Chapter Thirty-Five
Darren
When Penny came into the room that morning, I was still wearing the same clothes I had been wearing for the past couple days. Embarrassed, I instinctively drifted toward the back of the room. I didn’t want her getting close enough to be able to smell me.
“You alright?” she asked, sensing my unease. “I brought you some breakfast.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a Tupperware container with a red lid. “Pancakes, sausage, onions, and hash browns. At this point the pancakes are cold, but I didn’t think you would mind.”
“You’ve no idea.” I ran over and grabbed the container and took it back to my corner. “Last night I was so hungry I broke down and bought a bag of Bugles out of the vending machine.”
“You definitely look like you’ve fallen on hard times,” said Penny. My stomach twisted into a knot—did I really look that bad? “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the funeral?”
“Pen, you know I love you, but there’s no way I’m going to your dad’s funeral looking like this. I’d need to go home and get cleaned up first. And I want to be here when Dickie comes out of his coma.”
“Suit yourself,” said Penny, though I detected a hint of sadness in her voice. “Nic’s waiting for me downstairs, so I need to get going, but I hope this won’t be the last time I see you.”
I knew what she was getting at; I had a habit of disappearing for weeks at a time, as though waiting for her to come find me. “I promise you won’t have to wait a whole week before you hear from me again.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said with a sad smile. She turned and left.
I sat down in the chair beside Dickie’s bed and opened up the Tupperware container. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have found the sight of cold pancakes remotely appetizing, but I was famished. My stomach gave a loud rumble as I cut into the first pancake with a plastic fork, wishing I had some butter and syrup to put on them. Penny had never been the best of cooks, but she more than made up for it with her other fine qualities.
Our fight over the weekend had exposed to me just how easily I could lose the relationship. Ever since, I had been feeling oddly shy, not wanting to do anything that might put it at risk. I was still replaying our last conversation in my head when Dickie groaned and stirred and opened his eyes.
I sat up slowly in my seat, not wanting to startle him. “Dickie,” I whispered, “are you alright?”
Dickie moaned softly and turned to face me, his eyes blinking back tears. “Where am I? Was there an accident?”
“There was. You’re quite lucky to be alive, actually. The Mustang exploded just as they were pulling you out.”
“Damn.” He was quiet for a moment, apparently reflecting on this turn of events. “Well, sorry I wrecked your car.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re alive. For a long time, nobody was sure whether you were ever going to come out of that coma.”
“Coma? How long have I been asleep?”
“Almost three days.”
Dickie blinked back surprise. “Is that how long it’s been since you’ve had a bath?”
“Hey now!” I said, laughing in spite of myself. “There’s no one else in the world who would’ve kept vigil by your bed for two nights in a row.”
“Maybe not, but you’re allowed to go home. Who brought you the pancakes?”
“Penny.”
“How is she?”
“Doing a lot better than she was a couple days ago. I think she’s been dreading his death for so long, it was almost a relief when it actually happened.” I decided not to tell him about the fight we had had, not yet. There would be plenty of time to talk about all of that later, once we were out of the hospital.
***
We talked for about half an hour before he threw me out of his room and told me to go home. I drove home, tore off my clothes, and climbed into the shower, letting the warm water pour over me. I had gotten too lost in my own head lately, worrying about Dickie and what Penny thought about me. It felt good to let go of all that. There in the shower, I didn’t have to please anyone. I just was.
I hadn’t gone grocery shopping in at least a week, but I found a supreme pizza hidden in the back of the freezer under a bag of assorted vegetables. I was just preheating the oven when my phone buzzed. It was Penny.
“Hey, how was the funeral?”
“It was…a funeral,” said Penny. It sounded like she had been crying. “Where are you?”
“I’m at home. I was just about to make dinner.”
There was a slight pause, and then Penny asked in a quiet voice, “Do you mind if I come over?”
“Of course not.”
“Thanks. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She hung up.
