You, with a View

PraiseforYou,withaView
“JessicaJoycehasgiftedallofuswithanelectrifyingdebut,andtheperfectsummerread!Ifyouloveyourflirtingpairedwithahealthydoseofroasting,rivalsturnedlovers,roadtripsthatbecomejourneysofself-discovery,hilariousbutsexybanter,andsteamylovestories,thisisthebeachreadyouwanttopickup!Amillionoutoffivestars!”
—AliHazelwood,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofLove,Theoretically
“Astunninglyemotionaldebutthatwrappeditselfaroundmyheartfrompageone.BrimmingwithBIGGRANDPARENTENERGYandcracklingchemistry,thisroadtripromanceisguaranteedtosweepyouoffyourfeet!”
—AmyLea,internationalbestsellingauthorofExesandO’s
“JessicaJoyce’sdebutisatreasure!You,withaViewisaromanticadventurethatwillmakeyouwanttopackyourbagsandtakeachanceonlove.Thisheartwarminglovestoryisagiftforromancereaderswhowanttolaugh,cry,andswoon.”
—DeniseWilliams,authorofDoYouTakeThisMan
“You,withaViewisasexy-as-hellromancethatIcouldn’tputdown,aheartfelttributetotheloveofgrandparents,andanachinglyrelatableexplorationofthesearchfor‘success’inyourtwenties.NoelleandTheo’sroadtripisasepicastheiremotionaljourney,leavingmyheartahappy,mushymessbytheend.Ilovethisbook.”
—AnitaKelly,authorofLove&OtherDisastersandSomethingWild&Wonderful
“You,withaViewisthetotalpackage:swoony,sexy,funny,andprofoundlymoving.NoelleandTheo’sirresistiblechemistryhadmetearingthroughthepages,andthedepthandbeautyofJessicaJoyce’swritinglingeredwithmelongafterIfinished.Thisisabookthatnestlesdeepintoyourheartandstaysthere.”
—AvaWilder,authorofHowtoFakeItinHollywood
“Simultaneouslyescapistanddeeplyintimate,You,withaViewisalovestoryaboutsoulmates—bothromanticandfamilial—andtheimportanceofseizingthepresentwhilehonoringthepast.DebutauthorJessicaJoyce’sproseandvoiceshineoneverypage,threadingherleads’simmeringtensionandtangiblechemistrythroughavividlydrawntraveladventure.Theresultisasoul-satisfyingromanceaboutthegenesisofbeautifulthingsoutofgrief,andoftwopeoplediscoveringthatwhattheytrulyseekhasbeenthereonthejourneywiththemallalong.”
—JenDevon,authorofBendTowardtheSunBERKLEYROMANCE
PublishedbyBerkley
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright?2023byJessicaJoyce
ReadersGuidecopyright?2023byJessicaJoyce
Excerptcopyright?2023byJessicaJoyce
PenguinRandomHousesupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinRandomHousetocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.
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LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Joyce,Jessica,author.
Title:You,withaview/JessicaJoyce.
Description:Firstedition.|NewYork:BerkleyRomance,2023.
Identifiers:LCCN2022044791(print)|LCCN2022044792(ebook)|ISBN9780593548400(tradepaperback)|ISBN9780593548417(ebook)
Subjects:LCGFT:Novels.
Classification:LCCPS3610.O974Y682023(print)|LCCPS3610.O974(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23/eng/20220916
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022044791
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022044792
FirstEdition:July2023
CoverartbyAnnaKuptsova
CoverdesignbyEmilyOsborne
BookdesignbyDanielBrount,adaptedforebookbyMollyJeszke
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_144228924_c0_r0Contents
Cover
PraiseforYou,withaView
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
Acknowledgments
ReadersGuide
QuestionsforDiscussion
ExcerptfromJessicaJoyce’sNextRomance
AbouttheAuthor
_144228924_Gram,IgotallyoursignsthatyouwerewithmewhileIwrotethis.Iloveyoufurtherthanforever.One
Iwakeuptotwomillionviews.
Idon’tknowitatfirst.Withmyeyesclosed,myhandtraversestheobstaclecourseofcups,foodwrappers,andChapSticktubesonmynightstandtofindmyphone.AllIwantistoknowthetime.
OrmaybeIdon’t.Fromthesunlightpiercingmyscrewed-shuteyelids,it’sembarrassinglylate.
Myfingerswraparoundthechargercord,andIdragthephoneacrossthenightstand,knockingtheChapSticksdownlikebowlingpins.
Whatever.FutureNoellecandealwiththatmess.
Ifinallygetahandonmyprizeandilluminatethescreen.Butinsteadofthetime,myblearyeyessnagonanavalancheofTikToknotifications.EvenasIblinkattheastronomicalnumber,itkeepsticking,growingbyfive,byseventeen,byforty-two.
“Whatthehell,”Icroak.
ThenIremember:myvideo.
Myalreadysleep-weakgripfailsme,andthephonedropsontomyface.
Thedoorfliesopenatmypainedhowl.Throughwateryeyes,Imakeoutthegeneralshapeofmymom.“Noelle,whatintheworld?”
Ifthiswereasitcom,thisiswhereitwouldfreeze:onme,twenty-eightyearsold,rollingaroundinmychildhoodbed,blindedinafreakiPhoneaccidentaftergoingviralonasocialmediaappmeantforteenagers.
Theonlythingthatdoesn’tmakemewanttodieinsideishowmanypeoplehaveseenthisvideo.Myheartskipsabeat.Maybeeventherightperson.
Iknifeintoaseatedposition,myfingerspressedagainstmyachingorbitalboneasIfumbleformyphone.Fromthedoorway,Momwatchesinbafflement,deckedoutinPelotongearinsteadofapowersuit.MustbeSaturday.
“Areyouokay?”Browneyesthatmatchmineslidetothebikeinthecorneroftheroom.Onthewall,aneonsigncheersbeawesome
Icantellshe’sdyingtoturniton.IwishIcouldtearitdown.Nothinglikewakinguptoaggressivepositivityeverymorningwhenyou’reagrownadultwhohadtomovebackintoyourparents’houseaftergettinglaidofffromajobyoudidn’tevenlike.
“Yes,Mom,I’mgreat.”Isigh,aheadacheblooming.“Justdroppedmyphoneonmyface.”
“Sorry,sweetie.Hey!Sinceyou’reup,I’mgoingtogetaquickridein.”
Shesaysallofthisinonebreath,alreadyatthebikewithherspecial,extra-loudshoesinhand.Thenumberoftimesshe’swokenmeclackingacrossthehardwoodthesepastfourmonthscan’tbecountedonallmyappendages.It’snotherfaultsheturnedmychildhoodbedroomintoashrinetohertwo-thousand-dollarbike,though.NoneofusanticipatedI’dbehereagain.
“Doyourthing.”IburrowbackundermyduvetandpullupmyaccountonTikTok,myheartpounding.
Rightthere,onmylatestvideopostedjustoveraweekago,isthenumberofviews:2.3million.Thereareoverfourhundredthousandlikesandsixteenhundredcomments.
Holyshit.
Whatthehellhappened?WhenIfellasleepatninelastnight,Iheldsteadyatapaltryeightylikes.And,mostcrushingly,nocomments.
Myexpectationswerelow,buttheyshould’vebeenlower.IcreatedtheaccountlastSeptemberonaboredwhim,thenstartedpostingmyphotographyafterseeingotherphotographyaccountstakeoff,thoughnoonegaveashitaboutmine.
Buthopestartswithaseed,right?Atleast,that’swhatmygramusedtotellmewithawink.
IkeepalloftheadviceshegavemetuckedinmypocketforwhenIneedit,whichwasoftenbeforeherdeath,andnearconstantnowthatshe’sgone.Shewasafixtureinmylifefromthestart,thepersonIturnedtowhenanythinghappened,goodorbad.It’sunconventionaltocallagrandparentyourbestfriend,butGramwasminefromthetimeIknewwhatbestfriendswere.
IttooktwomonthsaftershediedbeforeIcouldlookatpicturesofherwithoutinstantlycrying.Ihaveavoicemailofhersinging“HappyBirthday”thatIcan’tlistento,evensixmonthslater.
Butthisvideo—theonethatnowhasmillionsofviews—isasmuchalovelettertoherasitisaquestiontotheuniverse.Oraplea.
Whenyoufindoutyourgrandmotherhadasecretloverwhenshewastwenty,youwanttoknowmore.Andwhenshe’snotaroundtoanswerthetornadoofquestionsthatkickedupthesecondyoupulledthosepicturesoutofatimewornenvelopeinaboxtransferredfromadustycornerinhergarage?Well,youhavetofindalternatemeans.
Mydadwasmyfirststop.IaskedifheknewanythingaboutGram’sromantichistory,keepingitvague.Ihadtotreadlightly—ifhedidn’tknowabouttherelationship,itmightupsethim.Hisgriefwasstillasrawasmine.
“ItwasonlyeverPopforher,andMomforhim.Shealwaystalkedabouthowhewashergreatestlove,”hetoldme.
Hisparents’relationshiphasalwaysbeenapointofpride.Theirlovestorysethisownexpectationssky-high,turninghimintoahopelessromantic,andthoseexpectationstrickleddown.Itwasalong-standingjokeinourfamily—ifit’snotlikeGramandGrandpaJoe,wedon’twantit.
Dad’seyeshadnarrowedwithcuriosity,maybesuspicion,atmyensuingsilence.“Where’dthatquestioncomefrom?”
“Oh,nowhere,”Isaidwhileapictureofherandanothermanburnedaholeinthebackpocketofmyjeans.
So,Dadwasout.Andifhewasout,everyoneelseinmyfamilywas,too.They’djustturnaroundandtellhim.
I’dspentenoughtimeonTikToktoknowitwasequalpartsuselessandtransformative—insipiddanceroutinesmixedwithreunionvideosthatmademesobintomypillowattwoa.m.IfIpostedtheinformationI’dfoundandmadeitcompellingenough,therewasachancesomeonewouldseeit.Therewasachancesomeonewouldknow.
Maybethey’dknowsomethingaboutthecollectionofphotosandthesingleletterGramsquirreledawayforoversixtyyears.Maybethey’dknowthehandsomemaninthepictureswithwavydarkhairandadeepdimplenamedPaul—itwaswrittenonthebackofthepicturesinasteadierversionofherloop-happyhandwriting,alongwiththeyears:1956and1957.
ShemarriedGrandpaJoein1959afterawhirlwindromance.Iknowtheirstorybyheart—Gramlovedtotellittome.ButsheneverutteredPaul’sname,notonce,andthat’sstrange.WeplayedagameweaffectionatelycalledTellMeaSecretconstantly.Ialwaystoldhermine,andshetoldmehers.
SoIthought.
Beforegatheringupthenervetolookatthecommentsandconfirmwhethermyansweristhere,Idecidetorewatchthevideo.
Ipressmythumbtothescreen,anditstartsup,playingtheLordHuronsongIchoseformaximumheartstringpullage.ThetextIaddedoverlayseachpictureIholdupintheframe,thechippedmintpolishonmythumbastarkcontrasttotheblack-and-whiteprints.
There’sabiteofgrieflookingatherface,whichinitsyouthlookedsomuchlikemine.Thearchitectureofourfeaturesisthesame;peoplehavealwaystoldusthat.Twinsseparatedbyfiftyorsoyears.Soulmatesbornindifferentdecades.
ThefirstpictureisGramandPaulstandinginfrontofahouseIdon’trecognize.Thetextonthescreenreads:Mygrandmotherpassedawayrecently.IfoundthesepicturesofherandamanIneverknew.
Thenit’sthematthebeach,herlookingupatPaulwithaflirtygrinonherface:TheonlyinfoIhaveishisnameisPaulandtheykneweachotherinGlenlake,CA,sometimearound1956.
Next,it’sapictureofthemembracing,hercheekpressedagainsthischest,eyesclosed:HernameisKathleen,andIbelieveshewastwentyinthesephotos.
ThelastisPaulsittingatapicnictable,hischinproppedinhishand,gazingintothecamerainawaythatrevealswhowasbehindit:Thisisalongshot,butifyourecognizehim,pleasereachout.Gramnevermentionedhim,buthelooksimportant.Ireallyneedtoheartheirstory.
There’sathreadofcommonalityrunningthrougheachpicture:theywerealwayslookingateachotherandsmiling.Oftenineachother’sarms.Inmanyoftheshots,GramwaslookingupatPaulwithheartsinhereyes.
Andhisheartclearlybelongedtoher.IfIhadn’tknownitbythewayhelookedather,theletterhewrotesaiditoutloud.
IpeelbacktheduvettomakesureMomisstilloccupied.There’ssweatdrippingdownherface,herattentionlaser-focusedonthescreeninfrontofher.Imightaswellnotbehere.
Perfect.IpullouttheletterIstashedundermysparepillow,smoothingoveracreasewithmythumb.
July1,1957
DearestKat,
Iunderstandwhywecan’telope.Itrulydo.Ijustwantyoutobewell.
Theendofourrelationshipwon’tstopmefromlovingyoufortherestofmylife.Idon’tknowifthathelpsorhurts.TheonlythingIaskisthatyourememberwhatwepromisedeachother:neverforgetourtimetogether,andthinkofitwithhappiness.
Ipromisedyouitwouldbeokay,doyouremember?Anditwill.
Yoursalways,
Paul
Icansaywithcertaintynoonehaseverlovedmelikethat.Sowhydidshesaygoodbye?
I’veneverputmyfaceorvoiceinanythingI’veuploaded.Evenmyusernameisanonymous,justuserandarandommixofnumbers.ButnowGramandPaul’sfacesarethere,and2.3millionpeoplehaveseenit,andIdon’tfeelbad.Mygrandmotherlovedthisman,butIcan’taskheranything.Shecan’ttellmethissecret.
So,ifPaulisstillalive,Ihopehe’lltellmeforher.
Isliptheletterbackintoitshidingplace,thenflipontomyback,pickingmyphoneuptogocommentdiving.
ButbeforeIcangetthere,theduvetisunceremoniouslyrippedoffmyhead.Forthesecondtimetoday,Idropmyphoneonmyface.
“Fuck!”Iyell,coveringmyfacewithmyhands.Myflailinglegsconnectwithabody.
“Fuckback!”Thefamiliarvoicegroans.“Yougotmeintheballs!”
“Ican’thearCody’sinstructions!”Mompuffsovertheinstructor’sshoutsandherLamaze-adjacentbreathingpattern.
Iuncovermyfacetofindmyyoungerbrother,Thomas,doubledover,hisforeheadrestingonmybed,handstuckedbetweenhislegs.HisbreathingpatternisLamaze-adjacent,too.
Inthemiddleofalltheruckus,mydadpokeshisblondheadthroughmydoorway,abrightsmileonhisface.“DoesanyonewanteggsBenny?IthoughtwecoulddobrunchsinceThomasishere.”
IripmyscrunchedduvetoutfromunderThomas’shead,yankingitbackovermylegs.“Iwouldloveeveryonetogetoutofmyroom.RemembermyruleaboutnotbeinginherewhenIdon’thavepantson?”
“I’malmostdone,”Mompants.“I’mabouttoPR.”
Thomasgroans.
God,same.Mygoodeyestraysbacktomyphoneasaslewofnotificationsbubbleuponscreen.I’mdesperatetocheck,butIdon’tdareinaroomfullofShepardswhodon’tknowaboutanyofthis.
Thomasrebounds,hissea-greeneyesturningsharpwithcuriosityasheseesmylit-upscreen.Lookingathimislikelookinginamirror,minustheelevenmonthsbetweenus;wehavethesamehoney-blondhairanddarkeyebrows,butmyeyesarethecolorofcoffeedregs.
Henodshischintowardmyphone.“What’sgoingon?”
Iflipitonitsface.“Nothing.”
“YourTinderblowingup,Beans?”Hesmirks.“Whatacatch.”
DadhasdisappearedtostartontheeggsBenedict,andMomisbusycelebratingtheendofherride,alongwithherPR.Itakearisk,puttingbothofmymiddlefingersinThomas’sface.
“Knockitoff,youtwo,”Momsays,outofbreath.
Thomascackles,slidingoutthedoor.IfIdidn’thavechronicbackpain,I’dswearIwasfifteenagain.Beinginthishousemakesusbothregress.
Momjumpsoffthebike,anexhilaratedsmileonherface.Sheturnstothebeawesomesignbehindher,pullingthestring.Itonlygetsilluminatedifshefeelsit’sdeserved.Itzapson,thepinklightturningherfaceevenredder.
Herdarkhairisdamparoundtheedgesofherponytail,andhereyesgosoftwhentheymeetmine.Sameastheyalwaysdolately.
“Yougood?”sheasks,andit’snotperfunctory,exactly,butwebothknowI’mnot.
Still,Isaymylinewithease.“Yep.”
Herquietsighindicatesshedoesn’tbelieveme.Fair.Idon’t,either.“Well,it’seleven,somaybeyouwanttogetoutofbed?”
Beawesome,indeed.
Theunreadcommentswhisperurgentlyallthroughbrunch.Ishovelmydad’seggsBenedictintomymouth,nearlychoking.
JustwhatIneed,deathbyCanadianbacon.
I’mtemptedtopullmyphoneoutnolessthanonemilliontimes,butit’llinvitequestionsI’mnotpreparedtoanswer.Myfamilyisnosyonaregularday.SinceIhadtomovehome,they’veturnedintohelicopters,clearlyconcernedthatI’monejobrejectionemailawayfromlosingmyshit.
Ifinishmybreakfastinrecordtime,slammingmyforkdownlikeI’mthewinnerofaBenny-eatingcontestnooneelseentered.“Done,seeyou.”
“Why,doyouhaveplans?”Thomasasksoverthescreechofmychairandaroundamouthfuloffood.
“Why,doesitmatter?”Ishootback.
Heliftsaneyebrow.“Ijustgothere,andyou’realreadyditchingme?”
“Mas,youslitherupfromthecitywheneverSadiehasplansthatdon’tinvolveyou.I’msureI’llseeyouinmeredays.”
“Idon’tslither,”hegrumbles,thoughhisexpressionsoftensatthementionofhislongtimegirlfriend—andmybestfriend.Thesoftnessisreplacedbymischiefashepullsamagazinefromhislap,curledopentoaspecificpage.“Wedidn’thavetimetodiscussthis.”
“What,thatMaximstillexistsorthatyou’restillsubscrib—”
WhatI’mlookingatsinksin,andIsnatchthemagazinefromThomas’shandwithagasp.
Heleansbackinhisseat,grinning.“YourboyTheoSpencerisoneofForbes30Under30”
Isnort.“Myboy?You’retheonewhohadacrushonhimthroughouthighschool.Hewasapaininmyass.Onpurpose.”
“Keeptellingyourselfthat,”hesayssmugly.
Iignorehim,andthetwomenbracketingTheointhepicture,insteadstaringatthefacethat’svexedmeforyears.Thatwavydarkhair,thebarelytheredimplethatpopswhenhesmirks.Thosedeepblueeyesshadedbysterneyebrowsthatcurveintocockinesswithinfuriatingregularity.Atleast,theydidwhenIlastsawhimyearsago.
WemayhavebeenvotedMostLikelytoSucceedinhighschool,butourpathsdivergeddramaticallywhenwewenttocollege.
Obviously.ThemanisinForbes,andI’minSpongeBobsleepshorts.I’mnotsurewhat’smoreannoying—hislatestaccoladeorthefactthathe’sstillsmokinghot.
“Goodforhim,”Isayinatonethatclearlyconveysfuckthatguy,ifMom’sarchedeyebrowsareanyindication.ItossthemagazineatThomas,smilingtriumphantlywhenithitshimintheface.
Thomas’ssnortechoesasIdropakissonDad’ssandpapercheektothankhimforthemeal.
Ihightailitoutofthere,usingthefumesofmyannoyancetospeedouttothebackyard.Specifically,tothehammockinthefarcorner,whereIcandiveintocommentswithoutinterruption.
ForgettingTheo,hisperfectface,andhisMidasexistence,Ipulluptheapp.
Inthegrandschemeofthings,noneofthismatters.Ihadtheperfectchildhood.Ihadparentsandgrandparentswholovedme,whoshoweduptomymillionsofextracurriculars,whothoughtthesunroseandsetonmyandThomas’sexistence,alongwithourcousins.GrandpaJoewasasweetmanwithaboominglaughwhousedtotugonmybottomlipwhenIwaspoutingjusttogetmesmilingagain.Grambeinginlovewithanothermanwhenshewasyoungdoesn’tchangeanythingaboutmylife.
Butnowthatshe’sgone,I’mdesperatetoknowthisstory.Sheclearlyfoundherwaytoultimatehappiness.How?
Idon’tknowwhatmyultimatehappinesslookslikeorhowtogetit.Ifitevenexists.WithoutGramheretotellmeit’llbeokay,andafterthemisstepsthathavemovedmefurtherfrommyMostLikelytoSucceedpath,I’mnotconfidentI’lleverfindit.Iwishshecouldtellmesomething
Therearenearlytwothousandcomments,butthemostpopularonesareatthetop.Myeyesscanthefirstfive,almostdesperately,likeI’mlookingforalife-or-deathtestresult.
Twothingshappen.
Thefirst:mybreathcatchesasIseeacomment,threewordslong.
Andthesecond:Thomaspopsoutofnowhere,yelling,“GOTCHA!”
Ijerkviolently,screamingasthehammockswingsanddumpsmeontothegrassbelow.
ButIsawthecommentbeforeItippedover,anditmademystomachdropharderthanfalling.
User34035872:that’smygrandfather.Two
Youreallymadethis?”
IsettlenexttoThomasontheedgeofmybed.Afterourtangleoutside,hedemandedtoknowwhatwasup.WebroughtthepartyupstairssoIcouldwalkhimthrougheverythingprivately.Now,I’vegotthestackofpicturesinmyhand,andPaul’sletterisunfoldedonmyduvet.
“Yes,forthefifthtime,Idid.”
Thomaslooksupfrommyphone,hiseyebrowsraisedhigh.“Firstofall,theproductionvalueisincredible.”
Isigh.
HereachesovertoadjustthefrozenpeasI’mholdingagainstmyhead.“Seriously,thisisgreat,Beans.Thatcompanydidyouafavorlayingyouoff.”Hetiltshishead,tappingthephonescreen.“Butwealreadyknowyou’renotutilizingyourtruetalents.”
Ismackhishandaway,ignoringhiswell-meaningjab.Photographyisonthebackburnerindefinitely.“Fewpeople’struetalentslieinbasicdataentry.Andifmytalentsdidliethere,I’daskyoutogobackintimetowhenyounearlydrownedmeinGram’spoolandfinishthejob.”
“Iwasseven,”herespondsdefensively.“Itwasanaccident.”
“Anythingcanbeonpurposeifyoutryhardenough.”
“Okay,let’sfocushere.”Heabsentlyfiddleswiththethingoldhoopinhisnose.“Gramreallyhadasidedude?”
“Hewasn’tasidedude.ShemusthavedatedhimbeforeGrandpa,andhewasclearlyveryimportanttoher.Theyweregoingtoelope,forgod’ssake.Thatlettermakesitseemlikeshewastheloveofhislife!”
Thomasgrabstheletterfromme,scanningit,thenthumbsthroughthepictures.Iwatchhowhisexpressionchangescarefully,fromcuriositytosurprisetosomethingheavier.HisthumbmovesoverGram’ssmilingface,andheswallowsashesetsitdown,thenpicksuptheletteragain.“Where’dyoufindallthis?”
“ItwasinoneoftheboxesinGram’sgarage.Dadbroughtabunchofthemover,remember?”
“Ah,right,theboxesyou’vebeenraccooningthrough.”
Ielbowhimhard.Heelbowsmeharder,sendingthepeasflyingoutofmyhand.
He’snotfaroff,though.I’vespentthepastcouplemonthspickingthroughtheboxesDadbroughthomewhenheandmythreeunclesclearedGram’shouseout.Hecamebackfromthetaskred-eyedandquiet,puttheboxesinthegarage,andhasn’ttouchedthemsince.
BesideshisassertionthatGrandpaJoewasGram’soneandonly,it’showIknowhe’sneverseenanyofthis.Theletterandphotoswerestuffedatthebottomofaboxinabigmanilaenvelope.Asealedenvelope.Imean,hello,suspicious.Igetmyinsatiablecuriosityfromhim.
OrmaybewebothgetitfromGram.OurTellMeaSecretgamestartedwhenIwasoldenoughtohaveany.Wetradedsecretslikecurrency,alwaysaneven-stevendeal.Minestartedoutsmallandinconsequential,growingasIgrew,too.Italkedtoheraboutrelationships,anxiety,schoolwoes,and,later,mystruggletoadjusttothedisorientingletdownofadulthood.Sheendedupknowingeverything—shewasmysecret-keeper,mylivingdiary.
GivenhowourgamedeepenedonceIwasanadult,Paulshould’vecomeupinconversation.I’mstilltheonlyonewhoknowssheandGrandpaJoewentthrougharoughpatchintheeighties,thatthe“errands”they’dsometimessneakoffforwereactuallyanexcusetogetitoninthecar.Shekneweveryjuicydetailaboutmyrelationships.Whydidn’tIknowthismanexisted?Didshenotwanttotellmespecifically,orwasitsomethingaboutthestoryitselfthatkepthersilent?Eitherway,itstings.It’sasmallbetrayaltotherulesofourgame.
Ifthere’sareasonsheheldback,Ineedtoknow.
ItakemyphonefromThomas,scrollingdowntothecommentthatstillhasmyheartracinglikeahummingbird’swings.
that’smygrandfather.
Dozensofresponsescascadebelowit,awaterfallofOMGsandY’ALLIT’SHAPPENINGs.
Themillion-dollarquestioniswhat,exactly,ishappening?Thispersoncouldbelying.Theycouldbetellingthetruth,butPaulcouldrefusetospeaktome.Hemaynotrememberanything.User34035872couldhavedifficultydistinguishingbetweenpastandpresenttense,andPaulcouldactuallybedead.
Thomasrestshischinonmyshoulder.“Whatareyougoingtodo?”
Hisvoiceisknowing,though,becauseheknowsme.It’swhathe’ddo,too.We’renearlyidentical,saveforhisirritatinglybeautifuleyesandhispropensitytobeashithead.Wehaveamile-wideimpulsivestreak,acompetitivespiritborderingonhomicidal,andadedicatedit’sfine!optimismthatgetsusthroughwhenhastydecisionsgosouth.
