CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

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2022

          I wished I could say there haven't been many moments in my life where I'd been left speechless and paralyzed, but anyone who knew the slightest thing about me would know that was the furthest thing from the truth. My parents, out of all people in the world, saw right through me and my bravado whenever they could, including in situations where the last thing I wanted was for them to know me.

          Growing up, that was everything I'd ever wanted—to be seen by my parents, to be seen as a professional equal outside of their personal relationship with me, to be able to step out of their shadow for once in my life—but now there were more important things at stake, and I couldn't possibly allow for my personal, selfish whims to ruin the rest of my life. I'd come so far already; surely this wouldn't be the one thing that brought everything crashing down.

          My heart thumped against my chest so hard I feared my frail body would explode into a million little pieces, but I prayed those feelings and fears weren't reflected on my face. My poker face wasn't particularly great and I didn't trust the person I was around my parents, so all of it came down to wishful thinking on my part, but that wasn't something I could, in good faith, place my entire trust into. Ironically, I found I worked best with certainties, and my neurosis would never allow me to live in the moment or to trust the process; I needed to know every outcome of every little thing that I did or that I was minimally involved in.

          "Did I do something wrong?" I tentatively asked, though I feared that would be a serious mistake. It was second nature to assume I was to blame for anything negative that happened around me, but this was the one situation where I couldn't place myself front and center. Inserting myself in a narrative my parents didn't know I was a part of was dangerous. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

          "No, honey," my mother said. My hands were so gelid my brain hardly even registered the gentle caress her fingers left across my knuckles, in an attempt to make me relax easier. The rough part of it all was that I was unable to sit in front of them, look them in the eye, and pretend to be unbothered when all I wanted to do was either run away and never see them again or blow myself up. "You're not in trouble. We just want to make sure you're okay."

          I furrowed my brows, staring down at the condensation on my cold glass. "I'm not sure I'm following. Why wouldn't I be okay? It's my senior year, and graduation is right around the corner. My grades are okay, my senior project just needs a few more adjustments until I can finally—"

          "See, that's exactly where we're trying to get," my father chimed in. A rush of freezing horror ran through me, locking me in place just when I thought I'd be able to dramatically leave the table. He hadn't raised his voice or switched into an aggressive tone, but everyone understood how serious the conversation had become; he'd always been intimidating to other people, including Chase, but never to me. I knew my father enough to not ever fear him, but my life had shifted in priorities throughout the years, and presenting myself as the perfect daughter to two perfect parents had dropped considerably. "We're not sure how much you know about . . . recent events and their developments, but we also want to ensure you're not being unfairly punished over things that don't involve or implicate you in any way."

          The conversation was now fading into a side of the relationship I was slightly less uncomfortable around, but I still wanted to have no part in it. I'd gotten involved the moment my name had been dropped during a conversation I hadn't even witnessed, and being accused of slithering into the men's private business like some calculating snake was hardly fair. I hadn't asked for anything other than Chase's happiness, preferably including me, and all I'd gotten out of this unsigned business deal had been unsolicited destructive feedback on my work.

          Even after all these years had passed and we approached the end of the secrecy, the age difference between Chase and me was still a sore spot, though I couldn't tell which of us was more affected by it. I hated feeling so inexperienced next to him, both at a professional and at a relational level, and comparing myself to the women in his immediate circle was heartbreaking—that was something I'd never become. I was terrified he'd grow frustrated with my inability to keep up with a fast paced world he adored so much, even after graduation, even when we'd no longer have to pretend to mean nothing to each other publicly any more. Having my name dragged through the mud to prove a point, to prove I would never be good enough for him or for the industry, had utterly destroyed me, especially when I wanted so badly for him to see how deep the wounds were.

          Naturally, I couldn't let any of these dumb fears and even stupider feelings transpire. They sounded ridiculous even without voicing them aloud, and I'd never been great with words, such was the curse placed upon an introspective person. All my drafts for my senior project—whatever little I'd written and rewritten so far—were messy and incoherent, a jumbled mess of thoughts that had disconnected somewhere along the way. I'd write something down, convince myself that would be the perfect idea, and then I'd spend hours upon hours plucking flaws and rewriting everything until I ended up with something that barely resembled my original piece. Everything I wrote sounded foolish and childish, and my own thoughts weren't that much more mature.

          Breaking the rules and lying to my parents wasn't nearly as exhilarating as it had once been, back when I was living for the adrenaline rush brought by sneaking around with Chase. Now that we were older, now that we functioned on auto-pilot because everything was so ingrained in our minds, I was simply exhausted. I hated not being able or allowed to be honest with them—or with him when it came to this particular sore subject, for that matter—and it served as a reminder of everything that this isolation had taken from me. It would be worth it in the end, sure, but there were still miles to go before then.

