Penelope had never been as exhausted as she felt right now.
Every part of her body ached. It wasn't regular pain, either, it was as though she had literally worn herself out and was now in need of repairs. The worst bit was, she felt so stupid for letting this happen in the first place. She was an athlete, and a good one too. She knew better. She should have told Charles the truth, gotten help with her nightmares like she'd done when she was a child. It would have saved her a lot of pain and a lot of money wasted on hospital bills.
The only thing that made her feel better was Charles. There wasn't a moment that he'd left her side, his eyes on her at all times like he was scared he was going to lose her again. He'd sat with her while she'd slept, calmed her down when she'd broken down in tears, held her hand as she'd caught her breath. It broke her, to see the way he was looking at her. When she'd woken the first time, he'd kept a brave face until he could get out of the room where he thought he couldn't hear her. But as soon as he got into the corridor, he'd began to cry, partly from relief and partly from sheer terror. She knew how he felt - it was the same feeling she got every time he got in his F1 car. That worry that one day, the person you love the most in the world might slip away, right in front of your eyes.
In the end, she'd sent him off on a mission just so that she could get some space. For once, she'd been open with Charles about the fact that she felt like complete shit, and as a result, he was doting on her more than usual. As much as she was enjoying being looked after, all she wanted now was to go back home to Monaco. The problem was that she couldn't do that unless she got clearance from the doctors, and she didn't have enough energy to ask herself, but Charles was so reluctant to leave her side that she almost couldn't convince him to go either. In the end, after a lot of arguing and a lot of convincing, he'd stomped off to find help.
After twenty minutes of his absence, she'd started to worry. When he finally reappeared, his expression made her worry more.
"Hey," she said, apprehensive. "What did they say? Can we go home?"
Charles ran a hand through his hair, nodding, though he didn't seem to be very happy. He looked about as tired as she felt, and for the first time she realised he was still wearing his race suit. He'd been so focused on her that he hadn't even taken the time to change. "They said you can go. I'll call Susie, get her to book the jet."
"What's the matter?" she asked him, her brow furrowed. He was wearing the same nervous expression he had every time they got on a plane, like something was really troubling him. She didn't like the sound of that very much at all.
"Penelope, I...I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"But I don't want you to panic."
"What would I panic about exactly, Charles? What's going on?"
As soon as their eyes met, she knew it was bad. "Your abuela is here."
"No."
"Penelope, just-"
"No. I don't want her here, Charles, I don't care what she has to say."
"I understand. Whatever you want, we'll do, but just hear me out. She's your emergency contact, Nelly. She's here because she's worried."
Penelope's eyes were stormy with anger, enhanced by her already poor mood. "It's been weeks. She had the chance to make things better, and she chose not to. I don't need her. I've been doing fine on my own, I am handling this on my own. They didn't want me. I don't need them now."
Unfortunately, fate seemed to have other plans. Both Penelope and Charles looked up as the door to the room opened, Mirabel stepping inside. Charles stood, putting himself between the two of them like he thought Penelope might swing for her. Instead, Penelope sat in a shocked silence, staring at her grandmother as though she was looking at a ghost.
"I understand that you're angry, mija. I didn't come here to fight. Please. Just give me a minute to talk to you, hm? This is all I ask."
Penelope looked to Charles, their eyes locking in understanding. Something unspoken passed between them, Charles reaching out to squeeze her fingers before turning away. The message was clear - he'd give them space, but all she needed to do was call and he'd be there. She wasn't in this alone.
Once Charles was gone, a dangerous silence settled between them. Both of them had their backs up, like animals primed to attack if one made the wrong first move.
The first thing Penelope really noticed as she surveyed Mirabel was how much older she looked. Her hair was a more stark shade of grey, and she had darker circles under her eyes, like she hadn't been sleeping properly for a long time. The usual twinkle of kindness and warmth in her eyes was gone, like someone had snubbed it out. Penelope couldn't help but wonder if she was to blame.
"What are you doing here?" Penelope said finally, her tone cold. In her hospital gown and sickly appearance, she felt all too vulnerable, like a wounded animal someone would take pity on. She didn't like that very much at all.
"You're my granddaughter," Mirabel said simply. "You needed me, so-"
"I don't need you," Penelope spat, the beeping of her heart rate monitor going into overdrive as she seethed with anger. "I needed you weeks ago, at Nationals. That's when I needed you, and you weren't there, abuela, so don't stand there saying that when we both know it's not true."
As usual, Mirabel was as calm as ever. "You're upset. I understand."
"You understand? You understand? Get out. I don't want you here. Get out!"
"Penelope, please," Mirabel pleaded, reaching to touch her before Penelope lurched away. Her tone was so desperate, so laced with sadness that it was impossible to fight. Penelope cursed herself for not being strong enough to say no. She wished she wasn't such a push over. "Please."
"I'm doing this for abuelo," Penelope said quietly, gripping the railings of the hospital bed so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Not for you."
Mirabel nodded, happy to take any chance she could get. "I understand, mija. He would be here, you know. He would have pushed those doctors out of the way to get to you. I can practically hear him shouting now."
Penelope didn't say anything. She kept her eyes trained on the floor, wishing Charles would come back so she didn't have to do this anymore.
"I know you don't understand my decisions, Penelope. Maybe it doesn't make sense to you, but to me...I regret what I did. When I got the call last night, I couldn't help but think of when you were una niña pequeña. You were so small, but you used to wake up in the middle of the night, crying and screaming...The only person who could soothe you was your abuelo. Some nights, I'd wake up and find him sat in the rocking chair by your bed, holding your hand, fast asleep. He'd tell you the same story, every night, about the princess who didn't want to rule the kingdom, she just wanted-"
"-to dance," Penelope finished. "I remember, abuela. He told me that story every night when I was a kid."