Itouchtheusername,whichbringsmetoablankprofile.Noposts,nofollowers
“Kindasus,”Thomasmurmurs.
Ipullupthesendmessagefunctionanyway,feelingasenseofpurposeforthefirsttimeinmonths.
AndItypeoutamessagetoPaul’sallegedgrandkid.
Sadieslipsintotheseatacrossfromme,slidingmethesaladsheorderedwhileIgrabbedatableoutsidetherestaurant.Overhead,themiddaysunispaleintherichspringtimesky.
Ipulloffthetopofthecontainerwithahappysigh.“You’reanangel,SadieChoi.IVenmoedyou.”
Lovinglyfull-namingherdoesn’tofferthedistractionIhopedfor.Hereyebrowsdropintoafrown.“WhatdidItellyouaboutyoursneakyVenmotactics?StoppayingmebackforthingsIwanttopayfor.”
Ispearabiteoflettuceandchicken,mycheeksheating.“Ican’thaveatwenty-dollarpitysaladonmyconscience,okay?”
Thoughshe’swearingwhiteheart-shapedsunglasses,Iknowherbrowneyesaresoftbehindthelenses.“There’snosuchthingaspitybetweenbestfriends.Ilovetreatingyou,andI’mtheonewhoinvitedyoutodayinanticipationofgoodnewsfromyourinterview.So,justsoyouknow,I’mgoingtodeclineyourpayment.”
“Justsoyouknow,theinterviewwasabust.”Igiveherabreezygrinthatbeliesmypanic.Sittinginthatstuffyconferenceroomwhilethehiringmanagerlistedtasksboringenoughtomakemysoulshrivelup,IwonderedforthefourhundredthtimewhythehellIcan’tfigureouthowtoadultsuccessfully.
Sadiepushesastrandofstraightblack,chin-lengthhairbehindherheavilyadornedear.“Allthemorereasontotreatyou.”
“Ifyouwanttotreatme,givemecopiousamountsoffreealcohol.”
Herresponseisinterruptedbymyphonechiming.Ilookdown,inhalingsharply,andanticipationdumpsintomyveins.It’saTikTokmessagenotification.
“Savedbythebell?”
“Literally.”
Afterseveraldaysofback-and-forthwithwhoI’veconfirmedisPaul’sgrandson,everynotificationcomeswithafight-or-flightchaser.Inadditiontoexchangingmessages,he’ssentthroughseveralpicturesofamanwhomatchesuptothePaulinGram’sphotos.
YesterdayIaskedifPaulwouldbewillingtospeakwithme.Inearlychickenedout,andthesilenceIgotinreturnmademequestionmybrazenness.ThoughIwouldn’tcallPaul’sgrandsonaprolificpenpal—hisresponsesareshort,leachedofpersonality,verybot-like—histurnaroundtimehasbeenquick.
Untilnow.Twenty-sixhourshe’sletmyrequesthang.I’malmostafraidtoopenhisreply.
“Getittogether,Noelle,”ImutterasThomasjoinsus,aplasticbagswingingfromhisfingertips.HeandSadiebothworkindowntownSanFrancisco,thoughThomasworksfromhometwodaysaweek.WhenIlived—andworked—inthecity,wemetupoftenforlunchandhappyhours.
Thomasslidesintoaseat,pushinghishairfromhisforehead.It’salostcause;it’sthickandgettingsurfer-boylong,sogravityalwayspullsitback.“Hey,kids.Thislunchisofficiallythebestpartofmydaythankstoyou.”HeflashesabrilliantsmileatSadie,thenturnstome.“Andyou’rehere,too.”
Irollmyeyes.SadietechnicallybelongedtoThomasfirst;theymetduringcollegeandimmediatelyfellheadoverassforeachother.ButassoonassheandImet,itwasclearweweretheoneswhoweremeanttobe.ThomasandIhavespentthepastfiveyearsvyingforSadie’sultimateaffection.I’mconfidentI’mlosing,butitdoesn’tstopmefromtrying,ifonlytoannoymybrother.
AfterleaningovertoacceptThomas’skiss,herattentionreturnstome.Shebrandishesherforkatmyphone.“Openthemessage!”
Thomasrustlesaroundinhisplasticbag,pullingoutasandwichandabagofchips.“Whatmessage?”
“Paul’sgrandsonwroteherback.”
“Teddy?”Somehowhismouthisalreadyfullofchips,andtheysprayoutinadisgustingarc.
Sadie’seyebrowraises.“Teddy?”
I’vegivenSadiethewholestory,withupdatestextedastheyhappen,butIonlyfoundouthisnameyesterday.Somethingaboutlearningit,knowingIwasthatmuchclosertouncoveringanewsecretaboutGram,sentmeonanemotionalbender.
SoItookahike,literally.It’swhatIdowheneverthegriefthreatenstowrapitshandaroundmyneckandchokeme.Ihitwhatevertrailmakesmethinkofhermost—oneswehikedtogetherreligiously—andwalkmyselfintoexhaustion.ThenIcryitoutatthepeaksothere’snochanceDadwillsee.Watchinghiseyesfillwithhisownsadnessandempathyforminebecameunbearablequickly.Hours-longhikesaremyescapeandsanity.
AfterIreturnedfrommysix-mileratMt.Tam,Ifellintobed,exhaustedintoomanywaystocount,andforgottoupdateSadie.
Still,gettingeverydetailmatterstoher.She’sbeenobsessedwiththisstorysinceItoldheraboutit.
ThomaspipesupbeforeIcanappropriatelygrovel.“That’shisname,allegedly.Couldbeafake.Noellegaveafakename.”
“Ididnot!”Iregretevertellingmybrotheranyofthis.“IsaidmynamewasElle.It’sahalf-truename.”
“Teddyisforchubbybabiesandlittleolddudes,”Thomassays.“IfthisguyissupposedtobePaul’sgrandson,he’sprobablyourage.Hegaveyouawholefakename.”
SadieputsherhandonThomas’sarmtoquiethimdown.“Openthemessage.”
InarrowmyeyesatThomaswhenheletsoutascoffingnoise,thenopentheapp.
Mymessagefromyesterdayisthere:
I’mgladPaulsawthevideoandlikedit.Thatmeansalot.Yousaidhewasopentospeakingwithme?I’dlovetotalktohimASAP.I’mintheBayArea,notsurewhereyou’relocated.Wecouldspeakonthephoneorvideochat,orwhateverhe’supfor.
Andunderneath,Teddy’sresponse:
We’reintheBaytoo.Mygranddadwantstomeetwithyouinperson.Areyouwilling/availabletomeetinthecity?Sendtimesthatworkforyouifso.
“Ohmygod.”
Idon’trealizeI’veshoutedituntileveryoneatneighboringtableslooksoveratus.
“What?”Sadieshoutsback.
“Theylivehere.Imean,Pauldoes,whocaresabouthisgrandson.”Isetmyphonefacedownonthetable,overwhelmed.“Hewantstomeetwithme.”
“Youhavetodoit.”Sadieleansforward.NexttoThomas’sswimmer’sshoulders,shelooksbite-size,butherexcitementaddsagoodthreeinchestoherfivefeet.
“Thisisamurderplot,”Thomassayswithequalpartsassertionanddisinterest.
“Counterpoint.”Sadieholdsafingerupinhisface.“Shecouldmeettheloveofherlife.”
“Paul?”
“Hisgrandson.”Exasperated,sheleansback.“Dude,comeon.Haveyounotpaidattentiontoanyoftherom-comswe’veeverwatched?”
Thomasgivesherameaningfullook,flickinghiseyestomeandbackagain.“Areyouseriouslyaskingmethat?”
Sadieflushes,andIthrowaballed-upnapkinatmybrother’shead.“Gross.Comeon.”
Theystartbickeringlovingly,soIpivotmyattention.
MystomachpullstightasIrereadtheexchange.Paulwantstomeetme.ThisisexactlytheoutcomeIwanted,thoughIneveranticipateditwouldhappen.It’slikeplayingthelotteryonceandhittingthejackpot;itfeelsimpossible,andyetyouplaybecauseyouknowthere’sachance,right?
“I’mgoingtosayyes.I’mgoingtomeetupwithPaul.”
Whennooneresponds,Ilookupfrommyphone.Sadiehasaring-ladenhandoverhermouth,herecstaticsmilepeekingoutfrombehindit.Thomasiswatchingmedubiously.
MythumbsflyovermyphonescreenasIreply:
Whatasmallworld!I’dlovetomeetwithPaul.I’mavailable—
Ipause,chewingonmylip.I’mavailableallthetime,butthatsoundspathetic,soIpullthreetimesoutofthinair.
—ThisFridayat10am,Sundayat2pm,orMondayat10am.Pleaseletmeknowthebestplacetomeet.
Ikeeponeeyeonmyphoneforthenexttwentyminutes.SadieandThomascarrytheconversationbutgosilentwhenIgetanotheralert.
Fridayat10.We’llmeetyouatReveilleCoffeeonColumbusatoneofthetablesoutside.
“Friday’stheday.”Iletoutadeepbreath,myheartracing.“AndlookslikeTeddywillbethere,too.”
Sadiecollapsesagainstherseat.“God,IwishIcouldcomewithyou.”
“I’dgoifIdidn’thavetowork.”Thomas,clearlydisappointed,rubsahandalonghisscruffyjaw.“Makesureyoustayaroundpeoplethewholetime,okay?”
IgivehimacrispsalutebeforemyeyeswanderbacktoTeddy’smessage.
Tellmeasecret,IhearGramwhispertome,andmyheartstretchesinmemory.
Iblinkupatthesky,wonderingwheresheis.
Someone’sgoingtotellmeoneofyours.
Theweekmovesataglacialpace.MomtalksmeintotryingthePeloton,andIlastanentirethirty-minuteclass,thenspendthenextthreehoursdeterminingwhetherIneedtogotothehospital.
Ialsomakeahalfheartedattempttolookforjobs.TheworkI’mqualifiedfordoesn’texactlylightafireundermyass,andIwon’ttouchanyphotography-relatedjobswithaten-footpole.I’mnotpayingrentbutamcontributingtohouseholdexpenses,andwithoutanincome,mypaltrysavingsisdryingupfast.IhaveaninheritancefromGramsittinginmysavingsaccount,butshestipulatedinherwillIwasonlytousethemoneyforsomethingthatinspiredme.Needlesstosay,it’suntouched.
Alsountouched:mycamera.Itstaresbalefullyatmefrommydresser.Ihaven’tpickeditupinsixmonths.
Ineedtodosomething,butI’mfrozenbymyindecisionandfear,andit’sstartingtoeatatme.
Thursdaynight,Thomasshowsupfordinner,andwelingeratthetableinthebackyardlongafterourparentsgoinside,talkingthroughscenariosforthenextday.Istandwithagroanastheconversationwanes,myscratchyeyesalertingmeit’sbedtime.
“Hey,listen,”Thomassays.“Don’tgetyourhopesup,okay?”
Ipausemid-stretch.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“IknowyoumissGram.”Histoneiscareful.Hewasheartbrokenwhenshedied,too,butourgriefisn’tthesame,andheknowsit.“Justdon’tgoinexpectingthistotakethataway.”
“Idon’t.”Mydefensivetonegivesmeaway,buthedoesn’tcallmeonit.
Herunsahandthroughhishairwithasigh.“Tellmehowitgoestomorrow,okay?Callus.”
“Fine,”Isay,stillannoyedbyhishawk-eyedobservation.“?‘Night.”
Theearnestnessofourconversationmusthavegrossedhimout—IwakeFridaymorningtoTheo’sForbespicturestaringatme,wedgednexttomypillow.
GahDisgusting,myrationalbrainsays.Signmeup,mylizardbraincounters.
It’swiththatirritatingthoughtthatIgetdressed.Ilockupthesilenthouseanddriveintothecity,myinnermonologuemovingsoquickandlouditsoundslikestaticplayedatfullblast.
It’snotuntilI’mparkedandwalkingdownColumbusAvenueintheheartofNorthBeachthatmymindgoesquiet.It’sapowerswitchflippedoffasReveillecomesintoview,theblackbrickbuildingloomingevercloser.
Ishouldprobablyordercoffeefirst,givemyselfaminutetogetmyshittogether,butmyhandsareshakinginsidethepocketsofmyjeanjacket.Caffeinewillshootmeoffintothestratosphere.MaybeonceIseePaul,theanticipatoryanxietywillebb.
AsIgettothecafé,IwonderifGram’shandsshookwhenshemetPaul,orwhensherealizedshewasinlovewithhim.Whenshesaidgoodbye.Ifsheeverfeltanticipationsothickshethoughtshe’dchokeonit.
MymindisdartingsoquicklyfromthoughttothoughtasIroundthecornertowardtheoutdoorseatingthatIalmostmissthem.Butit’sPaulseatedatthefurthesttable,nodoubt,hishairwhite,hisage-spottedhandswrappedaroundacoffeemug.Hiseyesslidepastthepersonhe’stalkingtoacrossthetable—thebroadbackanddark-hairedheadfacingawayfromme—andmovepastmine,thenbounceback.Widen.
Myheartstutterstoastopalongwithmylegs.Iliftmyhand,tentative,shockedbyhisshock,butgetdistractedbythemansittingacrossfromhim.
Theshouldersstretchingacrossthatbroadbackstraighten,andPaul’sgrandsonturnsinhisseat,hishandgrippingthebackoftheturquoisemetalchair.
Andthenmyheartstopsforreal.TheoSpencer,thebeautiful,infuriatingcenterfoldofForbesmagazine,isstaringrightatme.Three
Isthisajoke?”
Wesayitatthesametime.Thatalsohastobeajoke.
Theostands,andIcatalogeverythingabouthimbeforeIcanprocesshowI’mfeeling:theworn-inLevi’swithabuttonfly,goddamnhim;thewavyhairrustlingpoeticallyinthebreeze;hisexpensive-lookingnavysweater,sleevespusheduphisforearms.ThemateriallookssosoftIwanttorubmycheekonit.
No,Idon’t.Whatthehell
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Idemandashisexpressioncoolsfromitsinitialshock.
Theo’seyesskimmybody,butnotinasexyway.LikeheorderedWagyusteak,andhegotMcDonald’sinstead.IregrettheshortcorduroyskirtI’mwearing,andespeciallytheDocMartens.They’refromhighschool.
WhenhisgazedoesaU-turnbackdowntomyfeet,onecornerofhismouthhooksup,andIknowheremembersthedamnboots.
“Stillwearingthoseshitkickers,huh,Shep?”
Thatvoice.Ihateit.It’slikevelvetrubbedthewrongway.There’satexturetoitthatcrawlsupmyspine,andadepththatsprinklesgoosebumpsonthebackofmyneck.Istillremembersittingonstageatgraduation,staringdaggersathisbackwhilehisvoicedeliveredthevaledictorianspeechinsteadofmine.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Irepeat.
Oneeyebrowraises,sternasever.“Ithinkit’sobvious,isn’tit?”
Idon’twantittobetrue,butthetruthisstaringatme,whollyunimpressed:myhighschooladversaryisPaul’sgrandson,andwe’vebeentalkingallweekwithoutrealizingit.
Whatforcehasbroughthimbackintomylife?Satan?No,thatdoesn’tmakesense—thesameforcebroughtPaulintomylife,too.
Mygazemovesuptothesky.Whatareyoudoingupthere,Gram?
AthroatclearsandTheoandIturnatthesound.Paulpushesoffthetabletostand,hiseyes—deepbluelikeTheo’s—bouncingbetweenus.
“Itakeityoutwoknoweachother?”heasks.
“Unfortunately.”Iholdupmyhands,horrified.Evenifit’strue,it’shisgrandsonI’vejustinsulted.“I’msosorry,Ididn’tmeanthat.”
“Yes,shedid,”Theosays.
Ishoothimaglare,andit’saseffectiveasifwe’veactuallyhurtledbackintime.Weusedtoexchangeendlessjabsinclass,onthetenniscourtwherewebothplayedvarsity,atparties.Throughunfortunateluck,welikedthesamepeople,soourpathscrossedconstantly.Murderinghimwithmyeyesismusclememory.Hisreturningsmirkis,too.Helovedrilingmeup.
I’mnotgoingtogivehimthesatisfaction.I’manadult,despitemycircumstancesprovingtheopposite,andhe’snotgoingtogettome.Eventhoughthedimplepoppinginhischeek—andtheheatbloominginmine—saysotherwise.
“Haven’tseenthatsmileinawhile,Teddy,”PaulsayswithagrinthesameshapeasTheo’s,dimpleandall.
Likethat,allexpressiondropsoffTheo’sface.“I’mgoingtograbanothercoffee.”Heliftshischinatme.“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Nothing.”ThelastthingIneediscaffeine.OrtooweTheoSpenceranything.
Heliftshisshoulderinashrug,thenwalksoff.PaulandIbothwatchhimgobeforeturningtoeachother.
“Sorryaboutthat.Wehavesome,um,history.”
“SoIsaw,”hesays,histoneamusedandthoughtful.
Iholdoutmyhand.Steadynow.“I’mNoelle,Kathleen’sgranddaughter.”
Hetakesmyhandinhis.Hisskinfeelsfragile,buthisgripisstrong.“Oh,Iknow,sweetheart.Youlookjustlikeher.”
Mythroatgoesinstantlytight.“Thankyou.”
“Iwassosorrytohearshepassed.”
Hestuttersoverthelastword,asifit’sfromalanguagehedoesn’tknow.Itstillfeelsforeigninmymouth,too,andlikethat,theconnectionbetweenusisset.Agossamerthreadfromhishearttomine.
There’sahandkerchiefinhisoutstretchedhandbeforeIrealizemyeyesarewelling.Itakeit,pressingittomyface.Thehandkerchiefistimewornandsmellslikefabricsoftener.SomethingaboutitmakesmefeellikeI’vebeenpunchedrightinthesternum.ImissGramsomuchIcan’tbreathe.
Agentlehandatmyelbowguidesmetoachair,andIplopdowninelegantly.
Ipatatmycheeks,pullingmycanvasbagontomylap.“Idon’treallyknowwheretostart.”
Paulrunsahanddownhischeckereddressshirt.There’sagoldbandonhisringfinger.Lookslikehefoundhishappiness,too.
“Whatwouldyouliketoknow?”
Iletoutabreath.“Everything.”
Herubsahandalonghischeek,appraisingme.“That’satallorder,Noelle.”
“Isit?Iknownothing.Idon’tknowhowlongyouweredating.Orhowyoumet.Orwhereyoumet.”
Ireachintomybag,extractingthepicturesGramkept,alongwiththeletter.WhenIslideitacrossthetabletowardhim,hepresseshispalmoverit.Icanalmostseehimtransportingbacktothattimewhenhepicksuptheletter,unfoldingitcarefully.
Helooksupatme,eyebrowsraised.“Shekeptthis?”
“Yeah,Ifounditinasealedenvelope.Thepictureswerewithit.”
“Didyoufindothers?”
Ishakemyhead,thenleanforwardasheputstheletterdown.“Weretheremore?”
Hesighs,gazingdownataphotohe’spickedup.“Ohyes.Welovedtowriteeachotherlettersduringourtimetogether.Isentherseveralonceshewenthome,thoughI’mnotatallsurprisedshedidn’tkeepthem.I’mmuchmoresurprisedshekeptthisone.”
“Wenthome?”
Heflipsanotherphototowardmewithachuckle.They’reperchedontheedgeofastonewall,Gramleaningbackintohimwithawidesmile,hereyesloweredcoylytotheground.“Wemetatschool.Thisphotowastakenthere,atUCLA.”
Ifrown.“Mygrandmadidn’tgotoUCLA.Shedidn’tgotocollegeuntilherkidswereolder.”
Paul’sexpressiondropsbackintoitsprevioussadness.“Shedidgo.Shejustdidn’tfinish.”
Leaningbackinmyseat,ItakethatinwhilePaulcontinuestoshufflethroughthephotos.It’sanothersecretrevealed,asmallpieceofwhatisamuchbiggerpuzzlethanIanticipated.
Abottleoffancysparklingwaterissetunceremoniouslyonthetable,interruptingmythoughts.Iblinkdownatit,thenturntoTheoasheslidesintohisseat.Hisjean-cladkneeknocksintomybareonebeforeheadjustshispositiontoputmorespacebetweenus.
“What’sthis?”
Heleanscloserconspiratorially.HesmellssogoodIwanttoyell,likefirewoodandahintofsomethingsweet.“Don’ttellmeIhavetoexplainwhatwateris,Shepard.”
MygazestraystoPaul,who’swatchinguswithmirthinhiseyes.Ipressmylipstogether,swallowingdownthefourteenrudethingswaitingtolaunchfrommymouth.
“Thanks,”Imanage.“Letmepayyouback.”
“I’llsurvive,”Theosays,hismouthquirking.
Right.He’stheCFOatWhereToNext,atravelappthatactsasaconciergeforanythingfromàlacartetofull-servicetravelpackages.Flights,placestostay,experiences,younameit.GodknowsI’veusedtheapptobookoneoftheirscreamingoff-seasondeals.Once,Sadie,Thomas,andIstayedinamonstercabininTahoeforpracticallynothing.Theoisalsoacofounder—heandtwoofhiscollegefriendsstartedit—andmustbesittingonapileofmoney.ImadethemistakeoflookinghimuponLinkedInonce,notrealizinghecouldseeI’dviewedhisprofile,andreadthroughatonofgushyarticleshewastaggedin.Istillremembertheprivatemessagehesentmethenextday:
Lookingforsomethingspecific,oristhisjustrun-of-the-millstalking?
Ittookeverythinginmenottodeletemyprofile.ThatIstillgetnotificationsforanymentionsofhiminthenewswillgotothegravewithme.
Ipullafivefrommybagandslideittowardhim.ThenIpushthebottleofwaterofftotheside,turningmyattentionbacktoPaul.“IhadnoideasheattendedUCLA.Soyoudidn’tmeetinGlenlake?”
Heshakeshishead,takinginthespreadofmemoriesonthetable.“Wehadanarthistoryclassoursophomoreyear.Shehatedmefromthestart.ThoughtIwasacockySOB.WhichIwas.”Atthis,hewinksandIgrin,charmed.“Ididn’tthinktoohighlyofheratfirst,thoughshewasthemostbeautifulgirlI’deverseen.Whip-smartandshewasn’tafraidtoshowit.Iwasintimidatedbyher,soIneedledheralot.”
“Needled?”
“Triedtogetariseoutofher,”Paulsays,grinning.“Shedidn’tlikethatmuch.”
Ilaugh,imaginingit.“Shewasfeisty.”
“Soundsfamiliar,”Theosaysintohiscappuccino.
Itwistinmyseat,raisinganunimpressedeyebrow.“Feistyisthewordyou’dusetodescribeme?”
Heblinksinnocently,andIgetmomentarilydistractedbyhislong,curledlashes,thetinyfreckleunderneathhislefteyebrow.“Canconfirmitstartswithanf.”
Releasinganimpatientbreath,IturnbacktoPaul.“Sorry,goon.”
“Wegotofftoabumpystartuntiloneofherbestgirlfriendsstarteddatingmyfraternitybrother.Onceshewasforcedtosocializewithme,wediscoveredwewerebothfromtheBayArea.Igrewuphereinthecity.”Hetraceshisfingeroveroneofthephotos.“Itwasasimplewaytoconnect,butitledtousstrikingupafriendshipthatturnedfondveryquickly.Westarteddatingnotlongafter.”
Hishairmovesinthebreeze,andhishandsarelinedandspottedastheymoveoveranotherphoto.Despitetheobvioussignsofhisage,helooksstrong,atleastadecadeyoungerthanheis.
Gramlookedstrong,too.Shewasstrong,drivinglikeademonupuntilthedaybeforeshedied,whenwewentonahikeatTennesseeValley.Sheplayedtenniswithmeregularly,andwhuppedmyassatit,too,eventhoughIkeptupthehobbyafterhighschool.
AndyetshediedinhersleepthreedaysbeforeThanksgiving.Shehadtheingredientsforherfamouspumpkinpiestackeduponthecounter.Shewasn’tready.Iwasn’t,either.
Astreakofjealousyrunsthroughmelikeelectricity.Likepoison.IbegrudgeTheoforbeingabletograbacupofcoffeewithhisgranddadwhenI’llneverseeGramagain.ItmakesmewanttograbontoPaul’shand,holdhimhostageuntilhetellsmeeverydetailoftheirstory.Everyanecdoteabouther—thatfeistiness,thewayshe’dclapherhandswhensomethingreallydelightedher.Herloud,boisterouslaughthatcouldmakeyourearsringifshediditinasmallroom.TheotherthingsIapparentlydon’tknow.
IwanttotwistmyhandsaroundhismemorieslikeI’mwringingoutatowelsoIcangetitallinonefellswoop.
“Whathappened?”Iask.Ican’thelpmyself.“Imean,thepictures—thatletter—youwereclearlyinlove.Whydidyouseparate?Yousaidsheleftschool.Why?”
Pauldipshischin,pinningmewithalookequalpartssternandkind.“You’reimpatienttoknowitallrightnow.”
“No,notatall.”Ibackpedallikemylifedependsonit.Idon’twanthimtostoptalkingbecauseI’vepushedtoofar.
It’sonlywhenTheopresseshisfingeragainstmykneethatInoticeit’sbouncing.“You’revibrating.”
Ipushhishandaway,rubbingtheskinhetouched,thencoveritwithmypalmsohewon’tseethegoosebumps.
“I’dliketotellyouthestory,Noelle,butit’snotgoingtohappenallinoneday,”Paulsays.
“Granddad—”Theostarts,sittingupstraight.
Paul’sgazeflickerstoTheo,thenbacktome.Awhisperofasmilealightsonhislips,asecretone.“Youwanttoknoweverything,andI’llansweranyquestionsyouhave.ButI’dliketorequestmoreofyourtimetodoso.”
“Ofcourse.Ihavenothingbuttime.”Shit.Thatdoesn’tsoundlikesomethingathrivingpersonwouldsay.“Imean,yes,Iwillabsolutelyfindthetime.Justtellmewhenandwhere.”