I sat at the kitchen table waiting for the oven to finish warming up. It had been so long since Penny and I had been alone together, and my body missed her. I missed the weird, rambling stories that she seemed to tell me and only me, as if she didn’t feel at home around anyone else. I missed the slope of her shoulders and her chipmunk cheeks and the lilac scent of her hair. I missed hearing her talk about the characters in her book as if they were real people, her eyes wide with excitement.
She showed up at the door half an hour later. She was wearing a brown leather jacket, high-waisted jeans, and a low-necked blue and white shirt spotted with blue dots, and it was obvious that she had been crying up until about two minutes before.
“You mind if I come in?” she asked softly.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have invited you over.”
“I guess that’s true.” She followed me into the living room and set down her purse on the couch, kicking off her boots in the process. “Would you just hold me for a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I just want to be held, is all.” I came over and put my arms around her. From a distance, she seemed mostly composed, but now I could feel her body shaking.
“You know what I love about you?” I asked after we’d been standing there for a moment in silence.
“Mmmm?” She shifted imperceptibly and nestled into me.
“How when you want to be loved, you don’t make any secret about it. You just come right out and tell me. I’ll never forget the night you sent me the first three chapters of your book. And after I had finished reading them, you called me and said, ‘Just tell me that you love it. I just want to hear you say that you love it.’ And finally, I said, ‘I love the story, and you,’ and you said, ‘See, that was perfect,’ and you fell asleep.”
“Well, I was really tired,” said Penny. “I probably didn’t even know what I was saying at that point.”
“I think you meant it, though.” I brushed my thumb against her cheek. “I’ve known so many girls who tried to be mysterious because they thought it made them more interesting. It’s such a relief not having to guess what you’re feeling.”
Penny stared up at me with her large eyes. “What am I feeling right now?”
“If I had to guess…” I studied her face for a moment. “I think you’re probably feeling pretty miserable and worn out. But you’re secretly really pleased to see me.”
“I guess it’s not really much of a secret, is it?” she said in a tone of disappointment, shivered, and pulled me closer.
“Anything I can do for you?”
Penny shook her head.
“You sure? Do you want to go into our talk room?”
Our talk room wasn’t an actual room; it was a thing we had made up. Whenever one or both of us was feeling stressed, we would go into the “talk room” and talk it out. Over the last few weeks, we had spent an unusual amount of time imagining what this room looked like. There was a shabby couch toward the back of the room and a purple throw rug in the center. We even had a guard alligator named Lennie who stood watch over the front door and made sure no intruders got in.
Penny didn’t answer at first. Instead, she stood there looking hesitant.
“I’ll bring out the guitar if it helps,” I said. Sometimes I would play the guitar while she was talking.
“Would you tell me you love me?” Penny said at last, with an effort. “Just tell me you love me, even if you don’t mean it.”
“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” I asked, almost laughing. “Pen, why would I lie to you?”
“Just say it,” said Penny miserably. “You’re making me think you don’t want to say it. I just want to hear it with your lips.”
“Okay.” I bent low and kissed her once on the mouth. “That better?”
“I guess,” she said in a pouty voice, sticking her lip out in a manner that was almost unbearably cute. “Don’t tell your girlfriend you love her. Just kiss her and hope it’ll distract her. Maybe she won’t even notice.”
“Did you notice?”
“I totally noticed.”
“Well here, how about this?” I planted a single kiss in the center of her forehead. She shut her eyes tight, as though praying. “I love you.” Once on the nose, more quietly: “I love you.” Once more on the mouth, more quietly still, “I love you. Is that better?”
Penny nodded. There were tears in her eyes now. “I think… I think that’ll do.” She let out a loud sniff and laughed miserably. “Sorry I’m crying all over you, and my face is covered in snot.”
“Penny, I’ll be honest with you,” I said, smiling in spite of myself: “I’ve never wanted you more than I do right now.”