Page 23 of Dream House
“Shhh!”Pen flaps her hands and scowls her disappointment in me. “No. No. She’s a force, but a force of change and creation. I’m surprised you can’t see that.”
“I didn’t say I—”
“And she smells like gardenias and lemonade.” Pen’s scowl melts away and her gaze drifts back to Livy, who’s now peering into the closet.
“Oh, well, in that case—” But she’s not listening to me.
Livy shuts the closet door and nails me with her stare. “And where’s the bathroom?”
“Just next door.” I point the way, and she does a quick sweep of the hall bath. It’s not small, and it’s clean and bright with a frosted window that doesn’t completely obscure the view of the cemetery.
“And I’d be sharing this with how many people?” she asks flatly.
“Two for now,” I say, gesturing towards Nina’s shut door at the end of the hall. “But there’s another room for rent, so it could be three.”
“Let’s see the other room.” To say that her speech pattern is clipped would be generous. I try to lock eyes with Pen to see if she’s picking up on Livy’s rudeness, but she’s grinning like the time we smoked a bowl and watched dolphins frolic at Panama Beach on senior trip.
I lead them across the hall to the bedroom that faces the street. The traffic noise from University Avenue is louder here and it’s smaller than the other room, but it has a window seat tucked into the dormer with built-in bookshelves on either side.
Livy tilts her gaze up to the ceiling. There’s not much to see up there, but I’m glad Nina did such a good job clearing out the cobwebs last night.
“I’ll take this one,” Livy says to the ceiling.
Pen sucks in a breath. I resist the urge to roll my eyes again.
“Can I Venmo you my deposit and first month’s rent? I’d like to move in on Saturday.”
“Sure, I’ll—”
“I have to go,” Livy says to me then turns to face Pen and Pen alone. “Our Southern Poverty Law Center Student Alliance is having a chapter meeting at the library tonight. I’m the secretary. Would you like to come?”
Pen is still wearing the smoked-a-bowl smile, but her eyes squint with obvious regret. “I’m not a student.”
For the first time, Livy smiles. If I thought she shined before, it was nothing like this. A leprechaun’s own pot of gold couldn’t out dazzle her. Even I’m not immune. I smile too.
But Pen shivers.
“Of course you’re not,” Livy says through her million dollar smile. “You’d be my guest.”
I can’t believe it, but my best friend—the one who dragged me into a cemetery at midnight under a full moon to summon spirits of the dead before we were even old enough to drive—looks nervous.
Pen. A woman who opens her front door to bouncers from Marley’s Bar after closing time just to see if they really are bouncy.
Penelope Harper. Artist. Witch. Woman. With the confidence of Aphrodite and the beauty of Nefertiti.
She balks at Livy’s invitation.
“I-I-I… can’t tonight.” She swallows so strongly I expect her to cluck.
Livy and I await more—an explanation, an excuse. Something. But nothing comes.
Pen squeezes her hands into fists and then releases them like she’s grasping for a lifeline. “I’ll walk you out,” she finally blurts.
You know how you can be so embarrassed for someone else it physically hurts? The trip down the stairs and to the front door is so full of awkward stammerings and false starts, I have to tune it out.
Once Livy signs her lease and confirms I’ve received her Venmo transfer, she leaves without saying goodbye. Pen closes the door behind her and presses her head to its solid length.
“What just happened?” she groans into the wood.