“LetmecheckmydatebookwhenIgethome,”Paulsays.“Idohaveafewthingsplannednextweek,andIdon’twanttodouble-bookyou.”
“Godforbidyoumisspokerafternoonwithyourfratbuddies,”Theomumbles,buthisvoiceisaffectionate.Itgivesthetextureofhisvoiceasofterfeel.
“Soonenoughthey’llallbedead.GottogetmytimeinwiththemwhileIcan,”Paulrepliesjovially.Heturnstome.“Whydon’tweexchangenumbersandwecanchat.”
“Thatsoundsperfect.”IinputthenumberPaulrattlesoffintomyphone,thencallitsohehasmynumber,too.
Theoleansforwardtocatchmyeye.“Isn’titeasierifImessageyouwithlogisticsstuff?”
Isparehimaglance.“Nope.PaulandIcantakeitfromhere.”
“Right.”Theo’sphonestartsshimmyingwithanincomingcall.Icatchthecontactname—Dad—beforeheturnsitfacedown,hisjawtight.Paul’seyebrowscinchtogether,hisgazelingeringonhisgrandson’sphone,asTheoletsoutasharpbreath.“Arewedonefortheday?Ihavetogetbacktowork,andIneedtodropthisfreeloaderoffathomefirst.”
Ipushdownmydisappointment,remindingmyselfthisisthebeginning,nottheend.“LotsofForbes30Under30thingstodotoday,huh?”
Assoonasthewordsareoutofmymouth,Iwanttoabsolutelydestroymyself.It’stheLinkedInincidenttimesten.
ButTheo’sreactionisnothinglikeIexpect.Hedoesn’tsmirkorsaysomethingcocky.Instead,it’slikewatchingsomeone’spowerswitchgetturnedoff.Hejust…shutsdown.
“Bye,Shepard,”hesaysblankly,swipinghisphoneoffthetable.Hischairscreechesagainsttheconcreteashestandsandstalksafewpacesaway.
IhaveverylittletimetowonderhowIwiggledmywayoutofthatone,orwhatexactlycrawledupTheo’sass.Paulhandsmethephotosandletter,thentakesmyhandinbothofhisafterI’vetuckedourtreasuresinmybag.
“I’mverygladyoufoundme,Noelle,”hesays,hisexpressionearnest,amixofpleasureandmelancholy.“Ihopeyougetwhatyouneedoutofthisnewfriendship.”
Mythroatpincheswithemotion.“Metoo.We’lltalksoon.”
PaulwalkstoTheo,hishandsinthepocketsofhisperfectlypressedkhakipants.Theo’seyesslippasthisgranddadtome,andforanextendedmoment,westareateachother.Hebreakscontactfirst,hishandslippingtoPaul’sbacktohelphimdownthesubtleslopeinthesidewalk.
Iletoutabreath,suddenlyexhausted.Exhilarated.ScaredaboutwhatImightfindout,andhowthatmightreshapethepictureI’vepaintedofGram.
Ipushthatlastemotionawayandhikemybagontomyshoulder,preparingtomakethetrekbacktomycar.
ButIswipethefancy-asssparklingwateroffthetablebeforeIgo.Four
IdecideI’llletPaulmakethefirstmovewithournextdate.I’mterribleatwaiting,though,sobythetimetheweekendends,I’mcrawlingoutofmyskin.
It’stheonlyexcuseI’llallowmyselffordiggingoutmyGlenlakeHighsenioryearbook:boredom.Restlessness.Anexcusenottostareatmyphone.Itdoesn’thaveanythingtodowithseeingTheo,whichI’mstillwrappingmymindaround
Ofallthepeopleintheworld,hehadtobePaul’sgrandson?Beyondafewaccidentalrun-insovertheyears,Ihaven’tseenhiminforever,andthisishowhereentersmylife?Itfeelslikefate,butnotthegoodkind.TheFinalDestinationkind.
Withasigh,Idropontomybed,flippingtheyearbookopen.
Itypicallysuppressmymemoriesfromhighschool.Notbecausetheywereterrible,butbecausetheywerethelasttimeIhadmyshittogether.
TheoandIarebothsprinkledheavilythroughoutthebook.Nosurprise.Notonlywereweatthetopofourclass,butweplayedtennisallfouryears,andhealsoplayedvarsitysoccer.Iwasthequeenofextracurriculars,thoughmyfavoritebyfarwasphotography.
IworkedmyassoffandgotintoUCSantaBarbara,butwhenIgotthere,itwasclearIwasaminusculefishinamassivepond.Teachersdidn’tknowmyname,nordidtheycare.NoonegaveashitthatIwassmart;theywere,too,andthey’dspeakovermeinclasstoproveit.Ihadashittyroommate,Iwaslonely,andmyfreshmanyearGPAdecimatedmyconfidence.
AsIscrapedmywaythroughschool,Istruggledtofindmyplace.Evenphotography,whichhadalwaysbeensomethingtoescapeinto,feltlikeaslog.Therewereatleasttenpeopleinmyphotographyelectiveswhowerebetterthanme.Itgratedagainsteveryperfectionistboneinmybody.Icrawledoverthefinishlineatgraduation,butIwasbatteredandbruisedandincrediblydisillusioned.EverylabelI’devergivenmyselfnowfeltlikealie.College,andmysubsequentstruggletocarveoutameaningfulcareerpath,allbutconfirmedit.
Meanwhile,TheohadflourishedatUCBerkeley,wherehisparentswerealumni.Ourmutualfriendslovedtogivemeupdatesonhim—hisinternships,thesemesterhespentabroadinHongKong,thecushyjobhelandedatGoldmanSachs.Hewasprobablymakingmoneyhandoverfist.AndthereIwas,freshoutofcollege,determinedtofindawaytomakephotographymymainsourceofincome.Istartedassistingaportraitphotographer,whowasbrilliantbutatotalbastard,inhopesofeventuallyditchingmydeskjob.AfterayearofsacrificingweekendstoEnzo,whovacillatedwildlybetweentepidpraiseandmoltenadmonishments,IwasfiredwhenIdidn’tgetaspecificshotatawedding.Nodoubtthecateringstaffworkingthatnightcanstillhearhimscreaming“you’llneveramounttoanything”intheirsleep.GodknowsIdo.
Deepdown,Ifearedhewasright.Therewasplentyofevidencetosupportit.Myphotographyaspirationsflamedoutafterthat,despitemyfamily’sinsistenceIkeeptrying.Itookpictures,butonlyformyself.Istoppedhearingmyownvoiceinmyhead,orevenGram’s.ItwasonlyEnzo’s,tellingmeIwasn’tspecial,thatI’dnevermakeit.Ibelievedhim.MaybeIstilldo.
Somepeoplereallydokeepclimbing.Andsomepeople,likeme,peakinhighschool.
IfliptomyandTheo’sseniorportraits,whicharesidebyside.ShepardandSpencer:amatchmadeinalphabeticalhell.
He’sintenselyserious,inamugshotkindofway.It’sthesameexpressionhisdadworeeverytimeIsawhim.Idon’tthinkthemaneverlookedhappy,andnowIwonderifthedimpleskippedageneration.Whatawaste.Despitetheirritatingpackageitcomeswith,Theodoeshaveabeautifulsmile.
ThethoughtcomesbeforeIcansquashit:IwishIcouldphotographhim.Inmyhead,IlineupashotfromFriday:Theowatchinghisgranddad,thoseeyebrowssoftenedbyaffection.Thephantomweightofacamerainmyhandsisheavy,andIclenchmyfingersaroundthelost-limbfeeling.
Myphonerings,breakingmeoutofmydisturbingdaydream,whichisevenmoredisturbingwhenIseewho’scalling.
Ianswer,chirpingoutastrangled,“Paul!”
“Hello,sweetheart,”hesayscheerfully.“Ihopethisisn’tabadtime.”
Ilookaroundmyroom,asstillastherestofthehouse.Myparentswon’tbehomeforanotherthreehours.“Notatall.I’minabitofaworklullrightnow,sothisisperfect.”Iblazerightthroughthatunderstatement.“I’mgladyoucalled.IreallyenjoyedmeetingyouonFriday.”
“NotnearlyasmuchasIenjoyedit.I’msotickledyouknowmyTeddy.Whatasmallworld.”
Toosmall.“It’sbeenalongtime,butitwas…uh,interestingtoseehimagain.Hewasalwaysveryambitiousinhighschool.I’mnotsurprisedtoseehimdoingwellnow.”
“Yes,well,”Paulsays,abitofthecheerdrainingfromhistone.“Sometimesalittletooambitiousforhisowngood,butwe’reworkingonthattogether.”
Thatsounds…weird.“Right.”
“Atanyrate,Iwashopingyoumightwanttocometomyhouseforlunchandachat.”
Istand,wincingagainsttheacheinmyback.Ifnothingelse,IneedtomoveoutsoonsoIcanescapethismattress.“Soundsgreat.Whenwereyouthinking?”
“Tomorrowwouldbebestifyoudon’tmind.Canyoucomebyatnoon?”
“I’llbethere.”Iwasgoingtogoonahike,butIcandothat…well,anytime.“ShouldIbringuslunch?IcanstopbyagreatThaiplacenearmeifyou’dlike.”
“Ohno,I’llhavelunchreadytogo.Justbringyourself.”
“Yougotit.”IscrambleforapeninthedeskMomkeepsintheroom.“What’syouraddress?”
Herattlesitoff,andforlackofanypaperaroundme,Itranscribeitontomyleg.It’sinNovato,whichisaboutfifteenminutesnorthofGlenlake.
“Perfect.”Istaredownattheaddressonmygoosebump-texturedskin.“Ican’twait.”
Mymindswirlswithquestionsafterwehangup.Hashebeenherethiswholetime?Ifso,didGramknow?DidtheyspeakatallafterPaulsentthatletter,orhasitbeenoversixtyyearsofsilence?
Thequestionsdon’tend.Notforthefirsttime,IwonderhowlongitwilltakeuntilI’msatisfiedbytheanswers.
Iwonder,too,whatwillhappeniftheanswersaren’tenough.
Paullivesinasmallranch-stylehouseonaquietstreetshadedbyoaktrees.Ipulluptothecurbandsitforaminute,thecarenginetickinginthesilence
Ichoseadresssinceit’sunseasonablywarmforApril,butnowIfeeloverdressedandawkward.ThoughPaulhasproventobethenicestmanever,I’mnervoustoseehim.
There’sanotherfeeling,too,andmychesttickslikethecoolingengineofmyPrius.WiththedepartureofGram,I’mleftwithoutanygrandparentsatall.GrandpaJoeleftusfiveyearsago,andMom’sparentsdiedwhenIwasakid.Anentiregenerationwhowon’twitnessallofmyfuturememories.I’mtooyoungtohavelostthemall,butitiswhatitis.Andyethere’sPaul,agrandparenthimself,invitingmeintohislifelikeIdidn’tbargeindemandinganswerstoquestionsthatmaybepainfulforhim.Invitingmeintoaspacethat’sbeenemptyforthepastsixmonths.
Maybethat’swhatitis—havingsomethinghalfwayandknowingit’snotreallyyours.
IhopeTheoknowshowluckyheis.
Iunbucklemyseatbeltandgrabmybagfromthepassengerseat,loopingitovermyshoulderasImakemywayuptothedriveway.There’saHyundaiSUVparkedthere,alongwiththemostbeautifulsoft-topFordBroncoI’veeverseen.
“Go,Paul.”Istopatthedriver’ssidedoortopeekin.Theexteriorisasexycherryred,theseatsabutterybrownleather.Theinteriorisspotlesssaveforawaterbottleinthecupholderandabagofsoilonthefloorofthebackseat.
Isquintatit,thendownatmydresswithtinyflowersdottedalloverit.It’sgardeninspired,sure,butIhopePaul’snotgoingtoputmetowork.Ihavewhateveristheoppositeofagreenthumb.
Withonelastlingeringlookatthecarofmydreams,Imakemywayuptothefrontdoor.Ageneric-lookingwelcomematliesinfrontofit,butotherwisetheporchisempty.Ifrown,lookingaround.Giventhesoilinhisbackseat,I’dtakePaulforaplantguy,butitalmostlookslikehejustmovedin.
IttakesafewmomentsaftermyjauntyknockbeforethedoorswingsopentoPaul,who’swearinganadorablecardigan,pristinewhiteConverse,andawidesmile
Hestepsbacktomakeroomforme.“Hello,Noelle,dear!You’rerightontime,comeonin.”
WhatevernervesIfeltdisappearinthepathofhissweetwarmth.“Thanks,it’sgreattoseeyouagain.IwasjustadmiringyourBronco.”
Hiswhitebrowspulltogetherinconfusion,thensmoothout.Hisreplyisabeatlate,butnolessfriendly.Ifanything,hekicksitupanotch.“Ah,yes.Areyouhungry?Ithoughtwecouldeatfirst,thenIhavesomethingstoshowyou.”
“Thatsoundswonderful,”Isay,hangingmybagonthecoatrackinthefoyer.
Heleadsmethroughthelivingroom,brightandgorgeouslyfurnishedinamidcenturystyle.It’sthetypeofinteriordesignmydad,anarchitect,woulddroolover.IslidealookatPaul,wonderingwhothisguyis,butmygazesnagsonawallmadeupentirelyofframedpictures.
Istumbletoastop.Paulhearsthecommotionandturns,eyeswidening.“Areyouallright?”
“Justgotdistractedbythesephotos.”Istepclosertogetabetterlook,devouringeachone.Thecompositionisstunning;theuseoftexture,ofcolor,orthelackthereof—everyphotographmakesmychestacheandmyindexfingeritch.
It’sonlywhenIgettoablack-and-whiteportraitofayoungTheothatIrealizewhothephotographeris.Theo’sstandinginfrontofabodegainwhatlookslikeManhattan,grinningdownatahandfulofcandyclutchedinhisfist.Hiskneesareknobbyanddarkerthantherestofhisskin,asifthere’sdirtonthem.Hishairiscurlierthanitisnow,wildontopofhishead.He’sinhisownlittleworld,abouttoindulgeinallthatsugar.
Thisportraitisadeclarationoflove.Showingjoyforthesakeofit,beautifulanduncomplicatedandsittinginthepalmofalittleboy’shand.
IturntoPaul.Hishandsaretuckedintothepocketsofhisslacks,hisheadtiltedashewatchesme.
“You’reaphotographer.”Hedipshischininacknowledgmentandmyheartpressesagainstmyribs,desperatetogetbacktothebeautyofthephotos.“You’reincredible.”
“Thankyou,”hesayswithasmallsmile.“Iwasluckyenoughtomakeacareeroutofit.Thesearesomeofmyfavorites,butnotallofthem.”
IpointtolittleTheo.“Icanseewhythisoneis.”
Hetakesastepcloser.“How?”
“Besidesthestructure,it’sobviousyouthinkthissmileisspecial.Thebackgroundisshadowedtolethimbethefocalpoint,andthat“Open”signilluminatedrightoverhisheadislikeawinktohisexpressionhere.”Paulisquietbesideme,andIstarttofeelself-conscious.“Imean,Iknow—knew—Theo,soit’sprobablyeasierformetopickitoutbecauseIknowhowseriousheis,butit’dbeobvioustoastrangerthisissomeoneyoulove.”
Henods,anexpressionIcan’tidentifycrossinghisweatheredfeatures.“Areyouaphotographeryourself?”
“No,”Iblurt.“Notreally.Iusedtodabbleinit.Tookclassesinhighschoolandcollege,butnothingserious.”
Paullookslikehedoesn’tquitebelieveme,whichisfair.I’mgivinghimahalf-developedpicture.
Mystomach,alwaysheretoremindmeoftheimportantthingsinlife,letsoutathreateninggrowl.
“Whydon’twepopoutsideforlunch?”Paulsays.“Youcanlookattheseallyouwantafteryou’refed.I’dbehappytotellyouthestoryofeach.”
WebothknowthestoryIreallywanttohear,butInodanyway.
We’renearlytotheslidingglassdoorleadingtothebackyardwhenheturns,hisexpressioninnocent.“Iforgottomention—Igotmydaysmixedup,sowe’replusoneforlunch.”
ForebodingcrashesthroughmeasPaulopensthedoor,steppingoutontothedeck.BeforeIcanformaresponse,Iseeanakedbackacrosstheyard,curledoveralargeraisedplanterbox.
“Teddy!”Paulcallsout.“Lookwhoitis.”
IsensetheawarenessinTheoashisbackstraightens.Theravinerunningfrombetweenhisshoulderbladestothewaistbandofhisgymshortsdeepenswiththemovement,musclesstretchingandcontractingashelooksoverhisshoulder.Hestaresatme,hisexpressionunreadableunderneaththebillofhisOaklandA’shat.HisshouldersliftinasighIcan’thear,andhespearsthetrowelinhishandintothedirtwithmoreforcethanisstrictlynecessary.
Heonlysays,“Granddad.”
“Igotmydaysmixedup,”Paulrepeats.“IinvitedNoelleoverforlunchandachat.Whydon’tyoutakeabreakandwe’lleat?”Heturnstome.“Theoisplantingsomevegetablesforme.”
“Iseethat,”ImurmurasTheostands,yankinghisglovesoffandlettingthemfallontotheground.Whenheturns,IinhalesosharplyIchokeonair.
Paulpatsmyback.“Areyouallright?”
“Bug,”Ichokeout.
Morelikebody.IwanttoknowwhatkindofdevildealTheomadewhenhewasborn.Besideshisquestionablepersonality,hewasbuiltlovinglyandwithextremecarebywhoeverisinchargeofthosethings.
Hischestisbroad,hisskinhoney-huedunderneaththemiddaysun.He’ssculptedinanelementalwaythatbroadcastsheknowshowtousehisbody,thatthemusclesandtendonsunderneaththatsmoothskinworkforhimhoweverhewantsthemto.It’ssointenselyhotIwanttorunawayfromituntilIfindacoldbodyofwatertosubmergemyselfin.
It’sfuckingrudethathe’ssogood-looking.Itoffendsme.
Icrossmyarmsovermychestwhilehetakeshissweettimegettingtous.Myeyesarefullydisconnectedfrommyrationalbrain,whichisscreamingtolookanywherebutathischestorhisabsorhisbellybutton.Whatkindofassholehasanattractivebellybutton?!No,mygazeeatshimup,andmylizardbraindoesn’tevencarethathenotices.Hismouthpullsupintoatinysmirk.
“Didhegiveyouthesamestory?”heasksmeashetakesthestairsuptothedeck.
“Mm-hmm.”Iclearmythroat.Thatwasbasicallyjustagrunt.“We’vebeenambushed.”
“It’sthisoldbrain,”Paulinsists,butIseethesmilehe’sfailingtoholdback.
Ahorrifyingthoughtpushesitswaypastallthehornyones:IsPaultryingtomatchmakemeandTheo?
Youcan’tmatchmaketheunwilling,butmygod.I’mavisualcreature.I’mnotsurehowmuchshirtlessstimulationIcantakebeforeIbreakinsomeway.Thatwouldbecatastrophic.
TheobracesahandonPaul’sshoulder,pullinghimclose.Hemurmurs,“Iknowwhatyou’redoing.”
Paulignoreshim,gesturingtothediningtablesetofftotheleftofus.Acheerfulbunchofyellowtulipsstretchupfromamasonjar.“I’llberightbackwiththefood.Youkidssettlein.”
“Doyouwantsomehelp?”Iask,alittledesperate.
“No,no!”He’salreadybustlinginside,wavingahandoverhisshoulder.
Withadeep,cleansingbreath,IpivotbacktoTheo.
He’sstillshirtless.
I’mstillaffected.
“Youcancloseyourmouthnow,Shep,”hesayswithalazygrin.
Irollmyeyes,runningahandovermystomach,whichisgrowlingwithallkindsofhunger.“It’sbecauseyourshouldersarealreadyred,Spencer.I’mappalledbyyourlackofsunscreenusage.DoyouevenknowwhatUVraysdotoyourskin?You’regoingtolookseventybythetimeyou’rethirty.”
Hetwiststoeyehisshoulder,hummingindismay.“Iputsomeonafewhoursago.”
“You’resupposedtoreapplyeveryeightyminutes.”Ismilesweetlywhenhegivesmeadrylook.
Keepingeyecontactwithme,heswipesabottleofsunscreenoffthetableandstartsapplying.
Thisfeelslikeatest.Ikeepmygazefirmlyplantedonhisface,butthesoundofTheo’spalmgentlyslappinghisskinasheappliesthesunscreenpingsmymostanimalisticsenses.
“Whatareyouevendoinghere?”Iask.
“Plantingvegetables.”Hedoesn’tsayyougenius,buthistonedoesn’tnotsayit.
“Imean,”Isay,infusingthesameenergyintomyvoice,“it’sthemiddleofthedayonaTuesday.Whyaren’tyouatwork?”
Inmyperiphery,hishandstalls.“Whyaren’tyouatwork?”
“I’mworkingfromhometoday.”Thelieslipsoffmytonguelikesilk.
Theo’sexpressionturnssharpwithawareness,hisgrinsharpwithit,too.“Whatdoyouknow?Metoo.”
Ibelievethataboutasmuchashebelievesme,butIdon’thavetimetopush.Paulwalksoutwithatrayoffood.
“Lunchisserved!”
“Youshouldputonashirt,”IsayasIpushpastTheotogettomyseat.
Herunsahandoverhisstomach,grinning.“Nah,I’mgood.”
Well,thatmakesoneofus.Five
Theokeepshisshirtofftheentiremeal.It’sobscene.Myeyeballshurtfromthestrainofnotlooking.
PaulpickedupsandwichesfromoneofthebestspotsinMarinCounty.Thehomemadebreadiscrustyperfection,andatleasthalfofitendsupinmylap,littlesourdoughsnowflakesdriftingfrommymoutheverytimeItakeabite.IttakeseverythinginmenottopickupeachfleckwithmyfingerafterI’vedemolishedmysandwich.
OurconversationflowssmoothlythankstoPaul,whoasksaboutmyjob(Icontinuethelieandsayit’sgreat),whatIdoinmyfreetime(Iwingit,sincehikeanddoomscrollaren’tlegitimateanswers),andhowIgotintophotography.
HereIcanbehonestandtellhimhowwhenIwastwelve,IpickedupanoldcameraofGram’s,whichwascollectingdustonherbookshelf.
Thomastriedtofightmeforit,butIcameoutofourwrestlingmatchvictorious,albeitbruisedlikeapeach.IstartedusingitconstantlysoThomaswouldn’thaveaccess,butitturnedintoagenuinelove.Anobsessiveone.
Paulsmilesatthis.“I’mfamiliarwiththefeeling.Nowthatyou’redonewithyourmeal,shouldIgograbwhatIwantedtoshowyoutoday?”
“Yes,”Isayenthusiastically.Theoletsoutasofthuff.Notalaugh.Somethingrustier.
Pauldisappearsintothehouse,andthesilencestretchesbetweenus.
“Sowhyaren’tyoudoingyourphotographythingfulltime?”Theoasksfinally
Ieyehim,andtheflakeofbreadcaughtinhischesthair.Disgusting.Iwanttopickthatoneupwithmyfingerthemost.
“Becauseyoucan’tjustdothings,”Isay.“It’snotthateasy.”
Oneeyebrowraisesslowly,likeabridgeliftingforaship.“Ifanyonecanjustdothings,it’syou,Shepard.You’vebeenjustdoingthingsaslongasI’veknownyou.”
“YousoundlikeanunhingedNikead.”Ileanbackinmyseat,tiltingmyfacetosoakupthesun’swarmth.“It’seasytoinvesttimeinsomethingyoulovewhenyouhavethemoneyforit.”
“You’dbesurprised.”Ilookoverathim,indeedsurprisedbythebitteredgeinhisvoice.Herunsahandoverhischest,dislodgingthecrumbintheprocess(RIP),andshiftsinhisseat.“Youspecificallycandoanythingyouputyourmindto,iswhatImean.Youwerealwayslikethatinhighschool.Singularlyfocused,especiallywithphotography.Goodateverythingyoutried.Notasgoodasme,but—”
Isnort,mychesttight.IwanttobethatversionofNoelle,butI’msofarawayfromher,shefeelslikeadifferentperson.
“Icantellyouloveitstill,isall,”hefinishes.
Itrytodeadenmycuriosity,butthat’slikeaskingmenottobreathe.“How’sthat?”
“Thederangedlookinyoureyeswhenyoutalkaboutit.”
“It’sjust…notforme.Ilearnedthatlessonawhileago.”
Theo’sgazeturnssharp.Iavertmyeyesfromhisattention,thatfaceandthoseshoulders,theskin,whichuponcloserinspection,isquietlyfreckled.Itakeinthebackyardinstead,needingspacefromhiswordlessprobing.It’ssmall,immaculate.Thereareseveralraisedbedsalongtheperimeterofthepinefence,severalbagsofsoilopenandsaggingagainstthem.
“Yourgranddad’shouseisbeautiful.”Ifocusonahummingbirdflittingaroundatallplantwithtubularredflowers.WishIknewtheirname.“Howlonghashebeenhere?”
Theoremoveshishatandtossesitontothetable,runningahandthroughhishair.Histemplesaredamp.Thatshouldn’tbesohot.“SinceFebruary.HewasinLA,butmygrandmadiedlastfall.Hewasgettinglonely,soImovedhimuphere.”
Myheartsinkssofasttheworldtilts.Paul’sgoldbandflashesinmymind.“I’m—I’msorry.Aboutyourgrandma.”
Theoshifts,uncomfortable.“Thanks.It’snotthesameaswhatyou’regoingthrough.Imean,itwasverysad,obviously,butshemarriedmygranddadwhenIwasakid,longafterheandmydad’smomdivorced.Bothofmybiologicalgrandmothersarestillalive,butI’mnotclosetothem.NotlikeIamwithGranddad,anyway.”
“Griefisgrief.Youdon’thavetoqualifyit.”
“Somegriefisdifferent,though,”hesays,lookingoutattheyard.“Youcanbesadbutbeokay.Ifmygranddaddies,youknow—”
Hestops,likeit’stoopainfultothinkabout.Thatifastand-infortheotherwordhecan’tsayoutloud:when.IsensethesameconnectionbetweenhimandPaulaswhatIhadwithGram.Thatsoulmatething,thestringconnectingtwopeople,longerthandeath,furtherthanforever.
