I don’t ask what that means, but I want to.
“So, you thinking of staying long term?” I ask instead, keeping it casual.
She picks up a blueberry and rolls it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth. “I want to, yeah. I like it here a lot, and I don’t wanna go back,” she adds, quieter. “Not to what I left.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and something in them tightens before she looks back down at her plate. There’s pain there, I think. A hurt. And I feel something simmer in my gut, wondering what or who is responsible for it.
Elle interrupts by announcing she’s going to invent a pancake that tastes like pizza, which makes Penny laugh again, and the heaviness lifts. I watch her as she reaches for another blueberry, as she listens to my daughter like she has nowhere better to be. She showed up, just as she said she would.
By the time the plates are mostly empty, and Elle’s fingers are tacky with syrup, she pushes back from the table with sudden purpose.
“Dr. Dahlia time.”
I groan quietly. “Already?”
“You said after pancakes!”
Damnit, I did.
Penny wipes her hands and smiles at me. “I feel like I’ve been invited to something exclusive.”
“You have,” I tell her. “Membership is intense.”
Elle darts for the remote and turns the television on before either of us gets a say in the matter. The bright and familiar theme music forScience with Dahliafills the room.
She drags a cushion off the couch and plants herself on the floor in front of it. But when Penny and I make our way over to sit on the couch, Elle changes her mind and climbs back up.
“You sit here,” she instructs Penny, patting the middle cushion.
Penny complies easily, folding her legs beneath her as she settles in. I sit on the other side, aware of the small strip of space between us that Elle is squeezing into, aware of it narrowing when Elle leans forward to point to the floor, where Gus collapses at our feet with a dramatic sigh.
I let out a silent exhale through my nose, hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from Penny’s shoulder to mine and the faint scent of her shampoo. It’s unsettling how easily she’s slipped comfortably into our routine.
On screen, Antarctica stretches out in blue and white silence. Penguins dot the ice in neat clusters while Dr. Dahlia narrates in her calm, friendly voice.
Elle begins whisper-commentating almost immediately, her head turning to me. “That one’s the dad. He’s holding the egg.”
“I can see that,” I mutter.
“He has to keep it warm.”
“I’m aware.”
Penny glances at me, amused. “Did you need a refresher?”
“I live here,” I say, my mouth twitching upward.
The camera shifts, and a pair of penguins shuffle closer together, bowing slightly. Dr. Dahlia’s voice remains maddeningly composed for the jumpscare she’s suddenly delivering.
“During mating season, male penguins will often present pebbles to potential partners—”
I close my eyes briefly, and Elle straightens like she’s just been given new information to learn.
“What’s mating?”
Penny’s shoulders still for half a second, then she looks at me. I consider combat rolling out of the room.
“It’s, um, when animals decide to have babies,” Penny says evenly, her tone calm and matter-of-fact. “Some animals have special seasons where they do that.”
