Page 35 of The Anaconda Downstairs

My heart went out to the kid. I couldn’t imagine growing up without the constant support of my family. “Tell you what, how about we make this a regular thing? You can come over once a week after school, and we’ll toss the ball around.”

Billy’s head snapped up, his eyes shining. “You mean it?”

I couldn’t believe I was going to say this but, “And if you want to talk about snakes or anything else, I’m all ears.”

“Really?” He gave me the side-eye for a minute. “You don’t gotta keep up with the Joneses or anything?”

I nodded, tossing him the ball. “Nah, the Joneses are trying to keep up with me. Now show me your spiral and I’ll run this time. We’ll make an all-star out of you yet, kid.”

We continued to play until the sun was about to set, and I figured Billy probably needed to get home for dinner or something. He was a good kid, and I’m sure his parents were doing their best. Maybe I’d give them tickets to the Christmas game next week and see if that loosened his dad up a bit.

After he was gone, I sat for a while in my backyard, sipping on a beer and listening to a little Kelsey Best playlist, and I thought about how sweet of an impression Pen had made on Billy. She was always going above and beyond the people in her life. It was just another reason why I was falling for her.

Fuck. No. I was not falling for Penelope.

I. Was. Not. Falling. For. Pen.

Another reason I needed to step back and let her find someone who could fall in love with her. She deserved that.Even if that someone was a pint-sized snake enthusiast who was about twenty years too young for her.

MAKEOVER MONTAGE

PENELOPE

“Ihave nothing to wear,” I groaned, flopping dramatically onto Trixie’s bed.

Trixie and Jules exchanged amused glances. I’d called an emergency meeting with them after Everett’s cryptic text about our next lesson. He’d also told me I was supposed to wear cocktail attire, because we were going somewhere a bit fancier. But the only other clue he’d given was that it was holiday themed since it was the week before Christmas.

I absolutely could not handle not knowing and Jules, using her superiffic sneaky spy skills found out that Ev was talking me to a holiday speed dating event. Just the thought made my palms sweat, made my everything sweat.

“And I don’t even know how to do my makeup for speed dating. Is it like regular dating? More glam? Less glam? I’m doomed.”

He wanted me to talk to a whole room full of men? It was ludicrous. I’d probably end up throwing up on one of them, and knowing me, it would be some sort of sparkling red and green Christmas drink I’d barf up.

“Pen, honey,” Trixie said, patting my arm, “you could show up in a potato sack and still turn heads.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. Because nothing says, ‘date me’ like burlap chic.”

Jules bounced on the bed next to me. “You know what? This calls for a makeover montage.”

I sat up, eyeing her warily. “A what now?”

“You heard me,” Jules grinned. “We’re going full-on chick flick. Spa, salon, shopping, the works.” She held up a hand as I opened my mouth to protest. “I know the media portrays makeovers as a fix. Like if we make ourselves more beautiful, specifically to fulfill male sexual desires, then we’ll feel worthy. And that is utter bullshit.”

Trixie and I both stared at our youngest fighter in the feminist revolution. How she was so much smarter than the rest of us at a youthful age, well, I’d like to say I’d never know, but I think a lot of it had to do with finding her own place in a family of eight men. If anyone was going to crush the patriarchy, it was Jules Kingman. And her father and brothers would be right there cheering her on.

“We’re getting makeovers for ourselves and no one else. Because when we feel beautiful inside and out, that is when we are unstoppable.”

Trixie raised her hands hallelujah-style like we were at some kind of revival and Jules was the speaker of truths. “Exactly. You’re already gorgeous, Pen. We’re just going to help you see it and feel it.”

I knew I wasn’t repulsive, although it had taken some serious inner work and reflection after the kinds of rejections I’d gotten from every man I’d ever had in my life before I genuinely believed that. But did I really?

Or was there still a small evil voice inside that said no man would want to date me or have sex with me?

Maybe.

Most days I could tell that voice to shut up. I was surrounded by amazing women who told the world they were enough every single day. I loved to be around them, supporting them, helping them prove to the world that all bodies were beautiful.

So why didn’t I actually, truly, totally believe that mine was?

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