IwantTheotosketchouthisfamilytreeforme.I’mgettingcrumbsofsomanydifferentthings,liketheflakesstilllitteringmylap,anditmakesmehungrier.IknowTheoisanonlychild,thathisdadpulledhimasideaftereverytennisandsoccermatchheattended,talkingtohiminlow,intensetoneswhilehismomwatched.Thatheneverlookedhappywithhisson,norwithhiswifewhensheintervened.RememberingthatmakesithardtobelievehecamefromPaul.IsthatTheo’sgrandma’sinfluence,thesternnessTheoseemstohaveinherited,too?
Ihatebeingcuriousabouthim.I’vefoughtagainstitsincethebeginning.ButI’mmeandIneedtoknowthings,soIopenmymouthtoaskmorequestions.Ibarelyinhalewhenheshakeshishead,hisexpressionshiftingfrommelancholytowry.
“Don’tmakethisearnestanduncomfortable.”
“No,totally.Emotions,right?”Ipretendtogag.“Disgusting.”
Hedoesn’trespond,andatiny,microscopic,verysmallpartofmeisdisappointed.Mybloodrunsfasterinmyveinswhenwetalk.Butsurelythat’sjustirritation.
Theostands,swipingat-shirtfromthechairattheheadofthetable.Heeasesitoverhishead,makingitlooklikepornsomehow.Mybodypullstight.
Onethingiscertain:I’llneverfigurehimout.Idon’twantto,andhe’dneverletmeanyway.SoIbusymyselfwithbrushingthecrumbsfrommylap,lettingthemfalltotheground.Thebirdscanhavethem.
Paulemergesafewminuteslater,abanker’sboxinhisarms.
“Wow.”Igapeashelowerstheboxontothetable.“We’regoingtobehereforawhile,huh?”
Tomyright,Theosighs.Igivehimadrolllookovermyshoulder,wherehe’sparkedhimselfagainsttherailing,buthe’snotlooking.He’sbeenignoringmesinceournear-brushwithhumanemotion,grimlytappingoutmessagesonhisphone.
PaultakesTheo’sseatnexttome.“Someofthisisyourgrandmother’s.Wesaweachotheronceafterweseparated—beforeIsenttheletteryoufound—andshegavemethingsforsafekeeping.”
“Whatdoyoumean,forsafekeeping?”
Hesitsbackinhisseatwithahum.Birdssingaroundus,tuckedintotrees.Somewherenearby,alawnmowerbuzzes.
Finallyhesays,“It’snosurpriseyouhavesomanyquestions,orthatyoudon’tknowmuchaboutyourgrandmother’slifepriortohermarriagetoyourgrandfather.Ourrelationshipwasnotwellreceivedbyherfamily,andwhensheleftschool,shedidn’tleavewithmanyremindersofourtimetogether.”
“Soyoukeptallthisforher?”
“Forus,”hecorrectsgently.“Whenourrelationshipended,itwasn’tacrimonious.Wewantedtomakesureit’dalwaysbealovelymemory.”
“Butshemadeitasecret,”Isay,watchingashebeginspullingitemsfromthebox.
“No.”Againhecorrectsme.It’sstillsoft,butthere’ssteelbehindit.“WhateverlifesheandIwanted,planned,ortalkedaboutwasnevergoingtobe.Kathleenkeepingaboxofremindersofhowshe’ddefiedherparentswould’veprolongedhergrief.Herparentsandbrotherknewthewholestoryonceitwasover.Iimagineitwasinitiallytoopainfulforhertorecountfurther,andbythetimeyoucameintotheworld,well…”Hesmiles.“Lifegoeson.”
IlookforpainorangeronPaul’sface,butallIseeisnostalgiamixedwithaffection,softenedwithtime.
“Yourlettertohermentionedanelopement,”Iventure.
“Yes,wedidmakeplanstoelope.”
“Butitneverhappened.Becauseofherparents?”
“Itwas…”Hepausesthoughtfully,hisgazegoingtothesky.“Notjustthatissue,butherparentswerecertainlythebiggesthurdletoovercome.”
“Whydidn’therparentslikeyou?”
Helaughs.“Wheretobegin?Wehadonemessofadinnerwithourfamilieswhereeveryonemadeitclearwheretheystoodonavarietyofsubjects,includingwhetherKatandIshouldbetogether.”
“Whatweretheothersubjects?”Theoasks.
“Well,overappetizers,mymothergotgoingonwomentakingamoreprominentplaceintheworkforce,whichKat’shomemakermotherthoughtwasshocking.Shealreadywasn’tthrilledthatherdaughterwasatcollege.ShewantedhertogetherMRSdegree.”Pauleyesus.“Doyouknowthatphrase?”
Inod.“Theywantedhertofindahusband.”
“Rightyouare.Ijustwasn’ttheoneshewassupposedtofind,”hesayswithalittlesmile.“Themostinsurmountablething,though,wasthatmyfatherandIwereoutspokenabouttheUSmilitarytakingactioninternationally.IevenwentsofarastosayI’dbeaconscientiousobjectorifthingsinVietnamrampedup.Itwasn’tsomethinghercareer-militaryfatherorherbrother,who’dgottenaPurpleHeartinKorea,wantedtohear.”Heshakeshishead.“InhindsightIshould’vebittenmytonguewhenthesubjectcameup.Kathadpreppedmenottobringupanythingpoliticalinnature,butmytempergotthebestofme.Thatnightwasenoughtosetthepathtodisaster,thoughKatandIdidn’tgiveupafterward.”
“Isee.”
AndIdo.Mymemoriesofmygreat-grandparentsarefuzzy.Iwasyoungwhentheydied.ButIdoremembermygreat-grandfatherwasanold-school,solemnmanwho’dshootpuzzledlooksatmywildhairandThomas’spinkT-shirts,evenasheletuscrawlalloverhimduringThanksgivingdinner.Mytenderhearted,progressivelymindeddadhadacomplicatedrelationshipwithhisgrandfather.Gramdid,too.Butshelovedhimdeeply,andhedotedonher,eventhoughit’sclearertomenowthathislovecouldbedestructive.OneofmymostvividchildhoodmemorieswasGramcryingathisfuneralwhileIclutchedherhand.
MythoughtsgotoPaul’sletter,hisacknowledgmentoftheirpermanentseparation.Withthisnewcontext,itbreaksmyheartevenmoreforbothofthem.“Yousaidinthatletteryouwouldloveheryourentirelife.”
Henods.“Idid,andIwill.”Heplacesastackofpicturesinfrontofme,butIdon’tpickthemupyet.“Shewasmyfirstgreatlove.Iwashers,aswell.Butyourgrandfatherwasherlast.”
“Whowasyourlastgreatlove?”
“Mywife,Vera.Shepassedlastfall,butwehadtwenty-threewonderfulyearstogether.”
Iputmyhandoverhis.“I’msosorryforyourloss.”
Hepatsmyhand,hisblueeyeswatery.“Iappreciatethat.”
MycuriosityoverTheo’sothergrandma—hisbiologicalone—isgnawingatme.But,giventhatsheandPauldivorced,I’mgoingtoassumeit’sastoryIdon’thavearighttoaskabout.
Theotakestheseatacrossfromus.Hishatisbackonhishead,shadinghiseyesandanyemotionlurkingthere.ButInoticeadistinctlackofsurprise.
“Doyouknowallofthis?”Iask.
“Alotofit,”hesays.
“Themarriagestuff,too?”
Theosaysagain,stoically,“Alotofit,Ithink.”
“How?”
HisgazedartstoPaulbeforehesquintsoffintothedistance.“Kathleenwasn’teverasecretinmyfamily.”
Ichewatmylip,wantingtoaskmore,butsensingI’msomehowpressingupagainstabruiseofTheo’s.Hisshouldersaretense,likehe’swaitingformynextquestion.Likeit’llhurttohearit.
Icouldpushuntilhegivesmeanswersortellsmetofuckoff.GodknowsIwanttoknoweverything.ButforreasonsIdon’twanttoexaminetooclosely,Iletitgoinstead.“Let’sseewhat’sinthisbox,huh?”
“Digin,kids,”Paulsays,givingmeawarmsmile,asifI’vepassedatestIdidn’tevenknowIwastaking.
IstartflippingthroughthestackofphotosPaulhandedmeasTheotakesanother.MyattentionsplitsbetweentheimagesinmyhandandthewayTheo’seyesscaneachpicturebeforehelaysitcarefullyonthetableandmoveson.Occasionallyhismouthwillpickupinahalfsmile,andhe’llflipthepicturesoPaulandIcanseeit.MostofthemaregoofyphotosofPaul,butsomeofthemaregorgeousshotsofLosAngeles,theUCLAcampus,orthegroupoffriendsthatstarttobecomefamiliarasImovethroughmystack.
PaulnoticesthatIlingeroveraphotoofGramstandinginfrontofafraternityhouse.Shehasonelegcrossedinfrontoftheotherattheankleandwearsamischievoussmile.Itcouldbemeinthepicture;ourlegsarelongandlean,oursmilesequallywide,alittlecrooked.Herbottomlipisevensnaggedalittleonherleftcanine,likeminedoes.Inthispicture,she’swearingmybest-daysmile.Iknow,deepinmybones,thatwhenthispicturewastaken,shewashappy.
It’sthepowerofphotography.Tocaptureitandletitlivepastthesubject’slifetime.Toallowsomeonetolookatityearslaterandsmilealongwiththem
Ipressmythumbagainsttheglossypaper,workingagainstthemoistureinmyeyesandthelumpinmythroat.
“YoulooksomuchlikeKat,”Paulsays.Iblinkoverathim,pulledoutofmymemoriesandhers.Henodshischinatthepicture.“It’salmostuncanny.”
Acrossthetable,Theo’seyestracemyface.
“YouandTheodo,too,”Isay.“Iactuallycan’tbelieveIdidn’tnoticetheresemblancewhenIfoundthepictures.IspentsomuchtimelookingatthemwhileImadethatvideo.”
Atthis,Theo’seyebrowquirksup.Evenafteryearsapart,IknowhisI’mabouttobeanassholetell.“Wasmyfacefreshinyourmemory,Shep?BeenstaringatmyLinkedInprofilepictureeverynight?”
“Pleasedon’tprojectyourfantasiesontome.”
PaulchucklesandevenTheogrins,hisdamndimplepopping.
Ugh.Evenwhenhedoesn’twin,hewins.
Ihalfstandandpeekintothebox,needingadistraction.Therearemorephotos,ticketstubs,andenvelopesyellowedwithage.Butmygazesnagsonsomethingevenmoreinteresting.It’samap,foldedupcarefullyandperchedontopofayearbook.
Itakeitoutlikeit’sapreciousartifact.Which,really,allofthisis.“What’sthis?”
“TakeashoteverytimeShepardasksaquestion,”Theomuttersacrossthetable.
Ishoothimmymostinnocentsmile.“Oh,I’dlovetoseeyouplaythatgame.Webothknowyourtoleranceislaughable.”
I’mimmenselygratifiedbythewayhischeeksturnpink.Onenightwewereataparty—nottogether,but…existinginthesamespaceatthesametime—andhepukedMike’sHardLemonadealloverhisdate’sshoes.Ihadtohelphershoweritoffbecausetheywerebothtoowastedtogetthejobdone.
Herecoversquickly,hisvoicedipping.“Mystaminahasimprovedsignificantlysincehighschool.”
Imakeanoncommittalsound.Idon’twanttothinkabouthisstaminanow.
GodknowsTheoandIcouldgofordayslikethis,butmyattentionisdiverted.AsIunfoldthemap,thewritingloopedovertopofWashington,Idaho,andMontanastopsmeshort.
PaulandKat’sHoneymoonRoadTripSix
Whatisthis?”
“Je-sus,”Theomutters,butIdon’tmissthewayhisgazelingersonthewriting,orhowhiseyeswidenoncehereadsit.HiseyesjumptoPaul.
“Soyoudon’tknoweverything,”Isaytriumphantly.
Theoignoresme,hisattentiononhisgranddad.“Youtwohadahoneymoonplannedout?”
Paulnods.“Beforethingsended,weplannedaroadtripforthesummertime.Weweregoingtoelopeassoonasschoolwasoutandthengoonourway.ThatwasKat’sstabattheplan,butIhaditinmyheadwe’dgoallthewayacrossthecountryandback.TakeallsummerbeforewesettledbackinLA.”
HesaysthiswithafondnessIcan’tunderstand.Myhearthurtsjustthinkingaboutit,knowingitneverhappened.
“That’salittlemorepremeditatedthanthe‘wewerecrazykidsinlovewhothought,screwit,let’sdothis’storyyoutoldme.”
“Thetimelinewasfast,Teddy,”Paulsays.“Wehadaboutamonthtoplanforit—eloping,thehoneymoon,ourlifeafter—beforeshehadtoleave.Yourinterpretationisn’twrong.”
TheoandIexchangealook.Ican’tevenrevelinthecuriositylightinguphisfacenow;I’mfeelingit,too.Hemayknowmorethanme,butwebothwanttoknowitall.
Leaningin,hiseyestraveldowntothemap.Circlesdotthewesternportion:Yosemite,ZionNationalPark,theGrandCanyon,andSedona,amongothers.Itracetheroutewithmyfinger,feelingthegiveinthepaperwhereGramtracedtheroutewithherpen.
Abreezepicksup,windingundermyhair,andIclosemyeyes,imaginingit’sherfingerswhisperingdownmyneck,thesamewayshe’ddotohelpmefallasleep.Ihavenoideawherepeoplegowhentheydie,butsometimesIswearIcanfeelher.Rightnow,Ido.
Thethoughtentersmymindlikesomeoneyellingit:Goonthistrip.
Mygazeflitsuptothesky,andIshiftinmyseat,loweringmyeyestotracetherouteagain.Curiosityandrestlessnesswraparoundmyheartlikevines.Whatwoulditbeliketofollowinfootstepssheneveractuallytook?WouldIbechasingaghost?Orwouldshefeelcloserthanever?
“Iwanttoaskyouamillionmorequestions,”Iadmit.
“I’manoldmananddon’tquitehavethestaminaforlengthystorytellinganymore…”Atthis,PaulslidesalooktoTheo,whoseeyesrollinreluctantamusement.Paul’sgrinturnssly,andhisgazebouncesbetweenthetwoofusbeforehefocusesonme.“ButI’mhappytogiveyouanswers.I’mafraidit’lljusttakesometime,ifyouhaveit.”
“Ireally,reallydo.”Theotakesnoteofmywistfultoneandraisesaneyebrow,butIpushonbeforehecanaskquestionsofhisown.“I’mcuriousaboutsomethingyousaidlasttime—thatyoudidn’tgetalongatfirst.ObviouslyyouendeduplovingeachotherdeeplyifyouweregoingtogetmarriedwithoutGram’sfamily’sapproval.Whatchanged?”
Paullaughs.“Us.Werealizedthatfirstimpressionsdon’tdictatewhatthefinalimpressionwillbe.Onceweopenedourselvesuptotrulyknowingeachother,itwaseasytofall.”
Again,hesplitsalookbetweenTheoandme.Inarareactofagreement,weignoreit.
“Youalsomentionedthereweremoreletters?”
“Yes,asIsaid,weenjoyedwritingtoeachother.Shewrotemesassynotesinclassbeforewestarteddating,too.”
Iperkup,delighted.“Youdon’thaveanyofthose,doyou?I’dlovetosee.”
“Why,soyoucantakenotes?”Theomurmurs.
“Don’tneedto.I’dsayitrighttoyourface,”Imurmurbackwithasharpgrinthatcurlshismouthintoawickedshape.
IfPaulhearstheexchange,hedoesn’treact.Hepullstheboxtowardhimwithahum.“Letmesee.”
IfoldthemapwhilePaulrifflesthroughtheboxcontents.Acrossthetable,Theoiswatchingallofthiswithaninscrutableexpression.HisgazelingersonmeuntilIstartsquirminginmyseat.WhenIwipeatmyface,searchingforerrantcrumbs,hesmirks.
“What?”Imouth.
Heshakeshishead,andIwatch,fascinated,ashislipspoutaroundhisresponse:“You.”
Likeasparklerburstingfromasingleflame,myminderuptswithcountlessmeaningsforoneword.Youwhat?
Theurgetoaskhimwhatthehellhemeanswarswiththerefusaltogivehimthesatisfactionofknowinghe’ssentmespinning.Buthereadsitonmyface,likeit’swritteninalanguagehecreated,andthatsmirkturnsintoafull-outgrin.
Timeanddistancewillmakeyouforget,butI’veneverhadenoughofeithertoforgetthewayTheoSpencercanaggravateeverynerveinmybodywiththetwistofhismouth.
Inodmychin,forcefullybankingtheheathe’sstokedinmybody.“What’sonyouragendafortherestoftheday?Morevegetableplanting?SomeremoteCFO-ingwhileyou’reelbow-deepincukesandtomatoes?”
Hedoesn’trespond,butIdon’texpecthimto.Ianticipatethewayhissmilefalls,thewayhisgazemovespastme,andIfeelapangof…regret?No.I’mnotgoingtofeelsorryforhim,evenifI’mbeginningtoseethatworkisawoundforhim.I’msurehisfeatureinForbessoothestheache.
“Oh,Ihavesomezucchinigoingin,too,”Paulsayscheerfully,pullingoutastackofpapers.
Imatchhistone,justtoirritateTheo.Sureenough,hesnortswhenIsay,“Soundsdelicious!”
“Wheneverythingstartscomingininafewmonths,I’llputtogetherasaladforus.”
“Thatsoundsreallynice.”
Mythroatgoessuddenlytightatjusthowniceitsounds,tohavesomeonewhoknewGraminawaythatfeelsnewtomeandwhocallsmesweetheart,whoses’shaveaslightwhistletothem,asoundbrushedoverwithage.Agrandparent,thoughIcan’tcallhimmine.
Paulholdsupapieceofpapertriumphantly,thenhandsitover.“Foundone.”
Theorisesfromhisseatandcirclesthetable,sittingnexttome.Igivehimasidelongglance.“Youreallywanttoreadthis?”
Heliftsashoulder.“It’smyfamily,too,right?Mightaswell.”
Notquiteasobsessiveasmythoughtprocess,buthehasapoint.Thisisatiethatbindsus,forbetterorworse.
Withasigh,Ireturnmyattentiontothepaper.Butthehandwritingstopsmeshort.
Ididn’trealizehowemotionalitwouldbetoseeGram’swritingagain.Itgotspideryinlateryears,butthisisstillthehandthatwroteherloveformeonbirthdaycardseveryyear,whenIgotmyfirstperiodinseventhgrade(shegotmeacake,too,chocolatewithredfrosting),whenmytennisteamwondistrictchampsmyjunioryear.Shesaiditoutloud,too,sooftenIstillhearitsometimeswhenit’sreallyquietandverylate.
Ididn’tkeepmostofthosecards.Aftershedied,wefoundeveryoneweevergaveherstashedinaseriesofstoragebins.Ispedbacktomyapartmentinthecity,torethroughmyroom,myroommatehoveringinmydoorwaywhileItriedtofindanycardsshe’dgivenmeovertheyears.Ifinallyfoundafew,andthey’retuckedintomynightstandnow.ButIregreteveryoneIeverdiscardedthinkingIhadaninfinitesupplyofthem.
Thisnoteisagiftforsomanyreasons,andmyblurredgazemovestoPaul.“Itdoesn’thavetobetoday,butcanIreadanythingelseshewroteyou?Herhandwriting…”Iswallowhard.“Imissit,andthismakesmefeellikeI’mgettingtoknowherinadifferentway.”
It’stoorevealing,especiallywithTheosittingrightnexttome,hisgazeheavyonmyface.ButIcan’tcareaboutthatrightnow.Iwantitall.
“Ofcourse,”Paulsaysgently.“I’llorganizethemsoyoucanreadtheminchronologicalorderfornexttime.I’dbehappytotellyouthestoryalongsidethem.”
Igivehimawaterysmile.“That’dbeperfect.”
Theo’skneepressesintomine.“C’mon,getreading,Shep.I’mwayaheadofyou.”
Ihuffoutabreath,blinkingawaymytears.“It’snotacontest,Spencer.”
“Isn’titalwayswithus?”
WhenIlookoverathim,hisexpressionshiftsfromsomethingundefinableintoachallengingsmirk.
“Becauseyoumakeitthatway,”Imutterundermybreath,thenfocusbackontheletter.
Paul.
Incredible.Gramcouldhavetaughtamasterclassonhowtoinfusedeadlydisdainintooneword.
We’vebeeninthisclasstogetherfortwoweeksandyou’realreadyanuisance.Iwasn’tsobbingoutside,despitehowyouclassifiedit.Iwas…misty-eyed,butthisishowitiswhenIcomebacktoschoolafterthesummer.Ican’twaittogetbackhere,andthenIleaveand—
Idon’thavetoexplainanythingtoyou.Imissmyfamily,butI’mfine.Twoweeksfromnow,myfatherwillbeirritatingmewithcallsandI’llbegladforthedistance,soyou’llneverseethisagain.
Awordofadvice:ifyouseeawomanwhoisactuallycrying,staringatherinbewildermentisahorriblestrategytomakeherfeelbetter.
Kathleen
“Youweren’tkiddingabouthernotlikingyouatfirst,”Isaywithalaugh.
Paulgrins,hisdimplepopping.“Andyet,weekslaterweweredating.”
“Whocouldresistthatcharmofyours?”
Helaughs,squeezingmyshoulder.“I’mgoingtotakealittlerestnow,butdon’tleaveonmyaccount.Teddyhashoursofworktodo.”
“Greattohear,”Theosaysdryly.
Mygazeflitstohimandthenaway.“Ishouldprobablygetbacktowork…ingfromhome.Myworkathome.”IttakeseverythinginmenottoclosemyeyesoverthemessIjustmadeofthatstatement.“Thankyoufortakingthetimetotalktometoday.”
Paulsqueezesmyhandwithakindsmile.IstillseesomuchofTheoinit,thoughtheemotioniscompletelydifferent.“Feelfreetocomebythisweekend.We’lldiveintothoseletters.”
“I’lltakeyouuponthat.”
Theorisesfromhisseat.“So,what,isthisgoingtobearegularthing?”
“Don’tworry,I’msurethisschedulemix-upisaonetimedeal.Nomoreunexpectedrun-ins.”IwinkoveratPaul.“Right?”
Heputsonabewilderedexpression.“I’mstillnotsurewhathappened.”
“Mm-hmm.”Theo’sskepticismisclear,buthedoesn’tsaymore.Still,hedoesn’tlookpleasedbytheplansPaulandIhavejustmade.
Idon’tcareifTheowantstoshare.I’mgoingtotakeeveryminutePaulwillgiveme.It’sonemoreminuteIhavewithGram.
Despitehisapparentallergytospendingtimewithme(whichisreturned),Theoinsistsonwalkingmeout.It’snotuntilwestepoutthefrontdoorthatIremembertheBronco.
Istopinfrontofit.“Ohfuck.Isthisyourcar?”
God,Ireallyneedtolearntoregulatemybrain-to-mouthfilter.
Theonods.“That’sBetty.”
“She’sgorgeous,”Isigh,runningafingeroverthepaint,daydreamingaboutdrivingherdownHighway1alongthewaterwithmyhairflyingeverywhere,allofmyworriesandsadnesswhippingoutofmybodyintothesaltyair.
“Yeah.”Hisvoiceislowandclose.Iturnmyhead,andhe’srightthere,hisgazebouncingtowhereI’mtouchinghiscar.
ButIswearitbouncedfrommyface.
Iletoutabreath,realizingbelatedlyTheoisstilltalking.
“…ThefirstthingIboughtwhenwestartedmakingmoneyoffofWhereToNext.AntonandMatias—thosearetheotherfounders—”HesaysthislikeIdon’tknoweverygoddamnedthingabouthisdumbcompany.“Theyputdownpaymentsontheirplacesinthecity,butallIwantedwasthiscar.”Heliftsashoulderinacarelessshrug,runningapalmoveritssidelikeIimaginehewouldoverawoman’ship.Acravinginthemidstofbeingsatisfied.“Tookmeafewmonthstotracktherightonedown.”
“Thisismydreamcar,youknow.”MytonecomesoutmoreaccusatorythanIwant,butwhenTheoraisesaneyebrow,Iraiseminerightback.Idon’tknowwhatitisabouthim;Iwanttofight.IwantthatspikeinmybloodremindingmeI’mcapableofemotionsthataren’theavyandflat.
“WasIsupposedtoavoidit,then?”
“Youcould’vegonewithsomethingcliché,likeaPorscheoraMaserati.A1970…”Itrailoffexpectantly.
“?’77,”hesupplies,amused.
“A1977FordBronco,perfectlyrestoredincherryred?Givemeabreak.That’ssospecific.”Isquintathim,onlyhalfjoking.“DidImentionthistoyouinhighschoolonceorsomething?Isthissometwistedgotcha?”
“Thatwouldbealongcon,consideringIhadnoideaI’deverseeyouagainwhenIboughtit.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Yourcrushisn’tspecial,Shep.LotsofpeoplehavebonersforBroncos.”
“IbetyouhaveacarclubcalledBonersforBroncos,youbignerd,”Isay.
Hepusheshishatuphisforehead,andthesunhitshisface,illuminatinghiseyes.There’sastarburstoflighterbluearoundthepupil,andagainstthedepthoftherestofhisirisitlooksalmostsilver,likemoonlighttouchingtheocean.“Don’tbemadjustbecauseIgotsomethingyouwanted.”
Ittakesallmywillpowernottosuckinabreath.Hehithismark,butIdon’twanthimtoknowit’strue.He’sgoteverythingIwant:success,accolades,alifewithdirection.Eventhiscar.
Ihitchmypurseupmyshoulder,myheartbeatinghard.“I’dlovetoknowwhereyougetyourattitudefrom.It’scertainlynotfromyourangelofagranddad.”
Helaughs,butit’shumorless.“That’sagiftfrommydad.”Idon’tgetachancetoprocessorrespond.Heturns,liftingtwofingersoverhisshoulderashewalksbackinside.“Bye,Shepard.”
“Yeah,bye,”Imutter,takingonelastlookathisannoyinglybeautifulass.“Hopefullyforgoodthistime.”Seven
Dude,youhavetogivethepeoplewhattheywant.”