          "If it doesn't concern me, then I'm sure there's nothing to be worried about," I risked pointing out. "I'm okay." 

          The tension between us was palpable, so thick only a diamond could cut through it or even leave a dent, and I was lucky to still have the presence of mind to be aware that no one who truly had nothing to hide would ever act this defensive. With every word that slipped out of my mouth, with every stiff way I squared back my shoulders to appear far more confident than I felt in reality, I dug the wedge between us even deeper than I ever thought possible.

          My life had turned into a whole load of that, attempting to convince myself I was okay when I was in fact miserable, but the ease with which one grew used to feeling that way was daunting. I'd gotten addicted to feeling so abysmally low, to watching seconds, minutes, hours, days of my life go by without any changes, surviving on the slivers of hope brought by waiting around for the one person in the world who truly cared about me, the one person who would always come back. Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, it had worked out.

          Chase was the only person who I could share this isolation with. To have someone else, including my parents, insinuate this was punishment was insulting by itself.

          "He'd been trying to talk to me about a script he'd been working on for a few years," my father explained. It took every fiber of patience left in me to keep listening. "Usually I don't give out professional opinions like that, but Stephen likes him so much that I felt like I owed him a favor, so I thought it couldn't hurt to finally reach out. I don't know if he was expecting a full movie deal or something like that, but I'm also not one to sugarcoat things. If he wants feedback, that's what he's going to get."

          "I still don't understand why I'd even be punished for this," I insisted. "He's my professor and senior advisor; I trust both of us can keep things separate. It's not because he's been coming over for dinner with you guys and Stephen for nearly four years at this point that he should show me any kind of special treatment. You made sure of it."

          "We know, cariño. It's just . . ." He momentarily went quiet when the food arrived, though my appetite was long gone by then. I stared down at my veggie burger and felt my stomach revolve like the ocean; it looked less appetizing the longer I stared at it, even though I'd been so hungry moments prior, but it was far better than having to look at my parents when they were ripping me apart. "This brings me no joy to admit and I'm truly ashamed of myself, but I was the one to mention you. I thought it would serve as motivation for him to present me with an improved version of the script next time we met if I tried to treat him the way I'd treat you, but he didn't take it well. He thought it was insulting to have his work compared to yours when you're still learning, which, by itself, is such a stupid thing to be offended by. Everyone is always learning, even me." He scoffed. I didn't need to be reminded that I was nothing but an immature child without a talented bone in my body. "It wasn't meant to be an insult, but I can't control how other people interpret feedback. What bothered me was how personally he seemed to take it; at least I compared him to someone who actually has talent and works hard. That's why we wanted to talk to you, Penny. We didn't want these negative feelings towards me to transpire into your academic relationship with each other in any way. If anything happens, if you feel he's getting rough or overly critical—"

          "I'm fine," I snapped. Their eyes softened when I dared to look up, like the worst possible thing I could be in public with them was weak and vulnerable, and I hated that I was giving someone else the power to upset me like that—with mere words, even. I was supposed to be stronger than that, right? Hadn't I been through enough? Hadn't I been hardened enough? "I can take care of myself. I don't need you to micromanage every single aspect of my life."

          My mother, ever the actress, barely held back a gasp. "We don't micromanage you. In fact, I think we're the least involved we could possibly be; weeks will go by without us hearing a thing from you and, if we don't reach out to you, you won't either."

          "If I had anything to say—"

         "We'll be honest with you," my father continued, like I hadn't even uttered a word. As always, as I always did whenever someone raised their voice at me, I leaned back on my seat, the urge to make myself smaller and disappear overpowering me with ease. "We like Chase. We think he's a good screenwriter and, according to you, he's a good professor, but there's something about the way he conducts himself that doesn't leave us feeling too at ease. We're not sure whether spending this much time around him is healthy for you."

          Sweat ran down the nape of my neck. Deep down, deep in the hollows of my heart, I knew they knew. They had to know at least something, an infinitesimally small portion of the truth, even unconsciously. "I don't—"

          "You shrink when he's in the room, Penny. It's like he sucks out all the air in every room, all the light out of you." He leaned forward, reaching out for one of my hands, which I promptly moved out of the way. "That's not the kind of person you should try to impress. I know we haven't given you the proper guidance about the people you need to approach if you want to succeed, but you need to go after those who bring the light. Not the ones who—"

          "Please, please leave me alone. Nothing's going on."

