The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

Me: That’s not true. Your dad did.

She’s silent for a few moments, the three little dots on my phone’s screen appearing and disappearing as she decides what to say and how to respond.

Penelope: It took me a very long time to realize I had some abandonment issues. And my mom, too—though she didn’t technically abandon me, she did die, and we knew it was happening, which felt like the same because I needed her. Which now feels so selfish.

Me: You weren’t selfish. You were young. I think the two sometimes go hand in hand. It takes years to grow up.

I realize that, in a way, I am excusing her behavior but then again, what are my options? What’s done is done, and I’ve already decided to move forward—not look behind.

Penelope: What I want is to move forward.

Me: You read my mind.

Penelope: How do we do that?

Me: I think we’re off to a good start, don’t you? It will take some work but we’ll manage—I think it’s a good idea to prioritize spending more time together—with Skipper of course.

Penelope: Of course. Yes, I agree that we should spend some more time together. And it means a lot that you’re in town.

Me: Listen. I may be busy, but I know how to prioritize what’s important—and that means SHOWING up—not just showing up.

Penelope: I agree.

Yawning, I’m finally tired enough that I could drift to sleep with my phone in my hand, lying on the bed.

Me: Thanks for the chat. I’m going to head to bed.

Penelope: Yeah, I’ve yawned about a dozen times already. Considering what a chill day we had, I’m beat.

Me: It was more emotionally draining than anything.

Penelope: It was, wasn’t it...

Me: Good night, Penn.

Penelope: Night, Jack.

Chapter 11

Penelope

My brother has decided it’s a great day for a backyard barbecue, despite the colder temperatures late fall has brought.

His ex-teammates have been arriving, cars lining the street in our neighborhood and on my driveway and his. How many people did he invite?

And when did he decide this was a good idea?

It was last minute for sure. I heft a giant bowl of potato salad and carry it to the table. Most of the ladies agreed that the food should stay inside where it’s warm. Men should stay outside near the grill, and everyone went in and out the big back patio door.

In a short amount of time, Davis and Juliet have managed to fill coolers with ice and beer, soda, and water, turning the potluck into a lunch of epic proportions.

Fruit platters, veggie trays, pasta salad, charcuteries—this spread has it all.

I make room for my bowl on the table, inching a few things that must be moved to accommodate one more item. Stealing a grape from the fruit platter, I pop it in my mouth.

This is one of the first times Davis has had a get-together where I wasn’t the unofficial hostess. That’s Juliet’s role now.

It’s a nice change, enabling me to mingle without worrying if the food needs to be replenished or the beer has run out or whether the cooler needs more ice. Or if the kids have enough to occupy them.

A few of them are in the pool, where the water temperature is guaranteed to be in the nineties. I’m sure Davis had to crank it up so it would be warm enough today.

I sit outside and spy Skipper on the swing set at the back with a few other smaller children while a few dads—all football players—sit in the loungers at the water’s edge, watching the swimmers and laughing, while Davis flips meat on the grill. She waves at me, and I wave back, letting her know that I’m watching as she slides down the slide, showing off.

Goofball.

My stomach hits rock bottom when I turn around and almost bump into Jack Jennings as he comes through the back door, my little “Oh!” of surprise shocking us both.

“Hey there.”

“You…you’re here.”

Miss Captain Obvious over here.

“I’m here.” He looks around, and I can see when his eyes lock on Skipper at the back of the yard. He drags his gaze back to me. “Your brother invited me. Hope you don’t mind.”

My brother invited my ex-boyfriend slash father of my daughter to his “random, spontaneous, last-minute” backyard gathering? Gee, what a coincidence.

“No, yeah. It’s fine. It’s good.” Stop talking. “We just got everything ready for lunch if you’re hungry?”

“I can always eat.”

He always could. Big guy, big appetite.

I stand stupidly next to the table as Jack begins making a plate for himself. It’s as if he belongs here, comfortable in his own skin even surrounded by strangers. Sure, he knows most of the men here. My brother may not still play football, but the majority of his friends do. They are my brother’s clients and best friends. His agent.

Jack clearly knows most of them.

He scoops a large heap of potato salad on his plate, followed by some watermelon, pasta, and three hot dogs, then he throws a hamburger onto the top. After he grabs a few napkins and a fork, he looks at me.