IsquintagainstthesunlightbeamingbehindThomas’shead.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Ontheothersideofme,Sadiesays,“YourTikTokisstillgoingoff.Thomashasbeenwatchingitobsessively.”
Isigh,turningmygazebacktothesky.ThomasandSadiedroveuptoGlenlakefordinner,andwedecidedtotakeawalkwhilemyparentscookedanddancedaroundthekitchenlikemoonyteenagers.Westoppedattheneighborhoodpark,wherewe’renowstretchedoutonthegrasssidebyside.Thomasisonhisstomach,headproppedonhisarms,whileSadie’sonherbacknexttome,herfingerslooselytwinedwithmine.
I’mgratefulfortheircompany.It’sbeentwodayssincemyvisitwithPaul,andevenafterupdatingthemoneverythingI’velearned,mymindisstillspinning.
“Ihadtoturnmynotificationsoff,”Iadmit.“Myphonekeptoverheating.”
“Peoplewantanupdate,”Thomassays,layinghischeekonhisforearm,hisgazesharponme.“Youneedtotellthemyoufoundtheguyandyouknowhisgrandson.Someonesaid,‘ifyoudon’tgiveusanupdateIwillliterallydie.’They’regonnadie,Beans.Comeon.”
“That’snotmyfault!”IlaughasSadiesqueezesmyhand,hershouldershakingagainstmine.
Hepropsuponhiselbows.“You’resittingonagoldmine.Whenpeoplefindoutthegrandsonisyouroldnemesis,they’regoingtolosetheirshit.Doyouknowhowmanyfifteen-year-oldswishtheyhadthisclout?Youcan’twasteit.”
“TikTokwasaonetimedeal.IgotwhatIneededoutofit.There’snoreasontocontinue,evenifsomeone’sthreateningdeathbycuriosity.”Ipause.“Relatable,though.”
He’squietforallofthreeseconds.“Weren’tyouusingTikToktoshowyourphotography?”
Immediately,IpicturethevideosIputtogether,littlemontagesofshotsItookonrandomweekends,settosomeindiesong.“Kindof,Iguess.Imean,notinanyseriousway.”
Thomassnorts.“Yeah,that’sthethemethere,huh?”
“Mas,”Sadiewarnssoftly.
Iwhipmyheadtowardhim.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Itmeansyou’reafraidtofailatsomethingyoureallylovetodo,soyou’vebarelyputanyeffortintoit.”
“Idon’tknowifyourememberthis,butIdid,infact,alreadyfailatsomethingIlovetodo.”
“No,”heinsists.“Enzowasadickwhowaswrongaboutyou,andyoubelievedhisbullshit.I’mtellingyou,thisisaonce-in-a-lifetimeopportunity.Maybeifyoukeepgoing,it’llhelpyougetmoreattentionwithyourphotography.”
Ignawatmylip,myheartbeatinghopefullyagainstmyribs.Itdoesn’thavethecommonsensemybraindoes,andpushingagainstitwithmyfingersisn’tslowingitdown.
“Ifyou’regoingtokeepseeingthem,youshoulddoit,Noelle,”Sadiesaysquietly.“Itmightbekindofcooltodocumentthiswholethingonvideoasyougo.Sincethat’showitstarted,youknow?”
“Exactly,”Thomassays.“Andlisten,ifit’llgiveyouconfidenceaboutyourphotography—whichisgreat,bytheway—thenevenbetter.”
“Allyourcomplimentsarefreakingmeout,pleasestop.”
Hegrins,hearingthethankyouburiedthere.
Wouldpeoplebeintoit?Wouldtheycareaboutwhat’shappenedsincethatfirstvideo,followmeonwhateverpaththistakesmedown?
“Besides,whatelsedoyouhavegoingon?You’reunemployed.Youhaveallthetimeintheworldtodothis.”
“Backonfamiliarground,”Imutter.
Hemarcheson.“Honestly,whatyoureallyshoulddoisgoonGram’shoneymoontripanddocumentthat.Peoplewouldloseit;you’dgetsomefreepromotion.Ridethatviralwave.”
Iblinkoverathim.ThevoicethatwhisperedtomewhenIsawthemapwon’tquietdown,andnowIwonderifThomasheardit,too.
MorethananythingelseIlearnedatPaul’s—GramgoingtoUCLA,theirplannedelopement—thatmaphasbeendiggingundermyskin.TheroutesketcheditselfoutinmymindasIfilledoutonlineapplicationsyesterday,andIendedupdownaGooglerabbithole,researchingeachdestinationGramcircledandimaginingwhatI’dseeanddo.Ievendreamedaboutitlastnight.IwasstandingatthebaseofZion’srichredcliffs,andIcouldn’tseeGram,butIfeltherthere.Shewasstandingrightbesideme,hertouchagainstmyhandassoftasthewind,andasfleeting.Therewasacreekrunningbehindus,sage-coloredshrubsrustlingaroundus,anditfeltlikepeace.
IwokeupwonderingifIwasdreamingaboutitbecauseI’mdesperateforanescapefrommyhamster-wheellife,orifitwasasign.Thomasbringingitupfeelslikethelatter.
HisphonetrillsbeforeIcanformulatearesponse.
“Dinner’sready.”HeleapsupandholdsahandoutforSadieandme.
Sadiewrapsherarmaroundmywaist,squeezingmeagainsther.“You’llfigureitallout.”
Ikeephearingthat,butI’mnoclosertofiguringanythingoutthanIwasayearago.Orthefivebeforethat.
ThomaszeroesinonDad’sfamouscheesygarlicbreadassoonaswewalkintothediningroom.“Hellyes.”
“Don’ttakeitallthistime,”Isayasheslidesintohisseat,Sadiedroppingintothechairbesidehim.
“Ihadfourpieceslasttime.”
“Youhadeight.”IlookatDadashewalksintothediningroom,astackofdishesinonehand.Hestoopshissix-fiveframedowntoengulfmeinaone-armedhug.“Whydidyoumakehimthisway?Hehasaholeinhisstomach.”
Hekissesmytemplewithasweetlaugh,settingtheplatesontothetable.ThomasandIcantalkallkindsofshitabouteachother,butDadneverfullyengages.“DNAisacrapshoot,honey.Mas,bud,savesomeforthemasses,okay?Imadeextrapastaforyou.”
“Bestdadever.”ThomasreachesuptopathimonthebackwhileItakethesilverwarefromMomandhanditout.
WhenI’mdone,sherufflesmyhairandwrapsanarmaroundmywaist.We’reexactlythesameheight,downtothecentimeter,cominginatjustoverfive-nine.Imissthedayswhenshecouldengulfmeinahug,whenIcouldpressmycheektoherchestandlistentoherheartbeat.
“Youarebothperfectlymade,”shesayswithconviction.“Andyou,too,Sades,ouralmost-daughter.”
“That’sasubtweetaboutmarriage,”Thomasmumbles,grabbingapieceofcheesybread.ButhewinksoveratSadie,wholaughs.Thatproposalisinevitable,andprobablymoreimminentthanThomashasshared.
Dinnerisourusualchaoticaffair.BythetimeI’vepolishedoffmysecondround,mystomachisseam-rippinglyfullandmydefensesaredown.
ThatmustbewhyMomtakestheopportunitytopounce.“Hey,JumpingBeans,wedidn’tgetachancetofinishupourconversationthismorning.”
“Thismorning,”Iechofrommyfoodcoma.Acrossfromme,Thomaspicksathisteethwithafork.Dadispolishingoffhisbeerattheheadofthetable,thoughhelowersit,splittingacuriouslookbetweenmeandMom.
“Howthejobsearchisgoing,”shesays,leaningbackinherseat.
Right.WhenMomfinishedherpreworkPelotonride,shestoodinfrontofherbeawesomesign,askinghopefully,“Anyupdateonthejobfront?”IwanttogetoutofthishouseasmuchasMomseemstowantmeto,thoughit’sclearlymoreaboutmywell-beingthanreclaimingherspace.Dadhasbeentiptoeingaroundthesubject,astunedintomyemotionaltemperatureasIamtohis,butifIhadsomethinglinedup,he’dbethrilled.He’ddefinitelycry.
Unfortunately,Iremainempty-handed.“Oh.No,wedidfinishitup.Isaid‘couldbebetter.’?”
Sheliftsadarkeyebrow.“Igotaworkcallandhadtostepawayafterthat.”
“Thatcoversit.”Ishiftinmyseat,mycheeksflushing,thougheveryoneinthisroomknowseverydetailofmystruggle.Acrossthetable,Sadiethrowsmehermostsupportivebestfriendsmile.Notwantingtobethebeareroftotalbadnews,Ifib,“I’mworkingonacouplethings.Trustme,Iwanttogetoutofyourhairasmuchasyouwantmeout.”
“That’snotit,”Dadsays.“I’velovedhavingyouhere,especiallygiventhewayweendedlastyear.”Hiseyesdimbeforehesighs,forcingasmile.“ButMomandIalsorecognizethisisyoursafelandingspotforabit.You’llflyawayagainwhenyou’reready.”
Mythroattightens.It’sagifttohavesomeonebelieveinyou,especiallywhenyou’relowonityourself.“Thanks.It’sharderthanIthoughtit’dbe.IassumedI’dbehereforamonth,twotops,thenbegone.”
“Iwasthinking,”Momsays,layingdownhernapkin.“There’sapositionopenatmycompanyyoumaybequalifiedfor,andIknowthehiringmanager.Ifyouwanttogivemeyourrésumé,Icanputinagoodwordforyou.”
Thomasdropshisforkslowly,squintingatherinhorror.“Mom,no.”
“What?”sheasks,double-takingwhenshenoticesDadlookingatherinthesameway.
“Idon’tthinkthat’sagoodidea.”Shamespreads,slowandhot.Deargod,Ineedtogetmylifetogether.Thisrightheremightberockbottom.
“Whynot?It’sagreatcompany.Thebenefitsarewonderful.It’sinthecity,andI’msureyou’dgetasalarythatwouldletyougetbackintoanapartmentwitharoommatequickly.”
“Iloveyousomuch,andit’sagenerousoffer,”Ipreface,holdingmyhandsup.“ButnotonlywouldIhavetoflingmyselfintothenearestpitoflavaifmymothergotmeajob,wecanneverworkforthesamecompany.”
Shesitsback,insulted.“Whynot?”
“BecausemytitlewillbeMarnieShepard’sDaughter,nomatterwhattheroleis.You’realegendthere.TheOprahofsourcing.”Atthissheperksup.Deepdown,Iammymother’sdaughter;welovepeoplegushingaboutouraccomplishments.She’sakick-assVPatawearabletechcompany,andeveryoneknowsher.“Iappreciatetheoffer,butitwillmeanmoreifIdoitmyself.”
Herworkvoicegoesintofulleffect.“So,whatareyoudoing?”
“Marnie…”Dadsays.
“Grant,”sheshootsback,andalengthysilentsentencefollows.
Thomaslooksbetweenus,tennismatchstyle.Nexttohim,Sadiemouthsaword:trip.
Themapflashesinmymind.ThoselocationscircledbyGram’shand.
Thewordsflyoutofmymouth.“I—Imayhaveathing.”
Momraisesaneyebrow.“Athing.”
“Athing?”Dadrepeats,hopeinhisvoice.
Somethinglikeguiltgnawsatmychest,butIforceitaside.Acrossthetable,Thomasiscatchingon.Hebitesbackasmile.“WhenIsaidIwasworkingonacouplethings,thisisoneofthem.It’slikeaphotography…thing.”Someonegrantmetheabilitytostartsayingwordsthataren’tthing.“Atrip.A,uh,two-weektrip,um,acrossthewesternUnitedStates.”
“Aphotographytrip!”Dadsays,hisfacelightingup.“Howawesome,Beans.”
“Isitpaid?”Momasks.
Mybrainscramblesforananswer.“No,butitcouldleadtopaidopportunities.”
It’sbeennearlytwoweekssincemyTikTokwentviral.MaybeThomaswasright.IfIkeeptellingthestoryontheroad,peoplecouldcontinuetolatchontoit.Icouldtakepicturesalongtheway,usethemtomakejazzyclipswithmusicandvibes,talkaboutthelandmarksIvisit.Whendonewell,thosetypesofvideosdosolidnumbers,andIalreadyhavepeoplewaitingonme.IcouldfinallydosomethingwiththeonlineshopI’dbeensettingupbeforeGramdied,linkittomyTikTokaccount.
Icouldtryagain.
It’sahellofawaytodoit,butIcan’tthinkofamuchbetterreasontodustoffmycamera.Ihaven’tbeenabletoshakemyrestlessnessknowingPaulandGramnevergottofulfillthattrip.MaybehearingtherestofthestoryfromPaulandthengoingwillsootheit.MaybewalkinginGram’splannedpathmorethansixtyyearslaterwillhelpmeholdontoher.Itcouldsoftensomeofthisgrief,letmefeellikeI’mactuallydoingsomethingintheprocess.
Ithinkofthatdream,ofZion.OfGramstandingnexttome,herhandalmostinmyhand.
Ipresson,determinednow.“Uh,thephotosItakewillbejudgedforquality”—I’mliterallythinkingofTikTokcommentersnow—“andbasedonthat,Imighthavesomereallygreatoptions.”
Dadisgettingmisty-eyed,andtheguiltturnsthick.Noturningbacknow,though.
“Isthisagrouptrip?”Momasks.
“Yes.”Itcomesoutsoundinglikeaquestion.
“Areyoulyingtome?”Sheleansbackinherchair,herdarkponytailbobbingwiththemovement.HerarmsaretannedandperfectlyPelo-toned.Strongenoughtoliterallywrestlethetruthoutofmeifshewerelikethat.
“No!AndMom,evenifitwasasolotrip,thatwouldbeokay.I’mtwenty-eight.”IlookfromhertoDad,who’swatchingmewithatiredsmile,hisblondhairandworkclothesmussed.“IknowI’mBenjaminButton-ingallovertheplace,butIamactuallyagrownhumanbeingwho,upuntilfourmonthsago,livedonherown.”
“Iknow.”Igiveheralookandsheholdsupherhands.“Ido!Ijustdon’tlovethethoughtofawomantravelingalone—particularlyawomanwhowearsmyheartonherbody.”
Weexchangeworld-wearylooks.“Ihatethatwehavetothinkaboutit.”
“Fuck,metoo,”shesays,whichshocksusintolaughter.She’snotmuchforthef-bomb,butwhenshesaysit,shereallymakesitcount.
“Thisisincredible,Noelle.”Dadreachesahandacrossthetable.Itakeit,mythroatsqueezingintandemwithhisfingerstighteningaroundmine.“I’mproudofyou.”
“Thankyou,”Imanage,feelingequallyhopefulandlikeshitonthebottomofsomeone’sshoe.
“Whenisthishappening?”Momasks.
“Inacoupleweeks.”Completelypulledthatoutofmyass.Hopefullyit’senoughtimetogetmyselftogetherandgo.
“Andhowareyougoingtopayforitifit’snotapaidthing?”
“I’llusesomeofGram’sinheritance.”I’vebeenholdingontoit,waitingforsomethingshe’ddeemworthy.Thisisit,Iknowit.
Dadnods,hiseyesshining.“She’dlovethat.”
Iwanttolaymyheadonthetableandcry.WhatwouldhedoifhefoundoutaboutPaul?Wouldhecare?Woulditbreakhim?AmIbetrayinghimbynottellinghimaboutthis,thewayIfeelbetrayedbyGramfornottellingme?
Whatamess.Whatanabsoluteclusterfuck.Andyet,nowthatI’vedecided,Ihavetoseethisthrough.
“Okay,”Momsays,herexpressiontwistingfromdoubttocautiousoptimism.“Yeah,thiscouldbereallygoodforyou,Noelle.”
Itcould.Andclusterfuckornot,I’mdoingit.Eight
WhenIshowupatPaul’shouseonSaturday,Ibringguests.ThomasandSadiewantedtotagalongtoseethemapandanythingelsePaulispreparedtoshow,andPaulwasgraciousenoughtoacceptusallforanearlylunch.
Heopensthedoorwithhissignaturesunnysmile,steppingaside.“Comeonin,kids.I’vesetusuponthedeckagain.”
IbeamathimasThomasandSadieintroducethemselves,thoughmystomachdoesasomersault.I’mrevealingmyplantoday,andIhavenoideawhathe’llsay.
Ittakeseverythinginmenottorunfortheback.IwanttoporeoverGram’sletters,andIneedtotakeanotherlookatthemap.MaybeI’lltakeapictureofitor—best-casescenario—borrowitsoIcantakeitwithme.I’dalsoliketogetdetailsoftheoriginallyplannedtripfromPaulsoIcanplotmydaysout.Theclockisofficiallyticking.
I’msocaughtupinmyto-dolistthatPaulandThomasendupatthefrontofthepackaswewalkin.Whenwegettothelivingroom,Thomasgesturestothegallerywall,comingtoahalt.“Noellewouldn’tstoptalkingaboutthisafteryourvisit.Shesaidtheseareallyourphotographs.”
“Theyareindeed.I’vebeenfreelance,haveworkedwithNationalGeographicandotherpublicationsyouprobablywouldn’tknow.Tookmeallaroundtheworldforatime.”
“Whendidyouslowdown?”Iask.
Paulgazesatthewall.“WhenTheowasborn.He’smyonlygrandchild,soIhaveabitofanaffinityforhim.”MyheartsoftensattheaffectiononPaul’sfaceashecontinues,“IlivedinLosAngelesfromcollegeon.Myson,Sam—that’sTheo’sdad—movedupherewhenTheowasinjuniorhigh,andTheo’suncle,Mark,andhishusbandleftforArizonaaboutadecadeago,soforatimeitwasjustVeraandme.”
Thomassmilesoveratme,bothimpishandproud.“Noelle’saphotographer,too.”
IresisttheurgetoplayitdownordenyitaltogetherasPauleyesme.
“Ihadafeeling.Shetoldmeshewasn’t.”
“I’mnowhereclosetoyou,”Isay,gesturingatthedisplaybeforeus.Somehow,myhandendsuppointingrightatthatchildhoodportraitofTheo,andIstuffmyhandsintothepocketsofmyjeans.
Sadieweavesherarmthroughmine,shakingmegently.“You’reamazing.”
“She’sdownplayedhertalents,then,”Paulsayswithasympatheticsmile.Likeheknowsit’sanachyspot.IswallowandlookdownatSadie’slongrainbownails,brightandcheerfulagainstmysun-starvedskin.
“Thatsoundsaboutright.”Thomasstickshishandsinhispockets,rockingbackandforthonhisheels.“Thefunnythingis,whenshewasinhighschool,shewouldn’tshutupaboutallthethingsshewasgoodat.”
“What’strulyfunny,”Paulsays,“isTeddytalkedquiteabitaboutaveryaccomplishedgirlinhighschool.Now,ittookmeabitoftimetounravelallthisafterImetyoulastweek,butIrealizedthenameIalwaysheardasStephwasactuallyTeddytalkingaboutyouandcallingyouShep.”
Myheartplopsintomystomach.“I’msorry,what?Hetalkedaboutmeinhighschool?”
Nexttome,Sadieinhaleswithbarelyconcealeddelight,herfingersdiggingintomyarm.Shewon’tletgooftheideathatthisisfate’swayofbringingmetheloveofmylife.
MaybeI’dplayalongotherwise,buttheideaofTheobeingtheloveofmylife—oreventheloveofonesinglemonthinmylife—sendsicyfingersdancingdownmyspine.
“Yes,indeed.TheospenteverysummerwithVeraandme—”
“Wow,thewholesummer?”Thomasinterjects.
Paulnods.“Sincehewassix.ItwasadealIworkedoutwithhisparents.Hecametoustheweekafterschoolendedandlefttheweekbeforeitbegan.”
“That’sintense.I’msurprisedhisparentslethimgo.”Iholdupmyhands.“Imean,I’msureitwasgreat.It’sjustalongtimetobegone.”
“Itwasagoodsetupforeveryoneinvolved,”Paulsayssimply,hisgazemovingbacktoTheo’spicture.
Ialwayswonderedwherehewent,thoughIpretendednottocare.ThemomentumoftheschoolyearandalloftheenergyIexpendedtobethebest—betterthanTheo—fizzledintoamelancholiclackofdirectionduringthesummer.SometimesIfeltlostwithoutsomething(orsomeone)todirectmyambitionstoward.
Paulpicksupthethreadoftheconversation,pullingmeoutofmymemory.“Atanyrate,yournamewouldcomeupduringconversationsabouttheschoolyear.Youplayedtennisaswell?”
“Yes,Iplayednumberonesinglesonthegirls’team.Theowasthesameontheboys’team,butyouprobablyknewthat.”
Paulnods.“Iwashisnumberonefan.Alwayshavebeen,eventhoughIcouldn’tmakeitupnorthtowatchhismatchesbutforeveryonceinabluemoon.”
“Somepeopletriedtoorganizeahead-to-headmatchbetweenTheoandNoelletheirsenioryeartoraisemoneyforcharity,”Thomaspipesup,“buttheprincipalshutitdown.Heknewitwouldendinbloodshed.”
Itosshimaglare.“Thatwastheofficialstory.IthinkTheowasafraidI’dwin,andhepaidPrincipalReyesoff.Hestillowesmeahead-to-headmatch.”
“Iactuallywouldpaytowatchthat,”Thomassays.“Aslongasbloodshedwasguaranteed.”
“Noellewouldwipethecourtwithhim,”Sadiesaysloyally.“Respectfully.She’sabeastonthecourt.”
Paullaughs,shakinghishead.“Ihavenodoubtitwouldbeentertaining.”Hesweepsanarmtowardtheslidingdoor.“Shouldwecontinueonwithourcurrentadventure?YouandTeddycandiscussyourmatchnexttimeyouseeeachother.”
I’mactuallyshockedheisn’therenow,althoughPauldidpromisenomore“mix-ups.”
Ihavetosqueezemybrainlikeafisttocrushmycuriosityaboutwhathe’sdoingonsuchabeautifulSaturdaymorning.Ishestillsleeping?Ishealone,oristheresomeonewarmingtheothersideofhisbed?
GahShutitdown,Noelle.
IgivePaulacarefreesmile,towingSadiewithme.“Adventuretimeitis.”
ThomasandSadietaketheseatsclosesttothedoor,theirbackstothehouse.Theyleantowardeachother,headsbowedoverthephotographsI’vealreadyseen.Meanwhile,Pauldigsthroughthebox,presumablytograbthelettershepromisedwe’dread.
Ifiddlewithastackofphotos,tryingtofigureouthowtobringupthemap.Myplan.WhatIneedfromPaul.It’spossiblehewon’tcareandsay“hereyougo,goodluck.”Butit’salsopossiblehe’llthinkit’sodd,orhewon’tapprove.Inthatcase,doIgo?Willhestilltellmetherestofthestory?Idon’tknowhowI’dfeelgoingontheirabortedhoneymoontripifIdidn’thavehisblessing.It’saweirdenoughideaasitis.
Sadiekeepsslidingmelooks,thendartinghereyespurposefullyatPaul.Iwidenmyeyesbackather,aclearinvitationtochillout.
Myclammyfingerswraparoundawornenvelopewithmementos—ticketstubs,oldflyersfromschool,anotethatPaulandGramseemedtopassbackandforth.Ishowittohimandhelaughssoftly.
“Evenafterwestarteddating,shewrotemenotesinclass.”Histhumbssmoothoverthewrinkledpaper.“Probablytryingtodistractmeintofailure.”
“Anelitetactic.”WishI’dthoughtofthatinhighschool,thoughIhavenoideawhatI’dhavedistractedTheowith.CassidyBowman’sass,maybe?Godknowshelookedatitenough.
Afootconnectswithmyankleunderthetable.“F—”Icutoffmycursewithacough.
“Areyouallright?”Paulasks,placingahandonmyback.
“Fine,”Icroakout,communicatingwithaglarethatIwillmurderThomaswhenheleastexpectsit.Hemouthsdoit,thoughhe’stalkingaboutthemap.
OnecornerofPaul’smouthpullsup,revealinghisdimple.“Anotherbug?”
MycheeksblazeasIrememberhowIreactedtoashirtlessTheo.AsIremembershirtlessTheo,period.“Yeah,Iguesstheyloveme.”
Paulwalksovertothecornerofthedeck,whereaminifridgeissetup.Theo’sbeenbusythisweek.Therearerailingplantersliningtheperimeterofthedeck,allfilledwithflowersandherbs,andtheraisedplantersTheowasworkingonearlierthisweekarenowfilledwithgreenery,thesoilblackwithfreshmoisture.
Allofthishadtohavetakenmorethanoneday;ishisschedulethatflexible?SeemsalittleunusualforaCFO.
Paulsetsabottleofwaterinfrontofeachofus.Weallmurmurourthanks,thenlapseintosilence.Forafullminute,theonlysoundisPaulhummingtohimselfandthecrinkleofpaperasheshufflesthroughletters.
ThomasandSadiearefull-onstaringatmenow.Myheartispoundingwithpurposeandanticipation,andanxiety,too.
MygazelockswithThomas’s.HewatchesmewitheyesthesamecolorasDad’s,andIrememberthelookinhiseyeswhenIcameupwiththisridiculousplan.Thehopethere,andthehappiness.LikeI’mfinallypullingmyselfoutofwhateverblackpitIsankintowhenGramdied.
It’snotjustthatIwanttogo.It’sthateveryoneelsewantsmeto.Ifthisdoesn’twork,it’llbeanotherfailure.Andinsomeway,it’llfeellikelosinganotherpieceofGram,oneI’veregainedsinceherdeath.
“Hey,Paul,”Isay,lickingmylips,myattentionstilltetheredtomybrother.Thomasnods,justonce.There’ssomethinglikehopeinhiseyes,too.
“Yes?”
Iturn,squintingupagainstthesunhaloingPaul’shead.“Um,IwashopingIcouldtalktoyouaboutsomething.”
Helowershimselfintothechairattheheadofthetable,hisexpressionopenbuttouchedwithconcern.“Ofcourse,Noelle.Whatisit?”
“It’saboutthemap.Yourhoneymoontrip,actually.”
“Allright,”hesaysslowly.
Iopenmymouthtojustsayit,butitgetsstuckinmythroat.IhatethatI’vebecomesoafraidofnotsucceedingthateveninthismoment,Ican’tgoafterwhatIwant.“Woulditbepossibletolookatitagain?”