          "Penny—"

          "I'm fine. Okay? I'm fucking fine." I shoved the table forward with surprising strength, then grabbed my coat. I was glad I'd had the decency to leave the ring behind, as it was yet another source of major anxiety, and I no longer had the strength to keep fighting with people over what they thought was the best for me. I knew what I wanted, and I'd gotten it all. My insides were nanoseconds away from imploding, the corners of my vision reddening until all I saw was blood—blood everywhere. "If you don't want to believe me, then fine, but don't try to ruin my future over assumptions that simply aren't true. It's always great to know you don't think I'm capable of making good decisions on my own."

          "You went to court without telling us"—I froze, both from the icy tone coating my mother's voice and from the reveal, something I'd spent three whole years attempting to hide from them almost as vehemently as I'd been hiding Chase—"and thought we wouldn't find out. You thought that was something you could do on your own, and look at you, Penelope. It's been wrecking you for years. Everything you keep bottled up inside will eat you alive."

          "It's none of your business. I'm really sorry if you think my personal life is so scandalous it would ruin your reputation. Rest assured, I'll stay away from you."

          "Listen to yourself! Listen to what you're saying!" She looked back at me with those big, dark eyes of hers, and it was almost like staring in the mirror. Everything I didn't want to be. "This isn't you. It's not."

          "It is. If you can't take it, find someone else to exploit. I'm done here."

          It was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my whole life, but I turned my back on my parents. I couldn't bring myself to look back over my shoulder to check their reactions before I regretted it, but I still knew it was for the best.

          I wasn't on my own, so I'd eventually have to shake off that familiar fear. I'd still have Chase.

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          I wouldn't get to have Chase that night, but us being apart on my birthday was a relationship staple at that point. Hadn't I had that conversation with my parents, hadn't it unfolded the tenebrous way it had, I would be able to properly cope with his absence, but I spent the whole drive back to campus sobbing like an idiot.

          There was something hollow in my chest, like everything inside me had been carved out and put on display at the bistro, and the simplest way of explaining how I felt was humiliated. Though nothing had been specifically said, I knew how to read between the lines, being far too obsessed with the crushing weight of every single person in the world's opinion of me and my character, and I felt like they had skinned me. My deepest fears, my deepest worries, the softer parts of me had all been scooped out for the entire world to see and scrutinize and laugh at—they'd laugh at how ridiculous I was, clinging to a single person and expecting it to be the solution to all my problems. The LA situation hadn't left my mind for a second, either, but I didn't know when—or if—I'd get a chance to bring it up without turning it into a selfish monologue about not being able to deal with abandonment, even if it was temporary.

          I couldn't cut ties with my parents, not permanently, but they had hurt me far more than Chase ever did that night, and that was inexcusable. They'd always fought to teach me to stand up for myself and, the second I'd done exactly what they wanted, everything had backfired. It wasn't something I believed we'd ever come back from, at least not unscathed, and it would leave a permanent dent in our relationship, regardless of how hard we worked to cover it up.

          It was how everything worked with me—I felt things too intensely, even those that, objectively, shouldn't be that too big of a deal, and that had caused numerous issues in my personal life and in my relationships. Taking things too personally and attempting to hit people right back where it hurt had nearly cost me Chase one too many times, and I'd devoted the last three and a half years of my life to him, cutting off everyone else because they'd never be able to give me what I wanted. With my parents, it was different. I had their blood flowing in my veins, whether I was willing to accept that fact or not, and it hadn't stopped them from making a public demonstration of repulsion over what I'd done to ensure a happy future for myself. Bringing up the trial had been the last straw, no matter the intent behind that comment, and there were some things that were simply unforgivable. If they wanted to play dirty, they could do so on their own, as I refused to be a pawn in that kind of game.

          I wanted to be the queen of the board. I wanted the king.

          Needless to say, I wasn't in a partying mood by the time I parked my car in the campus parking lot, putting the ring back on, and I certainly wasn't feeling any better throughout the rest of the day. I powered through those last few hours before people started flooding our apartment, like it wasn't the middle of an extremely busy week, and the only thing I wanted to do was lock myself in my room and kick everyone out, but I didn't want Ingrid and Savannah to accuse me of being a loser.

          It was funny, I thought, how much power I gave those two and how much time I'd spend agonizing over their hypothetical thoughts regarding my person. In just a few months, I wouldn't even be thinking about them or however they felt about me; if anything, I'd be cursing myself for having behaved like an immature schoolgirl, falling prey to mean girl cycles of behavior. It was exhausting to even acknowledge we'd ever been close, the three of us, and the distance between me and them was more evident than ever.

