. “We are.”
But I find that I’m . . . lonely. In a way I haven’t been in a long time. I want friendship. Unfortunately, I haven’t taken the time or made the effort to cultivate any. That’s on me. But, I have to believe a person can change their patterns if that’s truly what they want. To quote the late, great Heath Ledger in A Knight’s Tale, “A man can change his stars.” I don’t have to remain cosseted away, afraid to fully soak up life. I’ve been doing that for far too long. All that is required is action.
In that vein, I take a big breath and decide to invite Monica over. Okay, sure, she’s a world-famous movie star and I’m a college student with a somewhat famous fake boyfriend. Details. We’ve sat beside each other for a few games now, and she gave me her number, said we should hang out. I’m going to take her at her word. Besides, I like her.
This is what I lecture myself on, while inside I’m a shaking anxiety ball as I text her. My existential crisis eases a fraction when Monica answers almost immediately to say yes. I give her directions, then promptly go on a tear throughout the house, picking up discarded clothes, a mug in the den—not that I see us going in there—and then clean up the kitchen. There isn’t much. I’m one woman in a big house. An empty house.
It never bothered me before. But hanging out with August is changing me too. I find myself wanting to talk, to share thoughts that pop into my head, hear someone else’s too. Okay, mostly I want this with him.