“So, your mama’s still pretty upset?” she asks.
“She’s in a right state for sure. Tried to use my dad as a go-between. Even though we’re sitting in the same room, she’d say… ‘Roy… tell your son that I am thoroughly embarrassed by this.’ And then my dad would sigh and turn to me sitting two feet away, and say, ‘Son… your mom is thoroughly embarrassed by this.’”
Penny covers her mouth with her hand and giggles. I chuckle, because it is as funny as it is frustrating. “And what’s your dad really think?”
“See… that’s the interesting thing. I don’t think he’s as put out by it as Mama claims. He was trying to be the peacemaker, but he never said anything derogatory to me. The opposite, really.”
“Maybe you need a private conversation with him,” she suggests.
“Yeah, probably. He’s the only one who could probably reason with her.” I watch Penny slide a forkful of the pot pie into her mouth. “So… things are looking to get weird.”
She lifts her eyebrows, chewing.
“Pap asked for a case of my books to sell from the bar.”
Penny smiles, nods and swallows, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “Oh, I love him.”
“He said, and I quote, ‘If folks are gonna drink and gossip, they can read somethin’ worth their time.’ He’s planning a ‘Books and Bourbon’ night. Wants me to do a reading tomorrow.”
Her face lights up with excitement. “Please say you’re going to do it.”
“I told him I’d think about it.”
“Translation… you already said yes.”
I shrug, caught. “Translation… I already said yes.”
“Larkin’s told me she’s going to add them to her reading shelf in Sweet Cakes,” Penny adds, smug. “People can read about love while eating croissants and lemon bars. She made a little sign that says ‘Love pairs well with frosting.’”
I groan into my glass. “You people are going to ruin my tough-guy image.”
“Too late.” She sips her wine, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Also, Muriel told off a couple of her church friends this afternoon while they were baking. They made a comment about ‘keeping wholesome spaces wholesome,’ and she said—and I quote—‘You can’t call love sinful when you’ve been praying to find it since 1974, Lorraine.’”
I choke on a laugh. “She did not.”
“She did.”
The humor softens, leaving something truer behind. “It’s a strange feeling,” I admit, “having half the town show up for me and the other half holding signs I don’t think they understand.”
Penny turns her fork in her fingers, thinking. “Where we live, faith and fear sometimes share a hymnbook,” she says. “People are taught that modesty equals morality and anything outside the lines is dangerous. It’s not alwayscruelty—it’s habit. It’s how they were raised and I might not like it, but I do understand it.”
“Same.” I poke at a pea on my plate. “But it’s hard seeing my mom scared of something I’m proud of. It’s making it hard for me to identify with this new life.”
“You’re a good son and a man who writes love stories,” she says. “You can love your roots and still grow past them. I have a hunch that your mama’s love is deeper than her fear and she’ll come around.”
“I hope so,” I reply. “Because I know that I can’t give this up when it’s just getting started. I want this too much.”
“And you shall have it,” she says with a nod.
“You know they’re not just after romance,” I say after a pause. “Half the books that get banned have nothing to do with sex.To Kill a Mockingbird, because it makes people uncomfortable.The Color Purple, because it tells the truth.The Hate U Give, because it asks hard questions.1984, because irony is dead. I saw a list last month that hadCharlotte’s Webon it—talking animals were deemed ‘inappropriate.’”
Penny blinks. “If talking pigs are the downfall of society, we’ve got bigger problems.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m with you. And this issue is so much more important than them wanting to ban my books. Stories are how people practice empathy. Take them away, and you end up with folks who only knowthe world they already agree with.”
She reaches across and covers my hand. “The best way you can fight is to keep writing what you do. And we keep reading them. And tomorrow, you let Derek post your face, and you stand up in your own name.”
I look at our hands. “You make it sound simple.”