“Sure.”Paulpullstheboxcloser,tipsitsohecanlookinsidewhileseated.Hepullsthemapoutandhandsittome.
ThomasandSadieshiftallofthevariousphotosandmementosoutofthewaysoIcanlaythemapflat.Theydon’tsayanything,butThomasmovesafingeroverthewritingatthetop,hisexpressionturningsolemn.SinceGramdied,he’sshedhisfairshareoftears.Shewasthesourceofjoywholitusallup;thegrouptextthreadwithmyuncles’familiesisanongoingtestamenttothat.
Paul’schaircreaksasheleansforward.Hiseyeslockontomine.They’reTheo’scolorbutkinder,fullofanemotionIfeelechoingintheemptypartsofmychest.He’sknowngrief,andhe’sshowingittome.
Ipressmypalmflatonthepaper.“Iwanttogoonthistrip.”
Hiseyebrowsraiseinsurprise,butherecoversquickly.“Oh?”
Inod.“I’dlovetoborrowthemap,butifyoudon’twanttopartwithit,Iunderstand.SomaybeIcouldtakenotesorpicturesofit—”
“Youcanhaveit,Noelle,”hesaysgently.
“Oh.Wow,okay,thankyou,”Istutterout.“Couldyoutellmewhatyourplanswere?Therearelotsofplacescircledhere,butI’dlovetoknowiftherearecertainthingsyouwantedtodo,somaybeIcandothem,too.”Iswallow,suddenlybreathlesswiththeweightofallofmyemotions.Everythingissittingonmychest:relief,unbearablesadness,hope.Allofthemthesameweightindifferentways.“I’mgoingtotakemycamera.I’dlovetotakesomeofthepicturesyouwouldhave.Theywon’tbeasgoodasyours,obviously,but…”Iliftmyshoulderinahelplessshrug.“Ithinkthismighthelp.Nothingelsehas.”
Paullooksatmeforalongmoment,hiseyestravelingovermyfacelikeIhavemyownmapplottedoutthere.Hisfingersareintertwined,restingonthetablebetweenus.Ifighttheurgetoreachacrossthetableandcoverhishandswithmine,beghimtogivemehisblessing.BeghimtogivemehisstoriesbeforeIgo.
Iholdmybreath,myheartracing.Ineedthistowork,forsomanyreasonsalltangleduptogether.
Hishandsreachouttotakemine,asifheknowsIneedthegroundingtouch.Finally,hesays,“Ihaveabetteridea.LikeIsaid,youcantakethemap.ButI’dlikeyoutotakeme,too.”Nine
It’ssoquietIcanhearmyheartbeatinmyears.SoquietthatThomas’sandSadie’ssurprisedinhalessoundlikeahurricane.
Idon’tgetachancetoprocesswhatPaul’sjustproposed,letalonerespond.Myattentionisstolenbythesoundofaslammingdoor,thenashadowyfigurestormingthroughthelivingroom,headdown,shoulderstightandhigh.
MyheartpicksupafranticpaceasTheoroughlyslidesopenthescreendoor.
“I’mfuckingdonewiththem—”Helooksupfromhisphone,andIswearhissoulexitshisbodywhenoureyesmeet.Hisheelslips,andhegripsontothedoorframetokeephimselffromfallingonhisass,pressinghisphoneoverhisheart.“JesusfuckingChrist,whatareyoudoinghere?”
He’slookingatallofus,butclearlytalkingtome.
Sadieturnsinherseat,hereyesgoingcomicallywide.I’veshownherpicturesofTheo,butheisamilliontimesmorepotentinperson.“Wow.”
“Yeah,that’sauniversalreaction,”Thomasmurmurs,throwingTheoawaveoverhisshoulder.“Hey,man.”
Theorunsahandthroughhishair,givingmybrotheradistracted“Hi.”Heclearshisthroat,hisgazelingeringonmebeforeheturnstoPaul.“Ididn’trealizeyouhadcompany.”
“ItoldyouIwashavingNoelleoverwhenwehaddinnerlastnight,”Paulsays.Hisexpressionvacillatesbetweenconcernandamusement.“Iknewyouweren’tpayingattention.Youhadyournoseinthatphoneallnight.”
Theoblowsoutabreath.“Sorry,I…wasdistracted.”
“Areyouallright?”Paul’stoneiscareful,andIscanTheoforsignsofdamage.Physically,he’sasaggressivelyhandsomeasever,wearingthoseoldLevi’sandaplaingrayT-shirtthatpressesupagainsthisbodyasabreezepicksup.Whocanblameit?It’sprobablyagreatbodytobepressedagainst.
IttakesmethreesecondsandasubtleheadshaketorememberwhyIwaslookingathiminthefirstplace.
Somethingiswrong,andit’snotphysical,butIknewthat.Hecamerippingoutherelikeabatoutofhell,talkingabout—
I’mfuckingdonewiththem.
Whoarethey?
Idon’tevenrealizeI’vesaiditoutlouduntilTheoresponds.“Sometimesit’sokaytokeepthequestionsinsideyourmouth.”
“That’swhatItellher,”Thomassays.
“Nooneaskedyou,”Ishootback.
“Nooneaskedyou,either,”Theosayswithoutheat.Infact,Iseeabriefflashofdimple,alightningstrikeagainsthischeek.
ImeetSadie’sgaze—she’sbeenwatchingallofthiswithinterest.“Itoldyou.”
I’vespentatleastthreecumulativehourstalkingaboutourenemyvibes.
“You’reright.”Sadienods.“ButImean…”he’shot,shefinishesinsilentbestfriendshorthand.
Iraisemyeyebrows.Youcan’tovercomethatpersonality.
Hermouthpursesthoughtfully.Can’tyou?Notevenforonenight?
Theolooksbetweenus,thendirectssterneyebrowsatme.“Stoptalkingaboutme.”
“Weweren’ttalkingaboutyou,”Ilie.
Thomassnorts.
“I’llcomebacklater,”Theosays,alreadystartingtobackup.
Paulstartstostand.“Doyouneedtochat?”
“No,no.”Theoholdsupthehandclutchinghisphone.It’slightinguplikeaJulyFourthsky.“Didn’tmeantointerrupt.”
Disappointmentbloomswithoutmypermission,butbeforeIcanforceitdown,Paulsays,“Stay,Teddy.You’llprobablywanttohearthis.”
Theo’smidnightgazemovestome.“SomehowIdoubtit.”Myhandsmoothsoverthemapinreflex,andhisattentiondropstherebeforebouncingbacktomyface.“Youdidn’thaveenoughtimewiththatonTuesday?”
“I’mborrowingit.”
“Why?”
Idon’twanttotellhim,buthe’llfindouteventuallyanyway,especiallyifPaulwantstocomealong.
God,doeshereally?
Iliftmychin,tryingtoprojectanairofconfidence.“BecauseI’mgoingonthistrip.”
Iexpecthimtomakesomederisiveremark,butaftertheinitialsurprise,hisfacesoftensintosomethinglikeunderstanding.“Isee.”
“AndsoamI.”Paulsmilesoveratme.“Ifyoudon’tmind,thatis.”
“I’msorry,what?”
Ah,there’sthereactionIwasexpecting.Theo’sexpressiontwistswithdisbeliefashestandstohisfull,distressinglyattractiveheight.
Paulsquareshisshoulders.“Wedidn’tgetachancetodiscussit,sinceyouwalkedinrightasItoldNoelle,butI’dliketojoinher.”
Theolooksatme,eyesflashing,likethisissomehowmydoing.Iholdupmyhands.“Ihaven’tevenhadachancetoprocessthis.Turnyourangryeyeselsewhere.”
“Areyouorareyounottryingtodragmygranddadonamultiday,multistoptripdownmemorylane?”
Icrossmyarms,glaringupathim.“I’mnotdragginganyone.ItoldPaulIneededtoborrowthemaptogoonthistrip,andrightbeforeyouburstinhereliketheHulk,hesaidhewantedtojoinme.Iwouldlovehiscompany”—IsmileatPaulsoheknowsI’macceptinghisrequestbeforeturningmymurdereyesbackonTheo—“butI’mnotforcinganyoneintoanything.I’mdoingthisformyself.IfPaulwantstojoinme,that’shisprerogative.”
Theo’smouthtwitches.
Ipointathim.“Donotsmile,I’mbeingauthoritativerightnow.”
“Uh-huh.Don’tquityourdayjob,Shepard,”hesays.
Thomaschokesonhiswater,andIshoothimalookwhileSadieelbowshimintheside.ButTheo’snotpayingattentionanyway;he’sfacingoffwithPaul,hisarmscrossingoverhischest.
“Whydoyouwanttodothis?”heasks.“IsthisaboutKathleen?Isthissomewishfulfillmentthing?”
Paulshakeshishead.“KatandIhadourclosure.I’dliketobethereforNoelleifshehasquestionsorneedssupport.Infact,I’dlovetotellherthewholestoryaswego.”Hereachesovertotakemyhand,andIhavetoworkextraordinarilyhardnottoburstintotears.Thethoughtofdoingallofthisatonceisanoverwhelmingmixofjoyandgrief.Acrossthetable,Thomassendsmeaquiet,understandinglook.
Theodoesn’tmissmystrugglewithemotions,butthenagain,hedoesn’tmissmuch.
Paul’svoicedipsashecontinues,“AndI’vebeenkickingaroundonehouseoranothersinceVeradied,Teddy.I’dliketogetbackoutintotheworld,evenifit’sjustfor…”Hetrailsoffexpectantly.
“Twoweeks,”Isupply.
“Twoweeks.IneedthisasmuchasNoelledoes.”Helevelshisgrandsonwithalook.“And,Isuspect,asmuchasyoudo,too.Travel’salwaysdoneyougood.”
MyheartleapsintomythroatasTheoscoffs.Acrossthetable,ThomasandSadiearestaringbetweenthethreeofus,eyeswide.Sadie’sgoevenwiderwhentheymeetmine,asPaul’simplicationtakesroot.
HewantsTheotocomeonthistrip,too?Iresisttheurgetoscreamout“NO.”
“Ican’tleave,”Theosaysintothebloatedsilence.
“Whynot?”Paulasks.It’sthemostconfrontationalI’veeverheardhim.
“BecauseI—youknowwhy.”Theogesturestohimwithawildflickofhiswrist.“Andyoushouldn’tgo,either.You’renotthirtyanymore.”
Paulwaveshimoff.“I’mhealthyasahorseandyouknowit.MaybeI’mslowerthanIusedtobe,butIcanstillgetaroundjustfine.Iwalkthreemileseveryday,andmyfatherlivedtobe104.IfIcalledmyphysicianrightnow,he’dsaygo.”Hetossesuphishands.“Hell,he’dprobablyasktocomealong,too.There’sgreatgolfalongtheway.”
Theosighsdeeply,runningthehandnotclutchinghisphonethroughhishair.Hisfingersgriptheends,afrustratedmove.
“Well,Ican’ttalkyououtofit,”hesaysfinally.
“You’reright,”Paulsays.Heturnstome.“Areyousureit’sallrightwithyou?Iunderstandifyouwanttogosolo.”
Theofrowns.“It’snotallthatsafe,Shep.”
“Thankyou,Ialreadygotthatlecturefrommymom,anditdoesn’tmatteranyway.PaulandIaregoingonthisadventuretogether.”
Theoscrubsathisjaw,hiseyesclosingbriefly.“Yeah,thatmakesmefeelsomuchbetter.I—”
Hisphonebuzzesandhelooksdownatthescreen.Dadflashesurgentlyacrossit.SeeinghisnameandthewayTheo’sexpressioncavesinonitselfisadéjàvumoment:wecouldjustaseasilybeinourhighschoolparkinglotrightnow,mewatchingTheo’sdadadmonishhiminthatquiet,controlledwaythatwastentimesmoreintimidatingthanshouting.
“Ofcourse,”Theomutterswithagrimsmile.“Berightback.”
Hedisappearsinside,andIturnbacktoPaul,who’swatchinghisgrandsondisappear.Hisexpressionispinchedwithconcern,butitsmoothsoutwhenhefeelsmyattention.
“I’mexcitedtodothiswithyou.”AssoonasIsayit,thematchingemotionrunsthroughmyveins,likeadrenalinebutsweeter.
“Iappreciateyoulettingmetagalong.This’llbetheperfectwaytotellyouourstory.”Paulpatsthesideofthebox.“I’llbringalongthelettersandfillinwhatIcanuntilyouhavetheanswersyouneed.”
Ican’tdescribethefeelinginmychest.It’snothappiness;it’ssharperthanthat,eventhoughit’swarmandgolden,too.Itmakesmyeyessting.I’llgettheirwholelovestory,anextendedgameofsecretsharing.ButIwon’tbeplayingitwithGram.
“Oh!”Paulsays,perkingup.“I’llbringmycameraalong,sinceyou’rebringingyours.”
“Nice,likeaphotographytrip.”Thomaslooksatmemeaningfully.Notsuchalieafterall.
Paul’seyesaresayingsomething,too.Theyshinewithsupport,andIcan’thelpthinkingofthewayGramusedtolookatmethesameway.LikeshewasjusthappyIwastrying.“I’meagertoseeyourwork.”
“Well…”Iletoutanervouslaugh.ThismanisanaccomplishedphotographerwithacareerIcouldonlydreamof.“Manageyourexpectations.”
Sadiebringsherintertwinedhandsuptoherchin,grinningatme.“Ilovethisidea.I’msogladyou’regoingtogether.”
Ireachup,fiddlingwithmyearrings,whichare,ironically,shapedlikelittlecameras.Frominside,Theo’svoiceraises,thoughIcan’tmakeouttheactualwords.“It’sbeenawhile.I’mreallyrusty,solet’sjustseewhereitg—”
“Theuniverseistellingyousomething,”Sadieinsists,wincingattheslamechoingfromsomewhereinthehouse.“Youneedtolistentoit.”
Isnort.“I’dlovetoknowwhatthemessageis.”
Thescreendoorscreechesopen,andTheo’sthere,colorflagginghischeeks.“I’mcoming,too.”
I’msilentduringthedrivehome.
ThomasandSadiechatinthefront,butThomas’seyeskeepflickingtotherearviewmirror,andSadie’shandsnakesbacktosqueezemykneemorethanonce.
Itallhappenedsofast.OneminuteIwasgoingalone,andthenextIhadtwoextrabodiesI’llhavetocramintomyPrius.Iguesstheupsideisthatfromalogisticalstandpoint,itmakeswhatItoldmyparentslessofalie.Threepeoplemakeupagroup.
ButoneofthosepeopleisTheo
Hemadethedecisioninanger.Icouldseeitinhisslightlyshakinghandswhenheslippedhisphoneintohisbackpocket.I’mnotevensurehesawanyofus,orfullyprocessedPaul’sdelight.ButassoonasIsawPaul’ssmile,thestarkreliefinhiseyes,IpressedmylipstogethersoIwouldn’truinhishappiness.
Iwoulddoillegalthingstogoonatwo-weektripwithGram.I’mnotgoingtotakeitawayfromPaulandTheo,nomatterhowmuchTheoplucksateverysingleoneofmynerves.
Myonlyattempttofinaglemywayoutofitwastoask,“Areyousureyoucangetthetimeoffwork?”
Hisexpressionsouredfurther,hiseyesthunderclouddark.“Yes.It’sdone.Notaproblem.”
Weleftnotlongafter,andIheardmyselfsayfromsomewhereveryfarawaythatI’dfollowupwiththemondetails.
ThomasandSadieinvitemetospendthedayinthecitywiththem,butthisisoneofthosetimeswhereIactuallywanttolieinbedandstareattheceiling.Sothat’sexactlywhatIdoafterIwavegoodbyeandtrudgethroughthesilenthouse.Myparentsareoffgallivantingwithfriendssomewhere;theirsociallifeisunmatched.
Iflopontomybedwithagroan,closingmyeyes.
WhenI’mawakenedbymyphonebuzzingundermyass,it’sdarkoutside.
It’sanumberIdon’trecognize.I’dusuallyletitgotovoicemail,butmythumbispressingthegreenbuttononscreenbeforemybraincancatchup.
“Hello?”
“Wereyousleeping?”
Theo’svoiceissexyinperson,butoverthephoneit’slethal.Thankgodhebalanceditoutbybeingirritating.
“Okay,firstofall,hello.”Isitup,blinkingintothevelvetdarknessofmyroom.“Secondofall,how’dyougetmynumber?”
“Gotitfrommygranddad.”
Paul’satraitor.Noted.“We’llskiptothethirdpoint,then:Whyareyoucallingme?Couldn’tyoujusttextwhateveryouneedtosay?Whatkindofmillennialareyou?We’resupposedtobeafraidofcallingpeople.”
Hissighisall-suffering,leftovertensionpullingittight.“Iwanttomakesureyou’refinewithallofthis.Youweresuspiciouslywithoutwordsattheendthere,andthat’sunlikeyou.”
Itvexesmethatheknowsmewellenoughtosaythat.“I…well,Iwasinshock.It’sonethingforPaultowanttocome,butyou?”Ipickupsteamasmythoughtsfinallycrystallize.“Youweren’tevenintoit.Areyougoingbecauseyou’rerunningawayfromsomething,ordoyounottrustmeontheroadwithPaul?AreyouchaperoningusincaseIleadusastrayandwestumbleoffacliff?IpromiseI’mnotthatinept.”
Istumbletoastopwithagrimace.Maybealittletoorevealing,Noelle.
“Idon’tthinkyou’reineptatall,”hesays.Idon’tknowifit’sthetimbreofitorthesteelbehindhiswords,butIactuallybelievehim.
“Thenwhatisit?”
Hehesitates,reluctant.“Mygranddadwasright.Ineedtogetawayfromthecityforacoupleweeks.It’sbeenalongtimesinceIhadanykindofvacation.”
“Andyouwantthatvacationtobearoadtripwithyourgrandfatherandoldnemesis?”
Helaughs.It’sasoftsound,lessstressedthanbefore.“Thisisn’tanepisodeofScooby-Doo,Shepard.Youwerenevermynemesis.Youweremy…”IhatehowIholdmybreath.“Mymotivation.”
Ihavenoideawhattomakeofthat.Itsoundsdiabolical,buteverythinghesaysdoes.Itcertainlydoesn’tsoundlikeacompliment,thoughifanyoneelsesaidit,I’dtakeitthatway.
“Well,whatever.”Istand,lettingoutaquietmoanasmybackcracks.“YoucouldfuckofftoTurksandCaicosorsomething,butroadtripitis.Areyoufinewithmetakingcareofbookingeverything?”
“Weshouldhashoutsomeofthedetailstogether,”hesays.“That’stheotherreasonIcalled.”
“Okay.”Idragthewordthroughmyannoyance.“I’lltextyoulinkstostuff,then,andyoucanyeaornayme.”
“Granddadwrotemeoutalong-asslistofactivities.I’massumingyou’llwanttoseeit,solet’sdoitinperson.”
“Inperson?”
“Yes,likewhereIseeyourfaceandyouseemyfaceandweexchangewordsinthesameroom.”
MyheartpranceslikeanervousChihuahua.“WhosaysIwanttoseeyourface?”
“You’regonnahavetogetusedtoit.”
Mymindgetsbusysketchingoutavisual—thebroad,angularcutofhisjaw,thosedeep,probingeyes,andthemouththatdoesn’tletmegetawaywithanything.Thatdamndimple.
“Wecangetitdoneinonenight.”Histoneissocajolingandsoftit’salmostacroon.It’satonefordarkness.Forbedrooms.
Heknowsit,too.IcanpracticallyhearhissmirkwhenIsigh.“Okay.Whydon’tIcometoyourplace?Tuesdayevening?I’dliketogeteverythingsettledassoonaspossible.”
“Oh.”There’sabeatofsurprisedsilence.“Youwanttocometomyplace?”
Well,he’scertainlynotcomingtomyplace,unlesshewantstomeettheparents,andacaféisn’tgoingtogiveustheroomandtimetoplan.“We’llneedreliableWi-Fiandaplacetospreadout.”Irealizehowthatsoundsasecondtoolateandrushontosay,“Spreadoutnotesandthemapandstuff.”
“Right.”I’mgratifiedbyhowuncomfortablehesounds.“Fine.I’lltextyoumyaddress.”There’sashortpause.“Doyoulikesteak?”
Mystomachgrowlsshamelessly.“It’sfine.”
“I’llcook,then.Behereatseven.”
Hedoesn’twaitformetorespond;thelinegoesdeadandIpullback,staringdownatmyphonescreen.
Itwasapowermove,andIhatethathegotthelastwordjustasmuchasIhatehowhotitwas.
TwoweeksontheroadwithTheoSpencer.Godhelpusboth.Ten
TheolivesinColeValley,anupscaleneighborhoodinthemiddleofSanFrancisco.Hisstreetisquiet,linedwithsingle-familyhomes,shadedbytalltreesshimmeringinagentlebreeze.SutroTowerstretchesatthetopofthehilldead-endingthestreet,glintinginthesettingsun.
It’snotwhatIexpectedforhim.Iassumedhe’dbeinsomefancyapartment,notshackedupinahomethatlooksunassuming,atleastfromtheoutside.It’sVictorianstyle,paintedslategraywithabrickfa?ade.Nearthearcheddoorway,bougainvilleacrawlsupthewall.
Iparkinfrontofhisdrivewayasdirected,areliefsincethere’snostreetparkingtobefound,thengrabthecanvasbagpackedwithmylaptop,themap,andaspiralnotebookcrammedwithto-dos.
Mycamera’sinthere,too.Igrabbeditimpulsively,shoveditintothebagbeforeIcouldthinktoohardaboutwhyIwantedit.
Mygazetravelsuptothesecond-floorbaywindows,spillingoutgoldenlight.
I’mnervous,andI’mpissedthatI’mnervous,andI’mpissedthatI’mwearingadress,too.It’sacasualblackcottonone,butitskimsmybodythewayI’dwantaman’shandsto.IthoughtaboutTheo’shandswhenIputiton,andIwanttobepissedaboutthat,too.Instead,I’mconfused.WhatamIsupposedtodoaboutanattractiontoamanIdon’tevenlike?
Istrideuptothefrontdoor,knockingbriskly.OnthedoorjambisaRingcamera.Istareatitwhenhedoesn’timmediatelyanswer,knockingagain.
Theo’svoicecallsoutfromtheRing,“Ididn’trealizeweweredressinguptonight,Shep.”
“Don’ttakeitpersonally.Ithaseverythingtodowithnotwantingtoputintheefforttowearpants.”Iknockagain,justtobeapainintheass.“Willyouopenthe—”
Thedoorswingsopen,andthereheis,phoneinhand.Heputshismouthuptothespeaker,hiseyesonme,thetiniestsmirkpullingathislips.“It’snice.”
Hisvoiceechoesallaround—hereinfrontofme,throughtheRing.Itsetsmyteethonedge,thatbackwardvelvetfeelingvibratingthroughme.
Irunmygazefromthetopofhistousle-hairedhead,downhisshirt-and-Levi’s-cladbody,allthewaytohisbarefeet.WhenIgetbacktohisface,Iwidenmyeyesinmockamazement.“I’msorry,didyoujustcomplimentme?”
“Don’ttakeitpersonally,”heechoes.“Itellmyaccountanthelooksniceallthetime,too.”
“It’saslipperyslopetoearnestcompliments,Spencer.”
Hetiltshishead,appraisingme.“Idon’texpectyoutoletmegetthatfar.You’veneverbeenoneforacceptingmycompliments.”
“You’veneverbeenoneforgivingthemtome.”
“Maybeyouweren’tlistening.”
“Trustme,Iwas.”
Iwanttosnatchthewordsbackimmediately.Thetruthis,IwasalwayspluggedintoeverythingTheosaidanddidbackinhighschool;Iwantedtosayanddoitbetter.Iremembereverybitofpraiseheevergaveme,howevergrudging,becauseIateituplikecandy.
Idon’tknowhowtoexistinanearnestspacewithTheo,buthesavesusboth,steppingbacktorevealastaircasethatendsatalanding.Histeasingexpressionsmoothsoutintosomethingcareful.“I’llgetsomepracticeinonIsaiah,then,andgetbacktoyou.Inthemeantime,comein.”
ItakethestairswithTheorightbehindme.There’sanawarenessbetweenusaswewalkuptogether,hisquietfootstepsfallinginsyncwithmysandal-cladclacking.IswearIfeelhiseyeseverywhere,butwhenIlookback,hisgazeisfocusedovermyshoulder.
Idon’tknowifI’mdisappointedornot.AndifIamdisappointed,whatdoesthatmean?Iwanthimtolookatme?Totouchme?
MaybebeinginTheo’shousealonewithhimwasabadidea,butIneedtonumbmyselftohisirritatinglystrongmagneticpullifwe’regoingtotraveltogether.SoIstraightenmyshouldersandkeepclimbing.
“Stopbreathingdownmyneck.”
“I’mnotbreathingdownyourneck.I’mbreathing.”
Iexhalesharply.“Doitless,then.”
“Breatheless?”
“Yes,breatheless,Spencer,that’sexactlywhatImean.”
Anamusedhuffhitsthenapeofmyneck,butTheodoesn’tsayanythingelse.Intheresultingsilence,mykeystrokesonmylaptopsoundlikethunderclaps.
We’resetupatthekitchenislandpost-dinner,andTheo’sbeencurvedovermeforthepasttenminutes,watchingasIaddtoouritinerary.Distractingme.
Asweateonthebackpatioearlier,IeyedTheobetweenourfitsofsparring,wonderingwhathislifelookslike.NottheoneprintedinForbesoranyofthemyriadindustryragshe’smentionedin,hisactuallifeinsidethishousewhenhe’snotTheoSpencer,CFO.ItwasjarringtorealizeIactuallywanttoknow.
Irefusetothinktoohardaboutwhythatis.
Oncedinnerwasover,wemovedintothekitchentogettowork.Iemptiedoutmybag,poppedopenmylaptop,andletTheospreadoutthemap,tryingnottonoticethewayhispalmssmoothedoverthepaper,howhisthumbscircledthecurled-upedges,coaxingthemintoflatness.
ButI’mwinelubricated,andsoishe.Myeyeshavebeenlingering,andoverthepasthourhe’sbeenslowlyswayinghiswayintomypersonalspace.
