Page 21 of Chivalry is Not Dead

She and Sanders, both still a sugary mess, make their way into the kitchen to finish the task of making the cake.

I wet a towel, cleaning up the candy-coated chaos as best as I can.

“He’s good for you,” Grandmother says, inciting that now-familiar tug in my chest.

“I know he is,” I whisper. “But I can’t get attached. It’s the Graves way, is it not?”

The Graves line is a matriarchy for a reason. No one as far back as I know ever had a serious partner. Just someone to help continue on the line, that’s all I know about my biological father and grandfather. I suppose that’s our own curse.

“Oh Penelope.” Grandmother sighs. “Just because it’s the way something has always been done, doesn’t mean it has to be that way for you. You have always been special. You have always had the ability to choose your own destiny.”

“Have I?” It’s a genuine question. We’ve never had this discussion before. The Graves girls—it’s the way it’s always been, and I never thought to question it. No one ever made me want to.

“Of course,” she replies. “I’m sorry we ever led you to believe anything different.”

“Even if I did want to change my destiny, it’s not up to me. Sanders wants to find peace, and I need to help him go through the veil.”

“Sanders is also in charge of his own destiny,” she says.

I open my mouth to ask what she means when the kitchen door opens. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Penelope,” my mom sings.

Sanders follows behind her with a two-tier chocolate cake, thirty-one candles lit up, glowing light dancing across his face.

“You’ll burn the house down with that many candles,” Grandmother teases.

“Happy birthday to you,” Sanders finishes, placing the cake in front of me. “Make a wish—your mom told me that is a common practice on birthdays.”

I do make a wish, but, even if I never tell anyone, I make that wish knowing it won’t come true.

12

With her, I can fly.

In order to get Sanders on TV, I have to recruit Leah.

I know I will live to regret this, but she’s good at this kind of thing and my options are limited.

“There are a few different ways we can approach this,” Leah says, peering over the top of her computer. “Do we want to do something scripted or more of a documentary style?”

“I can’t picture Sanders following a script. More of a documentary style seems fitting…” I’m not quite sure what type of documentary we’d do about Sanders though. Glancing over at the man in question, I see that he’s made a pillow pile in front of the TV so he can watch the hockey game. Ever since he caught a glimpse of the “men flying on ice,” he’s been obsessed.

“Maybe we should get his eyes checked,” Leah quips.

All of a sudden, it dawns on me. “I have a brilliant idea!”

“Getting his eyes checked was my idea, Penny.”

“No, not that! Sanders added ice skating to his list yesterday. What if we went to the rink and you filmed it? Then he would get to watch himself ‘flying on ice.’”

Leah perks up. “I love that. I can see if Dane and some of his friends want to play—they’re all about Sanders’ skill level, so it would be an even match.”

My mouth curls up in a devilish grin. “Excellent idea, Leah.”

She flips her hair over both shoulders, really feeling herself. I know better than to boost her ego.

“Sanders!” I call, waiting until he peels his eyes off the game. “Want to learn how to fly on ice?”

“This is the best day of my life!” Sanders does not really fly… I would describe it more as a baby giraffe learning how to walk for the first time. But he sure does approach ice skating the same way he’s approached everything else on the list—with pure delight.