          "Lighten up a bit," Ingrid begged me, taking my hands in hers and attempting to make me sway side to side, which she ultimately failed at. I wasn't much of a dancer, having the coordination of Bambi on ice, and it secretly brought me great joy to witness her fail at trying to turn me into her little pity project. "It's your birthday. You don't want to spend it sulking around in a corner, right? You look beautiful, but you're letting everyone else outshine you."

          Nothing good ever followed a comment along the lines of you look beautiful, but, and that had been no exception. Maybe I did look beautiful, but if I did, I also looked like my mother, which was everything I'd been trying to avoid since lunch.

          I'd gotten my hair done in the meantime—redyed it that shade of auburn I'd liked so much a few years back, fixed my bangs so I could wear them properly and let them frame my face instead of brushing them back, which sharpened the already strong angles of my cheekbones—and was wearing maroon, as opposed to the black clothes my mother would've worn for a birthday party. This wasn't as glamorous as those she attended, naturally, and I'd outgrown my petty rebellion phase years ago—if I'd ever gone through it at all—so all of the effort I'd put into setting the differences between us straight had all been for nothing.

          "I'm feeling a bit sick, actually," I told her, stepping back so she'd drop her hands, and she turned her back to me to reach out for a bottle of tequila. Standing in the kitchen, by the designated area where pseudo-bartenders would prepare drinks, things almost felt normal and amicable between the two of us. It wasn't a lie; I'd been trapped in a semi-constant state of nausea for a while. "I've been having the most god awful day, and things feel a bit . . . overwhelming right now."

          "Mom and Dad stuff?"

          I chuckled, though the situation wasn't humorous in the slightest. "You could say that. My mother randomly dropped the bomb on me that she knows about the trial."

          Ingrid briefly looked back at me over her shoulder, face partially obscured by her platinum hair. Under the bright lights of our kitchen, it looked white, and she was angelic, ethereal. "Jesus. Are you okay?"

          I shrugged. "I don't know. It was an ugly argument and I don't know how and if we'll ever bounce back. I said some really hurtful things." Ingrid grimaced, silently agreeing with me, and I leaned forward to set my elbows on the cold surface of the counter separating us. The simple smell of the tequila she was pouring into shot glasses was enough to make me gag. "I've just been super stressed out lately. I haven't been sleeping much, I feel sick to my stomach all the time—"

          "Maybe there's a bun in the oven."

          I knew it was a joke.

          During Savannah's pregnancy scare from last year, we'd both joked about being aunts, knowing it would bring us the pleasure of being in a child's life without being directly responsible for them, and I didn't think for a second I'd be emotionally able to carry a pregnancy during these circumstances. It would be mortifying, and the hoops I'd have to jump through to make up a believable lie would stress both me and Chase out even further, something we didn't need. Not before LA, anyway.

          I found myself frozen in place, considering the possibility. I'd been so ill for so long, could not remember the last time I'd gone on a tampon run to Target, but I'd still stomached alcoholic beverages on occasion; along with my other unhealthy habits—barely eating, barely sleeping, being constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown—this would be the second immaculate conception. It could very well be true, and it would ruin my life if it were.

          Not just mine.

          "Penn?"

          I looked up, blinking away the sudden tears covering my eyes. "I don't know."

          "I was joking." She walked up to me, hands in front of her like she was approaching a wounded animal on the side of the road. "You're hyperventilating. Are you actually pregnant?"

          "I don't know, Ingrid."

          She bit her bottom lip, throwing a quick glance towards the living room, then focused back on me. "Let's go. I'll go with you and get you a test."

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how many surprise pregnancy tropes can i get away with if one of them is hypothetical. discuss. i don't particularly like writing it, don't really mind reading it, but it's strange that it has happened twice when i have no desire of becoming a mother myself LOL anyway, i'm very much aware people tend to not like it very much, and that's okay. it's not really a spoiler if i tell you to not worry about a pregnancy in this book or even a miscarriage (i would've added it to the warnings portion of the foreword otherwise). penn will be fine. don't let the chases of the world procreate. however, this particular plot point IS important and needed to be included

on other news: shit's getting real. do we think penn's parents know? do we not? let me know your thoughts. mwah mwah

no one asked but if you must know what i've been reading and enjoying: the blood in the water by my incredible, beautiful, talented friend falling-into-you is absolutely WONDERFUL. if you like longer chapters, a dash of enemies to lovers, and books about writers, that's your new favorite read