NowI’mpainfullyawareofhowcloseheis,thewayhisbodylinesupagainstmine.I’mtall,butsoishe,andsohischestbrushesrightupagainstmyshoulderblades,hisjawgrazingagainstmyeareverytimeheleansintolookatmyscreen.Whenhepressedupagainstmyback,complainingaboutoneofthehikesIputdownforYosemite,Inearlyturnedaround.Topushhimawayorpullhimcloser,Istilldon’tknow.
Butifhedoesn’tstopbreathingdownmyneck,oneoptionisinevitable.
“I’mnotgoingtotypefasterwithyoustaringatthescreen,”Isay.
“Well,yousureashellcan’ttypeanyslower.”
Iturnmyheaduntilhisfacecomesintomyperiphery,lettingmyfingerdescendontothefkey.
“Letmeguess,thenextletterisu,”hesaysdryly.
“Sorry,you’llhavetobuyavowel.”
“PrettysureIcansolvethepuzzle,Shepard.”
God,he’sannoying,andyetIhavetopressmylipstogethersohewon’tseemycheekriseinasmile.He’scloseenoughtocatchthebaresttwitch.Whichmeanshe’sstilltooclose
Ipushmyelbowintothehardslabofhisstomach.“Seriously,Ican’tdothiswithyouupmyass.”
Theo’swicked,smokysnickerwindsitswaydownmyspineashestepsaway.“Letmebuyyouadrinkfirst.”
“Itwouldtakemorethanone,trustme,”Imutter.
We’vegotarobustplanfilledoutonanExcelspreadsheetnow,althoughittookanexorbitantamountofback-and-forthtogetthere.OurfirststopinYosemiteisfullybookedviatheWhereToNextsite,asisourovernighterinLasVegas.We’veplottedoutourUtahandArizonastops,too.
“WeshoulddoanAirbnboutsideofZion,”Imuse,clickingthroughthesite.
“Sure,whatever.”
“Ibookmarkedafewoptions.Doyouwanttolook?”
Heshakeshishead,leaninganelbowonthecounterashisgazeroamsoverthemessI’vemade.“You’rethebosshere.”
Somethinglikepurposeflaresinmychest.Iamtheboss,atleastinthislittlecornerofmylife,andgettingtofillthatroleoverTheofeelsunsurprisinglygood.
Still,he’splayinghistypicalroletoperfection.“Funny,sinceyou’vefoughtmeoneverydecisionsofar.”
“Noteverydecision,butwe’renotcampingwithanoctogenarian.”
Isigh,togglingovertoanadorablecabinoutsidethepark.“IknowI’mgoingtopickaplace,andyou’regoingtobitchaboutitwhenwegetthere.”
Theoliftsalazyshoulder.“Youknowmyrequirements.”
“Yeah,yeah,enoughroomsandbedsforall,”Imumble,exitingoutofthesite.I’llfigureitoutlater.
Theo’squietwhileIcolorcodesomecolumns.It’salmost…nice.It’ssonice,infact,thatIgetsuspiciousasIfinishupandsavethedocument,thenshutmylaptop.Idartmyeyessideways,tryingtolookathimwithouthimseeingmelooking.Buthisattentionisonsomethingelse,anyway.
“Whyareyoustaringatmycamera?”
“Becauseyoubroughtyourcamera,”hesays.
“And?”
Herollshiseyes.“AndI’vegottentheimpressionthat’snotsomethingyoudo.”
Iopenmymouthtobrushitoff,todeflectormakesomepithyremarkabouthowhe’stakingnotesonme.Butsomethingaboutthewayhe’slookingatme—challenging,butwithoutjudgment—hasmeholdingbackaverbalbite.
Instead,Ieyethecamera,frowningatthesmudgeofdustmarringthemodedial.IthoughtIwipeditoffearlier.
MyeyesslidefromthereminderofmyneglecttoTheo.“I’mthinkingaboutdocumentingourtrip.”
Hisbrowslowerinconfusion.“Ithoughtthatwasadonedeal.YouandmygranddadaregoingtopalaroundwithyourCanonsorwhateverhe’susingthesedays.”
“Imeantlikeonsocialmedia.TikTok.”
“Oh,”hesays,surprised.“You’regoingtopostmorevideos?”
“I…maybe.TheoneIpostedisstillpopular.Peoplewantanupdateonus.”Theostraightens,andIholdupmyhands.“I’ddoamixofstillsandvideo,landscapestuff.Iwouldn’tputyouandPaulinit,otherthanpotentiallynarratinghisandGram’sstoryaswego.Icangiveanupdatewithoutevenincludingyou,actually.”
Theo’smouthcurvesmicroscopically.“Byallmeans,pretendIdon’texist.”
MygazeskimsoverhimfromheadtotoebeforeIcanstopmyself.Impossible
“WhatwillyougetoutoftheTikTokthing?”
Isquaremyshoulders,consideringthequestion.“Totellastory,Iguess.Torememberit.TofeellikethephotosI’mtakingservesomesortofpurpose.Toseeifpeopleevencare.”
Henods,andwegetcaughtinamomentwherethere’snosnarkordeflecting.Itlastsasecond,maybetwo.Aslongasitwouldtakemetopressmyfingeragainsttheshutterrelease.Aslongasittakesmetocaptureanimageforever.
Ibreakawayfirst,blinkingdowntothecounter.“Wenevertalkedabouthowweirditmust’vebeentoseeyourgranddadinsomerandomvideo.”
Hesnortsoutalaugh,slidingahandalongthemarblecounterashemovescloser.“Itwasprettybizarre.Isignedupawhileagobecausewehaveabigpresencethere.EventuallyIgotsuckedintothisvortexof,like,anhourofmindlessscrollingbeforeIwenttosleepeverynight.ThenightIsawyourvideo,I’dtakenasleepingpill.ThoughtIwashallucinating.”
Ifiddlewithmyearrings.“I’llbetyouneverimaginedit’dplayoutthisway.”
“No.”Hisvoiceisquietashewatchesmyfingers.“Idefinitelydidn’thavethisonmybingocard.”
Iclearmythroat.“So,areyoucoolwithmedocumentingsomeofthetrip?”
Heblinksandrocksbackonhisheels,runningahandthroughhishair.“That’sfine.Granddadwillbeintoit.”
Mychestwarmsatthethought,andIseeasuddensnapshotofmySundaymorningexplorationswithGram.She’dfindthemostpicturesqueplaces—MuirWoods,CowellRanchBeach,Land’sEnd—andwatchmetakeamillionpictureswithasmile.We’dexchangeourlatestsecretsoverlunch,which,post-college,wereeitherjuicydetailsaboutmydatinglifeormyanxietyoverneveraccomplishinganythingworthwhile.
We’dsittogetheratheriMacafterlunch,whichsheonlyboughtbecauseI’dmentionedonceIwantedadesktopbutcouldn’taffordit.ShenevertoucheditexceptwhenIwasuploadingmyphotosorlookingsomethingupforher.We’dsitsidebyside,andshe’dwatchwhileIeditedthebestshotsandorderedprintsforher.
“Lookslikeyou’reaccomplishingsomethingtome,”shesaidonce,pointingtothescreen.
“You’rebiased,”Iscoffed.
Sheshookherhead.“You’realreadydoinggreatthings,Ellie.You’reyoungstillandfiguringoutwhatthatlookslike.Giveittime.”
Shealwaystoldmehowmyphotospaintedstorieswithoutwords,andthat’swhatI’mattemptinghere.Paul’spotentialexcitementfeelslikethatmemoryrevisited.Likeanaccomplishmentinitsownright.
“Shepard.”
IstartleoutofmythoughtstofindTheowatchingme.It’sclearbythevolumeofhisvoicehe’sbeentryingtogetmyattention,buthisexpressionisn’tirritated.Icouldn’tgiveitanameifItried.
Irubatmyachingchest.“Sorry,whatdidyousay?”
“Areyoutakingpicturestonight?”
“Oh.”Ilookoveratthecamera.“No.”
Henodshischininthesamedirection.“Thenwhy’dyoubringthat?”
Thechallengeinhisvoiceisback,asifheknowsIpackedittouseit,onlytochickenout.
“JustincaseyouhadsomephotogenicspotinyourhousewhereIcouldsetupanimpromptushoot.”Myeyesroamaroundthesparklingroom.Behindthemassive,emptydiningroomtablethere’sanhonest-to-godfireplace.“Unfortunately,nodice.”
Theoisn’timpressed.“You’regoingtohavetopickitupatsomepointifyouwanttodothis.”Hemotionstothemap.“Whynotnow?”
Myheartbeatsfaster.It’samixoffear,anticipation,andgrief,arejectionevenasmymindimaginestheshot:themapspreadoutonthecounterwithTheo’shandpressedoverit.I’dtakeonlyhalfofhishandinframe,getthetensioninhiswrist,theblanchingofhisknucklesandthewayhisfingersweboutoverArizonaandNewMexico.WhenIretouchedlater,I’dmakesuretheveinstravelingdownhishandlookedlikeitsownroadmap.
ButIcan’tdoit.Notyet,andnotwithTheowatchingme.
“Ihaven’ttakenapictureinsixmonths.Sincemygramdied.I—I’mnotready.”Theconfessionslipsouttooeasily.Hisexpressiongoesinfinitesimallysofter,likehe’sgoneslightlyoutoffocusbehindmylens.
Thatwastoomuch.Ilookattheclockonhismicrowave.It’snearlyeleven.“Ishouldgo.”
Hedoesn’tsayanything,thoughhelookslikehewantsto,andI’mgratefulforit.WhileIstuffmythingsintomybag,Theofoldsthemapupwithcarefulhands.Ipullmybagstrapsapartsohecantuckitsafelybetweenmynotebookandlaptop.
Neitherofusspeakaswemakeourwaytothedoor.Itakeonelastgreedyvisualsweepofhishouse.Itreallyisbeautiful,ifveryquiet
Theogetstothefrontdoorfirstandopensit,silentlysteppingbacktoletmeby.He’sdistracted,hisgazefaraway.
“SeeyounextFriday.”IdoubtI’llseehimbeforeweleaveforYosemite.
ButTheocatchesmywristbeforeIcangettoofar.Hisgripisstartling—nottootight,andincrediblywarm.Iswallowagasp.
“Listen,I—weshouldbeonourbestbehaviorforthistrip.”
Ifrown.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“ExactlywhatIjustsaid.”Someoftheattitudeisback.I’mrelieved,honestly;thingsweregettingtoocozy.“YouandItusslealot,butthistripmeanssomuchtomygranddad.He’sexcitedtodothiswithyou,andIdon’twantusateachother’sthroatsruiningtheexperience.”Iopenmymouthtoprovehispoint,butheholdshishandup.Rightinmyface.“Forhimoryou.Iknowitmeansalottoyou,too.”
Thissilencesme,butonlymomentarily.“Allright,bestbehavior.Gotit.”
Thehandinmyfaceslipsdownintothespacebetweenourbodies,hoveringnearmywaistandbrushingagainstmyforearm.Heclearlydoesn’tknowhowlonghisfingersare.“Truce?”
Ilaugh.“Truce?Areweeleven?”
Theorollshiseyes,andthistimethegrazeofhisfingersagainstmyskinispurposeful.Theyskimdownmywrist,wrappingaroundmyhand.Hemanipulateshisholdonmeuntilwe’reengagedinahandshake.
“I’llmakeanefforttoputupwithyouifyou’lldothesame.It’stwoweeksincloseproximity.Idon’twantittogetweird.”
Ieyehim,utterlyawareofhisskinagainstmine,oftheflexofhisfingersastheywrapmoresolidlyaroundmyhand.Thankgodit’sdarkout;Icanfeelhowpinkmyfaceis,buthecan’tseeit.
“Historyisn’tonourside,Spencer.”MyvoicecomesoutsofterthanIplanned.
Hisreplyisequallysoft.“We’renotthesamepeoplewewereinhighschool.”
“Trustme,Iknow.”Heappraisesme,mysubtextobvious.“You’reright.It’sfine.Wecanfakelikingeachotherfortwoweeks.ForPaul.”
Theoletsgoofmyhand,smirking.“Noonesaidanythingaboutliking,Shep.”
No,IremindmyselfsternlyasImakemywaytomycar.Noonedid.Eleven
TimespeedsupaftermynightwithTheo.Iforgotwhatit’sliketobebusy.Tohavesomethingtolookforwardto,evenifit’sedgedinanxietythatebbsandflowswhenIthinkaboutpickingupmycamera.OrwhenIthinkabouttwoweekswithTheoandthekaleidoscopeofemotionshesendstumblingwithalonglook,thatsharptongue.
Thursday,thenightbeforewe’resettoleave,Theotextsme.
Ihavetodosomethingtomorrowmorning.We’releavingat3.Mygranddadisstayingthenighthere.Canyoufindaride?
No,I’msosorryourplanshavechangedandwe’renotleavingattenafterall,sothatafternoonhikewe’redoinginYosemite?Nothappening.Andalsobytheway,Paulisn’tgoingtopickyouuponhiswaydownhereanymore,willyoubeokay?Justabunchofrobotwordsformedintoademand.
Idon’trespond,mybloodboilingasIthrowmyentireunderweardrawerintomysuitcase.ThetruceTheoandIagreeduponisalreadycrumbling—I’mgoingtostranglehimwhenIgettohishouse.HoweverthehellIgetthere.
Thomasismysavinggrace;Sadie’sonaworktripallweek,andhe’sfeelingemo,sohedecidestostayinGlenlakeforthenightandofferstodrivemetoTheo’sthenextday.
Myparentsthrowmeabonvoyagedinner,deckingoutthediningroomwithstreamersandagoldletterbannerthatreadsgoodluck.Theyaskmeamillionquestionsaboutthetrip—whereI’llbestopping,whatI’llbedoing—andmyanswersareanequalamountoftruthandlies.Stomach-churningguiltmakesithardtoeatordrink,butmyfamilymakesupforit.Bythetimetenrollsaround,ThomasissleepingoffsixbeerswhileMomandDadreminisceaboutthecountyfairphotographycontestIwonwhenIwastwelve.
Igotobedfeelinglikealiar.
Iwakeupfeelinglikeone,too,butasThomasdrivesusintothecity,Ifinesseit.It’snotalie.It’sasecret,whichisjustatruththathasn’tbeentoldyet.
Thomas’shangoverandtheafternoonworkcallhehastogethomeformakehimpracticallykickmeoutofthecaraswepulluptoTheo’s.However,hemanagestoleavemewithsomepartingwords.
“Haveagoodtime,kid,”hecroaksout.“SadieandIhaveabetonwhetheryouletTheostickitin.Isaydaythree,she’sgotdayten,butIowehersomebluevelvetcouchshewantsifyoufallinlovewithhim.”
“Fuckinghell,Mas.”
“Havefun.”Hissmilefadesandhepullsoffhissunglasses.“Forreal.Ihopeyoufindwhateveryou’regoingafter.I’llbefollowingalongwiththestory.”
Iwavehimoffwithalumpinmythroat.Heyellsoutthewindow,“Wrapitifyoutapit!”andzoomsoff,cackling.
“Suchajackass—”Iturnandmykneescollapse.Theo’sstandingonthesidewalk,handstuckedintothepocketsofhisjoggers.“Jesus!”
Hesmirks.“?‘Wrapitifyoutapit’?”
“Icouldn’tevenexplainifIwantedto,”Isay.“WhichIdon’t.”
Helooksdownathisphone,illuminatingthescreen.“You’relate.”
It’s3:09.“Weweresupposedtoleaveatten,solet’snotstartthatconversation.”
Iwaitforthelongoverdueapology,oranexplanation,butTheomerelystepsforwardandtakesthehandleofmysuitcase,brushingmyhandaside.Iblockmysensestothefreshsoapscentofhim,thathintoffirewoodandvanilla.It’sthesweetnessthatgetsmemost;Theoisallspice,nosugar.Strangethathewearsitonhisskin.
“GivemeyourotherbagssoIcanpackupthecar.We’releavinginfive.”Tensionbuzzesoffhimlikeelectricity.Whateverhehadtodothismorning,itwasn’trelaxing.
Iletmybackpackandcamerabagslideoffmyshoulders,andhetakesthose,too,thenwalkstowardtheminivanherentedforthetrip,parkedinfrontofhishouse.Isigh.I’mstillrecoveringfrommydisappointmentwhenhetoldmeweweren’ttakingtheBronco.
Paulwalksoutofthehousejustthen.“Goodafternoon,Noelle!Readyforouradventure?”
“Ican’twait.”It’sninety-ninepercenttrue.Theonepercentiswatchingme,hisexpressionunreadable.
“Shallwestartthetripwithaletter?”Paulpullsaslipofpaperfromthepocketofhiskhakis.MyheartreachesthroughmyribsforthatpieceofGram.
Hehandsitover.“Now,thisoneisoutoforder,soyou’llhavetoforgiveme.Itseemedliketherightoneforourtripkickoff.”
“I’msureit’sperfect.”
Igingerlyunfoldtheletter,struckagainbythefamiliarloopofGram’shandwriting.
There’sasuddenwallofheatbehindme,thescentofTheo,hisbreathonmyneckaswereadtogether.
May10,1957
Goodevening,mylove,
DoyouthinkI’msilly,writingthisletterwhileyou’reintheroomwithme?IhavesomanyideasandIwanttowritethemdown.
Nowthatwe’vedecidedtoelope,here’swhatwe’lldo:getmarriedassoonastheyearisoverandthengoonourhoneymoonroadtrip.Shouldwegetamaptoday?I’llshowyoualltheplacesthatsoundmostexciting,andyoucantellmeifI’mrightorwrong(webothknowI’llberight).
I’mdreamingaboutthebeautifulphotographsyou’lltake.OneswecanhanginourhomewhenwegetbacktoLA.MaybeI’lltakesomepicturesofyou—I’llstealyourcamerawhenweleavethecourthouse.Thewholetripwillbecrookedlandscapesandclose-upsofyourface.
Youalwayscallmyfaceprecious,butit’syoursthatmakesmehappy.Iamhappy,evenifit’snottheweddingIthoughtI’dhave.Ibelieveyouwhenyoutellmeitwillbeokay.JustkeepsayingitsoIdon’tforget.
Yoursforever,
Kat
BythetimeIfinish,thewordsaredancingonthepage.It’sbittersweettobedoingthisinherplace.Herhopewassopalpablehere.Whattookitaway?
“Well.”Isniff,keepingmyeyespinnedtothepapersoneitherofthemcanseemyemotion,whichissilly.Myvoiceisthreadedwithit.“Goodnews:I’llbefulfillingtheroleofcrookedlandscapephotographer.”
“Idoubtthat,”Paulsaysgently.
Ihandhimbacktheletter,avertingmygazefromTheo.Hehasn’tsaidaword.DoeshethinkI’mridiculous?Orisitpoignantforhim,too?
WhenIchancealookathim,hisgazeispenetrating,butnotjudgmental.Maybeit’sinaccordancewithourtruce;Idon’tknow.
Clearingmythroat,Isay,“I’mgoingtousetherestroomrealquick.”
Iescapetodomybusiness,pattingatmyfacewithforty-plytoiletpaperinthemirrorafterI’vewashedmyhands.Withastern,silentlookatmirror-metogetaholdofourselves,Iletoutabreath.Itstartsshaky,butendssteadier.
Icandothis.Iwantthis.Mostimportantly,Ineedit.
Thebathroomfeedsintothekitchen,andasIstepintoit,there’sarustlinginthefoyer.Fearingit’sTheo,Islow,runningmyhandalongthecounter.
Thefootstepsrecedequickly,soIpickupmypace.Myfingersbrushagainstsomething,thensnagonitsweight.IttakesmefivefullsecondstorecognizewhatI’mlookingat,butwhenitsinksin,myheartskipsabeat.
Oursenioryearbook.IlookovermyshouldertomakesureI’malone,thoughthisisn’tmysecrettogetcaughtwith,thenpullthebookcloser.
Itflipstoapagebookmarkedwitharticlesfromourhighschoolpaper,aswellasonefromGlenlake’s.They’retennisarticlesaboutTheo.
Butalsoaboutme.
Myheartbeatsfast.Ishufflethroughtheslightlysmudgedpaper,myeyesscanningtheprofileourpaperdidonme,andtheonetheydidonTheoweekslater.Icountedthewordsineachofourarticlesandwaspissedtodiscoverhishadonehundredmore.
Whydidhekeepthis?Andwhyisitoutnow?
Thepleasurethatpoursthroughmyveinslikeaserotoninjetstreamisn’tjustuncomfortable,it’sconcerning.It’sbadenoughthatI’mcuriousabouthim.Ican’tthinkaboutthepossibilitythathemightbecuriousrightback.Mutualattraction?Fine.Butmutualinterest?Thatcanonlyendindisaster.
Thistripisn’taboutTheoandme.It’saboutGram.It’saboutme.Ihavetosquashthisfeeling.
Islamthebookshutandputitback.Inevertouchedit.Neversawit.
I’mabsolutelygoingtoforgetit.
Idon’tforgetit.
NotwhenPaulinsistsheprefersthebackseat,leavingmeinfrontwithTheo.NotwhenIfindoutTheo’sprogrammedhisphonetothevan’sBluetooth,likeadogpeeingonatree.NorwhenheremindsmeasI’mcovertlypushingbuttonsinanattempttodisconnecthisphone,thatweagreedtoatruceandsabotaginghismusicisn’tverytruce-like.Notevenwhenwehavetolistentohisold,moody‘90splaylistfullofsongsIeitherloatheordon’tknowforthethree-hourdrive.
Hewasrememberingme.Hewasrememberingus,whateverusthereusedtobe.Whatdoesitmean?There’snothingIhatemorethanaquestionunanswered,especiallywhenIcan’taskit.
I’mitchyandrestless.Theotossesmenolessthanfortyirritatedlooks,thoughhestayscontainedinbroodingsilence.PaulistheMVP,wrappingmeupinconversationuntilwepulluptoourhulkingcabin-stylehotelinGroveland,fortyminutesoutsideYosemiteValley.
Wecheckinandeataquickdinneratthehotel’srestaurant.Bythetimewe’redone,it’snearingnineandPaul’senergylevelhasnosedived.
“Ihatetocutthenightshort,”hesaysasweexittheelevatoronthethirdfloor.“I’mnotusedtokeepingupwithyoukids.”
TheohashishandonPaul’sshoulder,guidinghimdownthehall.“It’sfine,wehavetogetupearlytomorrowanyway.”
I’vealreadysetmyalarmforsix;wehavetobeoutthedoorbyquartertoseventobeatthecrowds.
Butafterwesaygoodnightinfrontofouradjacentrooms,restlessenergybeatsthroughme.Isitlisteningtothesilenceontheotherendofthewall,staringatthecamerabagwithmyfreshlycleanedequipment,andthinkaboutthewayTheolooksatmesometimes.Thewayhisvoicedipslow.Thatcrookedsmirk.
AttenIgiveupanddigthroughmysuitcaseformybathingsuit.Ionlybroughtone,ahigh-waistedbikiniIboughtforagirls’triptoCostaRicayearsago.It’sblack,simple,alittlesportybutshowsalotofass,whichisobjectivelymybestfeature.Inhindsight,aone-piecemayhavebeenmoreappropriate,butIlikemybodyinthissuit.
WouldTheo?
“No,”Idemand,glaringatmyselfinthefull-lengthmirror.Thegleaminmirror-me’sbrowneyesisdefiant.
God.Ican’tevenagreewithmyself.Maybeadipinthehottubwillsteammybraincellsintosubmission.Orkillsomeoff.
OnceI’mdressed,Isliponarobeandmakemywaydowntothepool.Thepostedhourssayitclosedatten,butthegateisproppedopen,soIslipinside.
Asidefromthehumofconversationfromtherestaurantpatio,it’squiet.Atmyfeet,thehottubbubbles,steamhissingintothecoolnightair.Above,theskystretchesintoforeverandnothing,aninfinitenumberofstarsshakenacrossit.
Iyankattheknottedbeltoftherobe,butavoicenearbystopsme.
“—pushmeout.”
Ifreeze.ThatsoundedlikeTheo.
“Iknow,Matias,butyou—”
Again,thevoicestops,clearlyfrustrated.It’sdefinitelyTheo;evenangry—or,god,maybeespeciallythatway—thetimbreofitsingsthroughmybody.
“I’vegotmydadupmyassrightnow,Idon’tneedyouthere,too.Itoldyouthismorning,I’munavailableforthenexttwoweeks,”hesays,lowandtight.Hesoundsclosernow,butIstilldon’tseehim.“YouandAntonagreedtothat—”Anotherpause,thenalaugh.Itsoundsdead.“Yeah,Iknowwhat’sgoingtohappen,andthat’sexactlywhyIdon’tgiveashitaboutthetimingofthistrip.I’mhavingmyattorneylookateverything,too.There’snothingelsewecandorightnow,soletmedothis.Nomorefuckingcalls,okay?”
Therearefootstepsnow,incrediblyclose.Iscrambletounknotmyrobe,myheartracing,butTheoroundsthecornerjustasitfallstotheground.
Whenhecatchessightofme,hestopssosuddenlythatitlookslikeheranintoaninvisiblewall.Hedoesn’tsayanything,andIcan’t.I’mstandingherewithmyasshangingout,feelingnakedineverysenseofthewordashiseyessweepoverme.
It’sconfirmed:helikesmybodyinthisbikini.Andmybodylovesthat.
“Eavesdropping?”heasksfinally,thattightnessstillinhisvoice.
“Keepingsecrets?”Ishootback.
He’ssotense.Eventenfeetaway,inthedarknessandwithagateseparatingus,it’sradiatingoffhim.Hisshouldersaretight,hishandclenchedaroundhisphonelikehe’ssecondsawayfromthrowingit.
Theo’slifehasalwaysseemedperfectfromfaraway.ButI’mcloseenoughnowtoseethecracks.
Hepushesthroughthegate,slippinghisphoneintohispocket.Hiseyesrunovermequicklyandheswallows,thenlooksaway.
“Ihadtocheckinwithwork,”hesays.Hisgazeflickersbacktomyface,droppinglowerbriefly.It’slikethesteambrushingagainstmyskin:hot,buttooinsubstantialtoreallyfeel.