"Yes. Remember what he used to call you?"
Penelope tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "Patita. Little duckling. He never used to talk to me in Spanish the way you did, but he always called me that."
Mirabel gave her a sad smile, like it was equally hard for her to talk about. "When you were little, so little, you were in a show for the dance. Swan Lake, and all the big girls were these beautiful swans in white skirts with feathers, but you? Well, you were so tiny that costume didn't fit, so they put you in this little bird dress. You were so clumsy, tottering out there with the big girls who were holding your hands, letting you jump about on stage. From the moment you stepped out, you had this big smile on your face, like it was the happiest moment of your life. Straight away, Matteo, he started laughing. I asked him, and he pointed at the girls and said those were the swans, and you were the little duckling, wobbling about. He was so proud, even back. If he could see you now, the swan that you've become...well, I wish he was here to see it. I really, really do."
Their eyes met as Penelope nodded, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. "He was there, abuela. I saw his face in the crowd at Nationals, and maybe it was my imagination or I was going crazy...but he was there, and you weren't."
"I know, mi amor. And I know it's not enough to say sorry. But when your abuelo died...you still had nightmares. Only this time, I was the one who had to hold your hand. I had to look after you and tell you everything was going to be okay. You were my little girl, my baby. Your brothers, well, they grew up and left and had lives of their own but you were always our patita. When you told me you wanted to leave home, to start a new life with Charles...I couldn't help but feel like you were slipping through my fingers. Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture, save you from life's struggles, but I can not. You are not a little girl anymore, but you will always be my little duckling, waddling about on that stage, even if you are the most beautiful swan ever to walk here. I let that get in the way of seeing the best moment of your life. I'm osrry that I wasn't there."
"I needed you."
"I know."
"I had to do it on my own. You used abuelo against me. You made me feel like the worst person in the world for wanting to be with the person that I loved. I don't know how to forgive you for that."
"You don't have to, mi amor. I just want you to be open to having us back in your life. The last months, only seeing you through photos or news...I don't want to watch you grow up through TV screens. That's all I ask."
Penelope was still angry, but it had thawed now into more of a sadness. She missed having her abuela around, she missed talking to her, she missed her company. They had been so close, and losing someone like that was difficult for anybody. She wasn't ready to put everything behind them right now, but in the future? Maybe there was still time to mend things before it was too late.
"Okay, abuela," she agreed, a genuine feeling behind her words. "Okay."
Mirabel smiled then, the emotion finally meeting her eyes. Instantly, Penelope could see a weight lift off her, like her mood had been instantly improved. "Thank you, dulce chica. If it's okay, I'd like to speak to Charles, too. What I said about him...it was not fair. I saw how he looks at you, how worried he was, how much he loves you. No one will ever be good enough for my little girl, but he comes very close. I'd like to tell him that."
"I think he'd like that."
"Good. Can I ask, mija...are, well, are you happy? In Monaco, with Charles, in your career? Are you really happy?"
For a moment, Penelope considered her answer. The last year had been the busiest, most exhausting time of her life. She'd faced struggle and hardship, defeat after defeat...but she'd felt a sense of happiness, too. She'd achieved her childhood dream of winning Nationals, filmed a fantastic season for Percy Jackson, found the love of her life. She'd laughed more than she ever had before, felt more love, made amazing friends. She'd gotten to see the world, try new things, feel what it was like to be free. She'd found a home in Monaco with Charles, finally escaped L.A. and rediscovered how to love dance again. Therefore, the answer to that question couldn't be anything other than yes.
"I am," Penelope said finally, her eyes glistening with tears that were more happy than sad. "I really am, abuela. Maybe one day you could come to Monaco, spend some time with us there. Charles has summer break in a couple of months. Maybe you could visit, if you want."
"Sí mi amor. Eso me gustaría mucho."
For the first time in a while, the two Jonas women were finally at peace. There was work to do, that was for certain, but the olive branch had been extended. There was hope now that one day, maybe this could all be water under the bridge.
She couldn't bring herself to hug her abuela goodbye, but she did smile as she stood to leave. "If you need anything," Mirabel told her, "you call me. Even if you don't want me to be, I'm still your abuela."
Penelope nodded. "I'm okay, abuela. Really."
"Charles will take care of you. You make sure he does. No work, either. And-"
"He's got it. He'll look after me, honestly."
"Ah. Okay. Well, I should go. Oh, actually before I forget, I found this in your old dance bag. I thought maybe you'd like it."
From her purse, Mirabel produced a small, crumpled photograph. It was old, taken maybe fifteen years ago, when Penelope was only seven. In the photo, she was wearing a tutu and a shiny tiara, holding a little wand as she smiled for the camera. Her abuelo was crouching behind her, his arms round her tiny shoulders, his eyes twinkling with laughter. She remembered the day like it was yesterday - it had been her brother Kevin's birthday, but she'd had a competition the same day. Her abuelo had taken her, watched her dance, cheered so loudly in the crowd that he'd been scolded by the staff. Penelope had come in fifth place, but it might as well have been first with the way her grandfather had ranted on to anyone who'd listen. The picture had been taken by her dance teacher, and Penelope had carried it in her dance bag for years afterwards. Somewhere along the line, she'd lost it, crying for hours even though it was just a photo. To have it back...well, it meant a lot.
"Thank you," Penelope said quietly, running her fingers over her grandfather's face as he smiled up at her. She missed him so much that it hurt.
"You're welcome, mi amor. Get some rest now, si?"
"Yes abuela."
"Bien. And for the sake of your old abuela, look after yourself, hm?"
Penelope nodded as her grandmother gave her one last smile, closing the door behind her as she left.
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