Page 49 of The Mash Up
“Of course,” he says. “Because you want to feel safe.”
I swallow hard. He’s right. I feel okay only if Ryan’s okay.
“You’ve got to let go of all that old guilt,” Penn says. “It was a fluke.”
“But I forced him to come with us.”
“Yeah, and accidents happen. We make a million tiny choices every day, and sometimes a little one turns out to be big.” He shrugs. “We were kids. Ease up on yourself.”
I snort. “It’s not that simple.”
“Maybe not,” he agrees. “But you start like this. You talk about it and remember that you’re human.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “You are, aren’t you?”
I laugh and elbow him. He grins back.
“There’s no right way to do anything,” Penn adds. “You just do your best.”
I nod, remembering how alone and ashamed I felt in the months after the accident, no matter how many times Ryan told me to let it go.
“What about you?” I ask. “You seemed so…fine, after everything.”
Penn stares at his shoes, swinging them back and forth. “I wasn’t. I just handled it differently. You got safer, and I…”
“Went wild,” I finish for him, and he nods.
I resented Penn for all the late, wild nights that came after. I was endlessly, unspeakably grateful that he’d helped Ryan, but I was also angry that he’d been the hero—him, of all people,stepping up when I didn’t. Penn teased me about it a few times in the aftermath, but I didn’t take the jokes well. I was still too raw. And I felt angry whenever Ryan went out with Penn, because it felt like he didn’t need me.
Heavy shame muted me for months. Made me want to root in place. Made me shift college plans and reimagine my future—one where I would be there, always.
“I felt like life was too short,” Penn says. “I didn’t want to have a single regret, so I followed my gut wherever it led, even if it didn’t make sense. Especially then. I didn’t want fear to hold me back.” He slides me a look. “That’s why I was so happy when you went to Berkeley. And when you opened the rink. That’s when I knew you were still you.”
A stinging starts behind my eyes.
That wasn’t me. Fear does hold me back.
I’ve always been cautious, but after that night, I only grew more careful. More afraid. And I cold-shouldered Penn, frustrated that he seemed okay—that he thrived, even—while I felt haunted by every possible what-if. By my own mistake.
But Penn was doing his best. Dealing with it the only way he knew how.
I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn and afraid. I wish I’d opened up to Penn and thanked him. Admitted I was embarrassed. Been honest instead of pushing him away.
Maybe there’s still time for all that.
His business card is made with nice, thick cardstock, and for some reason, the thought of Penn designing and printing these cards at Jo’s Prints makes my chest tighten. “Acts of service,” I observe, spinning it between my fingers. “That’s your love language, too. Isn’t it?”
A slow half-smile. He nods, then asks, “What’s yours?”
“The act of unsubscribing? Arriving early? A shared calendar?”
Penn laughs, leaning back on his palms. Then, pensive, he studies me and says, “It’s not receiving gifts. You don’t care about that. And you’ve never needed words of affirmation, either.”
I shouldn’t be surprised—of course Penn knows me—but it’s startling, feeling so seen. Even here, where parts of me are different.
“Is it quality time?” he asks.
“I don’t have time for quality time.”
“A whole different issue. We need to table that for another day.”
