Project Rodzina - Part 3

Here are a few more chapters in the struggle of my beloved Ilian Jansen.

I would appreciate any feedback.

Thank you very much.

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Weekend Era

Penelope didn’t plan on seeing Jack that Saturday. 

She was already cranky about losing the parking battle to the stroller industrial complex, and the day had started with a text from her mom that just said:

“Do you remember that girl from swim team who broke her arm? The one you liked. She’s engaged now. To a lesbian!”

Which somehow felt equal parts supportive and threatening.

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 3

 

Chapter 3 - Video Games 

Jack hated company happy hours on principle.

They were loud, overpriced, and full of people performing friendship like it was part of their job description. Everyone clustered in tight little circles, shouting over music that wasn’t good enough to justify the volume. Someone had already taken their badge off and clipped it to their waistband like it was a personality.

He’d said yes this time only because Penelope asked with a voice that dared him not to.

“You coming tonight?” she’d asked, leaning on the side of his desk, breath smelling faintly like those tiny oranges she hoarded. “Or are you gonna fake a calendar invite again?”

He scoffed. “That was one time.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You color-coded it.”

“It was a deeply important fake meeting.”

She’d just smiled, slow and smug. “So… I’ll see you there?”

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Victorian Ghost

Penelope wasn’t the kind of person who asked for help.

She powered through things. Grocery bags in one trip. Bad dates with charm. Flu symptoms with orange Gatorade and spite.

So when her car battery died at 11:42 p.m. outside the sketchy gas station near her apartment–the kind with one flickering fluorescent light and a guy inside who looked like he’d seen too much–she stood there staring at her phone, teeth chattering, pride swallowing itself one stubborn bite at a time.

She scrolled through her contacts.

Hovered over “Dad” for a beat. He would’ve come, no question–just… probably two hours later, more than mildly buzzed, thrilled to be the hero, doing the whole thing one-handed with a lit cigarette like he'd been training for it since 1987.

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 5

 

Chapter 5 - The Hoodie

The hoodie was technically to blame.

So was the office AC being overaggressive and Penelope’s brilliant decision to wear a sleeveless top. She just hadn’t counted on the meeting room being cold enough to store beef.

By the forty-minute mark of a two-hour strategy session, her teeth were on the verge of chattering. She tried all her usual coping mechanisms: tucking her hands between her knees, wrapping her arms around herself, pretending she wasn’t slowly freezing to death while some guy from finance said “runway” for the sixth time.

Jack caught her visibly shivering.

He didn’t make a thing of it. No grand announcement, no, “wow, someone’s cold.” He just glanced over once, took in her goosebumped shoulders, then peeled off his hoodie in one smooth motion and tossed it into her lap.

She blinked down at it.

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - The Brandon Problem

Jack found out from Marcie.

Not on purpose–she just intercepted him at the espresso machine like it was a gossip toll booth.

“Just so you know,” she’d said, in that casually-concerned tone people use when they’re absolutely being nosy, “Brandon’s been… circling Penelope.”

Jack had done a neutral face. A professional face. A face that said wow, interesting intel, thank you, valued colleague, while his brain quietly set Brandon on fire.

“Circling,” he’d repeated mildly, watching the espresso drip. “Like a hawk? Or like… a Roomba?”

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 7

 

Rooftop Cowards

Jack knew her tells.

The real ones–not the big, performative, table-banging Penelope-isms she gave to the world. He knew the quiet things.

The way she pulled her sleeves over her hands when she was overthinking. The way her laugh got a fraction too sharp when she was dodging something real. The way she tapped her fingers against the side of her water bottle when she wanted to say something but wouldn’t.

Today, she was doing all three.

And trying to pretend she wasn’t.