Acoldshowerwouldbeideal,butthehottubwillhavetodo.Islipintothewater,lettingoutasighasitengulfsme.Theowatchesfromtheedge,hishandsinhispockets,thelightsfromthehottubdancingacrosshisface.Itcouldjustbethewayit’sdistortinghisfeatures,butforasecondhelooks…devastated.
IrememberthedaysI’druntoGram’shouseafteraterriblebreakuporaprofessionalheartache.Therewassomethingcatharticinknowingshe’dopenthedoorandinstantlyrecognizeIneededtotalk.ThatIneededtoshedasecret,ortwo,orten.
IseeitinTheo’sfacenow;theweightofit,whateveritis.
“MygramandI…”Itrailoff,unsure.He’sstilllookingdownatme,hisexpressionmorphingfromblanktohungrytomiserableasthelightsflickerundertheroilingwater.“Wehadathingwedid.WecalleditTellMeaSecret,andeverytimewesaweachother,we’dexchangeasecretweneededtogetoffourchest.Sometimesmore,dependingonhowbigadisasterthedaywas.”
Recognitionofmyoffersmoothsouthisbrow.Hisshouldersstraightenandheexhales,deepandtired.Thenhecrouches,restinghisforearmsonhisknees.“Allright,Shepard.Wannaplay?”
Iraiseachallengingeyebrow.“Doyou?”
“Tellmeyoursfirst.”It’sbossy,toofamiliar,likehecameupwiththegamehimselfandhe’slettingmeparticipate.
ButIstartedthis,soIplayalong.Irunmyhandthroughacircleofbubbles,lettingmyexpressionturnthreatening.“Iwanttothrowyourphoneintothepool.IfI’msubjectedtoanymoreRadiohead,I’mgoingtoflingmyselfoutofthecarwhileit’smoving.”Asmile—sotinybutthere—breaksthestraightlineofhismouth,curvesitintosomethinglighter.Mychestgoessowarm.Mustbethehottub.“Butalso,youshouldgettwoweekswithoutwhateverstressyourjobisgivingyou,ifthat’swhatyouaskedfor.”
HisAdam’sapplebobs,andIfollowthesinuousmotion.Ihatethatit’ssexy.Ihatethathe’ssexy,andthathe’ssad,andIdon’tlikethatIhatethat.Itscaresme.Idon’tneedthis.
ButIdon’tstopit,either.“Tellmeyours.”
“WhatdoyouhaveagainstRadiohead?”
Iglare.“That’snotasecret.”
Hegrins.“ThomYorkeisagenius.”
“ThomYorkemakesmewanttothrowmyselfoutofamovingvehicle,andalso,maybetrymusicfromthiscentury.Nowtellmeyoursecret,Spencer,orI’mgoingtopushyouintothepoolwithyourphone.”
Hestands,andforamomentIfeelsoutterlyexposedittakesmybreathaway.Isharedsomethingpersonalwithhimandhe’sgoingtoleave?
Iopenmymouthtotellhimwhereelsehisphonecango,buthegetstherefirst
“Ican’twaittoseeyouwithacamerainyourhandtomorrow.”Hesaysitinarush,thenlooksdown,exhalingslowly.“You’dbetterbeasgoodasIremember.Nocrookedphotos.”
Andthenhewalksawaywithoutanotherword,leavingmegapingafterhim.Twelve
Paulpullsaletterfromthepocketofhisjacketassoonaswegetintothevanthenextmorning.Yesterdayweagreedhe’dgivemealettereverydayandletthestoryunfoldoverthecourseofourtrip.IwantGramwithmeeverystepoftheway;stretchingitoutthiswayislikehavingherrightnexttome.
“Nowwestartwithchronologicalorder,”Paulsays,handingtheletterover.
Theoleansoverfromthedriver’sseat.Icansmellthecoffeewedranktogether,thehotelsoapscentthat’sallovermyskin,too.
“Thisisafterwe’dstarteddating,”Paulcontinues.“Ifiguredyoudidn’tneedtoseeanymoreofusfightingourfeelings.”
Iturn,takinginPaul’sfondsmile,chestaching,beforestraighteninginmyseat.Theo’sgazesnagswithmineontheway,hisexpressionunreadable.Hisjawisdustedwithafewdays’worthofwhiskers.Isweartogodifhegrowsabeard,I’ll—
Blinkingawayfromhimandthatdangeroustrainofthought,Iopentheletter,tracingthewords.“Howlonghadyoubeendating?”
“Severalweeks,”Paulsays.“Wewerestilllearningabouteachother,butthedeepfeelingscamequickly.”
Theothumbsattheletter’scorner,hisvoicelowinmyear.“Let’sread.”
Itakeabreath,imaginingGram’svoiceinmyearinstead,sayingthesewordsoutloud.
October26,1956
DearPaul,
I’mafraidIwastoohonestwithyoulastnight.NotbecauseIcalledyouapain—youknowthat’strue—butbecauseItalkedaboutthetypeofmanI’mexpectedtobewith.
He’snothinglikeyou.I’msorrytosaythat’strue.Myparentshavedotedonmemyentirelife,andtheywantwhat’sbestforme.Only,theyhaveaveryspecificideaofwhatthatis—stoic,arule-follower,devotedtoservicetohiscountry.Someonewho’llfitinperfectlywithmyfatherandbrother.
IsupposeIfoughtagainsttheideaofuspartlybecauseyou’reapain,butalsobecauseIheardmyfamily’svoiceinmyheadeverytimeIlookedatyou:he’snotrightforyou,Kat.Andyet,myownvoicegrewlouderthemoretimewespenttogether.It’sneverdonethat.
Thismayendindisaster.Myfamilymayhateyou.ButIdon’t.I’veneverdoneathingIthoughttheywouldn’tlike.You’rethefirstthingI’vebeenbraveenoughtogoafterjustformyself,simplybecauseIwantitsomuch.
It’sokayifthisscaresyou.Itscaresme,too.ButI’lldoitanyway.
Love,
Kat
Thatlastsentimentslicesthroughmychestlikeastonebeingdroppedintowater,settlingdeep.Ithinkofmycamerabagnestledinthetrunk,ofthepicturesI’llhavetotaketoday.Howisitpossibletowantsomethingasequallyasyoufearit?
MygazestraystoTheo,whoseeyesarestillmovingacrossthepaper.Hisjawtickswhenhefinishes,hisgazelingeringonwhateverwordshavecaptivatedhimbeforehelooksatme.Ican’treadtheemotioninhiseyes,butit’sheavyenoughtosnagmychest.
Ibreakourconnection,turningbacktoPaul,who’swatchinguswithbarelyconcealedamusement.“Gramendedupbeingateacher,youknow.Shewenttoschool—well,backtoschool—aftermydadanduncleswereolder.”
PrideshinesinPaul’svoice.“Yes,Iheardthroughourmutualfriendsshe’ddonethat.”
Thatpiquesmycuriosity.“Didyouevergetintouchwithheryourself?”
“ShesentmeandVeraaweddinggift,alongwithanicenote,whichIcouldn’thelpbutwritebackto,”hesaysfondly.“Butbeforethatandafter,no,wedidn’ttalkatall.Oncewewereinotherrelationships,itwasbestnotto.IknewshewashappywithJoe.”
“Didithurt,hearingaboutherlife?”
“Rightafterweseparated,yes.Butafterawhile,andespeciallyaftermydivorce,hearingaboutallofthethingsshewasdoinggavemehopethatI’dgetitrightatsomepoint,too.”
That’ssomethingIhaven’tfeltinsolong—hopethatthingswillshiftintotheshapeIconfidentlysketchedoutwhenIwasyoung.
“Peoplerarelygetitonthefirsttry,Noelle,”Paulsaysquietly.HiseyesslippastmetoTheo.Hisarmsarecrossedoverhischest,hiseyeslockedonhisgrandfather’s,searching.“There’snothingwrongwiththat.Itdoesn’tmakeyoulessofasuccessstoryintheend.”
Theo’slipspresstogetherashelooksdown.Therightsideofhishairisalittleflat,andthere’satraceofapillowmarkonhischeek.Helooksimpossiblyhumanrightnow;ittapsafissureintomyheart.
Ourgazesclashagain,magnetic.It’stoopowerfultolookawayfrom,sothankgodit’sTheowhobreakstheconnectionthistime,shiftinginhisseatashesticksthekeyintheignition.
Iwipemypalmsonmythighs,foldingtheletterastheenginegrowlstolife.
“Enoughdistractions,”Theosays.“Shepardhassomepicturestotake.”
TheopullsintotheparkinglotatTunnelViewanhourlater.It’sapopularviewpointthatoverlooksElCapitan,BridalveilFall,and,inthedistance,HalfDome,aswellasanendless,lushspreadofgreen.Afewgroupsroamtheparkinglot,makingtheirwaytothestonewallthatseparatesusfromtotalmajesty.
Mybrainisdreamingupphotosinstantly.
Theo’sgotmybackpackunzippedwhenIgettothetrunk,buthedoesn’ttouchmycamera.Instead,hestandsthere,armscrossedwhileIextractitfromitscasewithshakyhands.
Itakeinhisbodyguard-likestanceandgobacktolastnight—Ican’twaittoseeyouwithacamerainyourhand.
Iholditupforinspection.“Isiteverythingyouthoughtit’dbe?”
“Andmore,”hesaysdryly,butthere’spleasureinhiseyes.Withoutanotherword,heturnsonhisheelandmakeshiswaytowardthelookout.
Paulremoveshiscamera,windingthestraparoundhisneck,andInearlychokeonmytongue.
“IsthataHasselblad?”
Heholdsupthegorgeouscameraaswewalk,likehedoesn’thavefourthousanddollarsofextraordinaryphotographymagicsittinginhispalm.“Myfavorite.I’verevertedbacktofilm,mostly.Ihardlyusedigitalanymore.”
“Wheredoyougetyourprintsdeveloped?”
“Ihaveadarkroomathome.”HenodstoTheo.“Teddysetitupforme.”
MygazefollowsTheo,trackingacrosshisshoulders,looserthismorning.Igetthefeelinghe’ddoanythingforhisgranddad.It’sbecominganuncomfortablesoftspot,theplacewhereourkinshiprootsdeeperwitheverydetailPaulfeedsme.
Paulpullsmeoutofmyspiralingthoughts.“It’sokayifittakestimeforphotographytofeelrightagain.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
WestopnexttoTheo,who’sperchedonthewall.ThewindrufflesPaul’shairbackfromhisforehead,andhesquintsagainstthestrengtheningsunlight.
“AfterKatleftschool,therewasatimewhenIdidn’ttouchmycamera.Ifeltdisconnectedfrommyloveforit.Disconnectedfromlife,really.WhenIpickeditbackup,ittookmetimetogetreacquainted.IhadtofigureoutwhatIwantedtofindthroughthelens.”Hesqueezesmyshouldergently.“You’reoldfriendswhohaven’ttalkedinawhile,Noelle.Gettoknoweachotheragain.”
Inod,fumblingwithmycameraasImovetotheedgeofthelookout.
TheobacksuptowardPaul,makingspaceforme.
“Don’tchoke.”Hegivesmeacrookedsmirk.It’swhathe’dmurmurwhenhepassedmeinthehallwayonmatchdays.Hearinghimsayitinalowvoicewaslikehearingmyopponentyellitacrossthecourt,exceptmoredelicious.BelowthetauntingtiltofthewordswastheassurancethatIwouldn’tchoke.Hemayhavethoughthewasbetterthanme,butheknewIwasreallyfuckinggood.
Wantandfearhavebeenbattlingitout,butwithTheo’swords,thewantwins.
IchecktheISOandaperturesettings,adjustmyshutterspeed.Then,forthefirsttimeinsixmonths,Iputmyeyetotheviewfinder.Myfingersmoothsovertheshutterrelease,aslightasthebreezethatwindsthroughmyhair.
Mymindgoesblank,evenasnervesdanceundermyskin.Therearepeoplearound,butit’sahumofenergy,asoftbuzzuntilit’snothing.Untilthere’snosoundbutmyownheartbeat.
ThelasttimeIdidthis,IwaswithGram.Somehow,I’mdoingitnow,andshe’shereagain.Orstill.
Iexpelmyemotionintheformofawateryexhale.Outofthecornerofmyeye,Theorocksforwardonhisheels,butPaulcuffshiselbow.
Itscaresme.ButI’lldoitanyway.
Icatchasolarflareinmylensandmicroscopicallyshiftmyweightonmyrightleg,leaningsoitslicesmorefullyintotheshot.Ipresstheshutterrelease.Thegentleclickofthelenssoundslikeafirework.
Likethat,theanticipatoryanxietyisgone.Itakeafewmoreshots.Myarmscrawlwithgoosebumps.Ipullbacktowatchthehairsrise,theskinunderturningtextured,andwishIcouldcapturethat,too.ThenIturntoPaul,who’sloweringhisowncamera,beaming,andfeelmysmilespreadacrossmymouthlikethesunoverthevalley.
IshiftmygazetoTheo.Hecomesupbehindme,curvingovermyshoulderlikehedidinhiskitchen.It’sequallydistracting,butnotnearlyasannoying,andthatmakesmyheartbeatwithathrillandfear.
“Let’sseeiftheseareTikTokapprovable,Shep.”
IpresstheplaybackmenuandscrollthroughthepicturesIjusttook,theonesI’lleventuallysharewiththousandsofpeople.Onesthey’llhopefullylove.
IwaitforthevoiceinmyheadtellingmeI’llneveramounttoanything,butitdoesn’tcome.
Instead,Ihearmyownvoice,assuringmethat,thoughthesephotosaren’tthebestI’veevertaken,atleastItookthem.Maybeitdoesn’thavetobemybesttostillbeenough.
WespendthemorningexploringthevalleyanddropintotheAnselAdamsGallery.Paulwaxespoeticabouthistechnicalskillanduseofprevisualization,aswellashisenduringconservationistbeliefs.Theocatchesmyeyeatonepoint,hismouthtwitching.
Fanboy,hemouths,andIbiteagainstasmile.
WeeatlunchontheAhwahneeHotel’spatioandthetemperatureclimbswiththesun.Beforemysandwicharrives,I’mpeelingoffmythinfleecepullover.I’mwearingacroppedtankunderneath,nothingspecial,butTheo’seyeslingerthroughtherestoflunch,sendingashotofelectricitydownmyspine.
Nothappening
Idrainmyicedtea,butitdoesnothingtoquenchthisspecificthirst.
OnourshuttleridetoourMirrorLakehike,Paulinsistsonsittingacrosstheaislefromus.IspendtheentiretimestaringdownatTheo’sthighnearlypressedagainstmine.
Thighsshouldnotbesobeautiful,especiallysmashedagainstaplasticseat.
BesidesthecontinuedstrugglewithmyattractiontoTheo,though,thedayhasbeenperfect.I’mtryingtorememberthelasttimeIfeltthiscontent,butIcan’t.There’snosmallamountofshockintherealizationthatsomeofthatcontentmentisdirectlytiedtoTheo’scompany,thoughIdon’tdwellonthereason.
Paul’shikingstickstapagainstthehard-packeddirtaswegetontothetrail.“Ican’tbelieveIhaven’taskedthisyet,Noelle,buthaveyoueverbeentoYosemite?”
Iadjustmybackpack,nodding.“Afewtimeswithmyfamily.It’sbeenyears,though.Iforgothowbeautifulitis.”
“It’smyfavoriteplaceintheworld,”Theosaysfrombesideme.
Iturntohim,surprisedatthisvoluntaryshare.“Yeah?”
Henods.Thesunfiltersdownthroughthethickcanopyoftrees,dapplinghisfaceandhairwithafternoonlight,caressinghisshoulders.“Idon’tknowhowmanytimesIforcedmygranddadtocamphere—”
“Atleasttwenty.”
TheogivesPaulthesmilehereservesforhimalone—purehappiness,unabashedaffection.“There’ssomethingaboutit.It’squiet,butnotaheavykindofquiet.Justpeaceful.Feelslikeyoucanbreathehere.”
Istareathim,tryingtoworkoutexactlywhathemeans.Aheavykindofquiet.I’vefeltitingrief,butI’vealsoseenitinthelowtonesinwhichhisdadusedtospeaktohim,afirmhandgrippinghisshoulder,inthegrimsilenceafterTheogotalitpaperreturnedtohimwitha93writtenatthetop.Ihavetomakeassumptions.He’llnevertellme,butitstillfeelslikehe’srevealedsomething.
“What’syoursecondfavoriteplace?”Iask.
“NewZealandasawhole.MilfordSoundespecially.Icriedalittle.”
Mymouthdropsopen.“No,youdidn’t.”
Hegivesmeaslylook.“IlovethatIcouldnottellyouandyou’llwonderforever.”
“Yourgrandsonisatotalmenace,Paul.”
Hislaughisjovial.“Sweetheart,Iknow.”
Icontinuemylineofquestioning,curiousnow.“Howmanycountrieshaveyoubeento?”
“I’vestalledoutatforty-two.Haven’thadmuchofachancetotravelthepastcoupleyears,”Theosays,hismouthtwistingwithobviousdispleasure.
IlookovermyshoulderatPaul.“Andyou?”
“Ninety-seven.”HenodshischinatTheo.“He’stryingtocatchupwithme.”
“Forty-twoisprettyimpressive.”
“Yeah,”Theoagrees,butit’snotsmug.Heseemsinaweofit,andconfirmsthatwhenhecontinues,“Irealizedearlyonwhataprivilegeitwastobeabletotravel.Granddaddrilledintomyheadthatseeingtheworldisexpensive,anditrequirestimepeoplemaynothave.Ican’tdoanythingaboutthetimepartofit,butWhereToNextwasbornfromtheideathateveryoneshouldbeabletoaffordafull-packageexperience.”
“Ilovetheoff-seasonpackagesyouoffer,”Iadmit.“GramandIwenttoScotlandacoupleyearsagoandpracticallypaidpennies.”
Hisattentionturnskeen.“Doyouuseitoften?”
Iliftashoulder.“WhenIhavethetimeandmoney.BeforeGramdied,Ididn’thavemuchofeither.There’snowayIwould’vegoneonthetripwithouttheoff-seasondeal.Gramwould’vewantedtopayformyway,anditwould’veturnedintothisbigargumentofmenotwantingtobeaburden—”
Gah.Majorovershare.Ibitemyliptopreventfurtherconfessions,butTheoseemstohaveaone-trackmind.
“Doyouthinkit’sanecessaryfeature?”hepresses.
“Yeah,everyoneIknowhasuseditatleastonce.It’sthebiggestdrawofyourapp,inmyopinion.”Ieyehim.“Whyareyouasking?Areyouusingmeassomesortofone-womanfocusgroup?”
Herunsahandoverhisjaw,distractednow.“Yeah,Iguess.”
Wespendthenextfewminuteswalkinginsilencebeforecominguptoaportionofthetrailwhereacreekisrevealed,waterrushingoverhugecraggyrocks.Behindit,amassiveslabofmountainthrustsintothesky.Myfingersstarttingling,andmyheartbeatsfasteratthefeelinginresponse.It’sbeensolongsinceI’vewantedtoshootanythingsobadlymyfingerstingled.
“Canwestoprealquick?”Iask,alreadypoppingthecoveroffmylens.“Iwanttogetafewshotshere.”
“Goahead,”Paulsays.
Iscrambletowardtheedge,stayingasafedistancefromthedrop,thoughit’snotsignificant.It’sjustrocky,andthewaterbelowlooksfreezing.
ButwhenIlookthroughtheviewfinder,theangleisallwrong.ThepicturesItookthismorningweren’tmybestwork,butIneedtogetuptospeedquicklysoIcancapitalizeontheattentionandfollowersTikTokhasaffordedme.Iwanttomakemorevideos.Needto,actually,andIwantittobewithworkthatshines.
WhichmeansIneedtoscootclosersoIcangetthisshot.
Theo’svoiceissharpbehindme.“Whatareyoudoing?You’regoingtofallin.”
Islideaninchforwardsothetoeofmyhikingbootrestsonarock.“I’mnot.IknowwhatI’mdoing.”
“Doyou?Becauseyou’rewaytooclosetotheedge.”
Ipeerthroughtheviewfinderagain.Almostthere.IfonlyTheowouldshutupsoIcouldconcentrate.“Iknowmybodyplacementbetterthanyou,Spencer.”
Iinchforward.It’salmostperfect,almost—
“Shepard,don’t—”
Butit’stoolate.Theheelofmyhikingbootslipsonawetpatchofrock,andI’mfalling.Thirteen
You’reafuckingmess.”
Ipressmykeycardagainstthereader,mybodythrobbingfromheadtotoe.“Andyou’reoverreacting.”
Theoreachesanarmaroundme,pushingmyhoteldooropen.Hisfurioustensionleachesfromhischestintomyback,butwhenhepushespastmeintotheroom,it’swithagentlebrushofhisbodyagainstmine.
Still.He’spissed.Theridebacktothehotelwasdeathlysilent.EvenPaulwasquiet,beyondaskingseveraltimesifIwasokay.
AsTheostalksaway,Ifocusonthemudstreakingdownhispantsfromhisasstohisknee.He’smissingthebottomthreeinchesofhisshirt.Weuseditasamakeshiftbandage,sonowhe’srockingacroptop.Hiselbowisscratchedbutnotbleeding,whichismorethanIcansayformyknee.
Ilookdownatitindismay.It’snolongergushing,butitlooksnastyunderneaththeshirt.Thematerialissoakedthroughwithblood.Andmyleggingsaretrashed,rippedfromkneetomid-thigh.
Theoholdsthefirstaidkithegotfromthefrontdeskoverhisshoulder.“Takeyourpantsoff.”
“Excuseme?”Ichokeout,myshoulderclippingthedoorwayasIcrossthethreshold.
Thelookhegivesmeisincendiary.“Weneedtocleanyourkneeandyourleggingswillbeintheway.They’reruinedanyway.Off.”
Myspinecracks,stiffeningathisbossytone,butIbitemylipagainstaretortasIwatchhimstrideintothebathroom.HepushesasideallthecrapIleftoutthismorning,tossingthefirstaidkitontothecounter.
Hehasgoodreasontobemad;Ihadnobusinesshangingofftheedgeoftheembankmentlikethat.What’sworse,Ididn’tevengettheshotandmylensiscracked,thoughthankfullyIhaveabackup.
Idragmyselfovertomysuitcase,diggingaroundforapairofshortswhilemybrainflashesthroughthepasttwohours:MyfootslippingandthewayItippedforward.Thehorrorofseeingtherockstenfeetbelowmewithnothingtograbonto,knowingIwasgoingtofallface-firstintothem.Thefeelingofbeingwrenchedbackwardbymybackpack,beingthrowntothesidefromtheforceofTheo’smomentum.ThesearingpaininmykneewhenitslicedagainstajaggedrockandtheglugofTheo’sracingheartunderneathmyearwhenwefinallystoppedhalfwaydowntothecreek.
He’dgaspedout,“Fuckinghell.Shepard,areyouokay?”
“Ithinkso.”Mykneewasalreadywet,onfire.
There’dbeenabriefpausewhilePaulcalleddowntous.ThenTheo’svoicewentsharpasaknife.“Whatthefuckiswrongwithyou?”
Turnsoutthatwasarhetoricalquestion.Heignoredmybreathlessexplanationsashegotmeupthehill,rippedhisshirtliketheHulkversionofCaptainAmerica,andbandagedupmyknee.Heignoredmeduringourhour-longridefromthepark,andwhenPaulofferedtograbwaterandpainkillersinthegiftshopdownstairs.
Thathisfirstwordstomeintwohoursare“you’reafuckingmess”and“takeyourpantsoff”isdeeplyironic.Iamamess.Andit’snotthefirstdemandhe’severmadeofme,butit’sthefirstoneI’veeverfollowedwithsuchlittlehesitation.
IundresstothemuffledsoundsofTheomovingaroundinthebathroom.Somethingaboutitsoothesme,thatthere’ssomeoneintherewaitingtotakecareofme.Thathe’swillingto,evenafterImessedup.
Maybeit’stheadrenalinefinallycatchingup,orthepain,buttearsstingmyeyesasIpullonmyshorts.Itaketwogulpingbreathstopushtheemotionback.Idon’twanttowalkintothatbathroomifI’mnotcalm.IfI’mnotcalm,thenI’mvulnerable.ThethoughtofTheoseeinganymoreofmysoftunderbellyscaresmemorethanfallingdownthatembankment.
WhenIpushthebathroomdooropenaminutelater,though,IfeellikeI’mseeinghis.He’sbracedagainstthecounter,headhanginglow.Inearlybackouttogivehimmoretimeto…Idon’tknow.Collecthimself.
Thesqueakinghingesalerthimtomypresence,though,andhisexpressionstraightens.
Hepushesoffthecounter,clearinghisthroat,thenfreezes.“I—arethoseunderwear?”
Ilookdown,pullingatthecotton.“No,they’reshorts.”
“Sayswho?”hegrumbles,turningbacktothecounterandgrabbingoneofthemyriadpacketslitteringonesideofthesink.
“Target.”
Withadeeplyimpatientsigh,hegesturestotheclearedspaceonthecounter.“Hopup.”
“Uh.”Ilookdownatmymangledknee.“I’mnotsureI—”
Theo’shandsareonmebeforeI’mprepared.Idon’tknowhowI’dprepareforthis,anyway:thewarmthofhisskinagainstmineabovemywaistband,thewayhisfingersdigintomyback,histhumbspressinghardintomyabdomen.
Ihavetowrapmyarmsaroundhisneck.I’llfallotherwise.ItfeelslikeI’mfallinganyway.
Heplacesmeunceremoniouslyonthecounter,hishandslooseningbutnotimmediatelydroppingfromtheirbracketedposition.Hisbroadpalmsaretheperfectwidthforthevalleysofmybody.IwishIcoulderasethatknowledgefrommybrain
Myarmsarestillfrozenaroundhisneck.Hereachesbehindhim,ourfacesinchesapart,andgrabsmywrists.Hedoesn’ttouchmelikeI’mdelicateorfragile.HetouchesmelikeIcantakeit.Mystomachtightensintandemwiththesqueezeofhisfingersovermywristsashesetsmyhandsonmythighs.
“Wasthatnecessary?IthinkI’vegottenthrownaroundenoughtoday,”Imurmurintothesilence.
Hesmirks.“Didn’tknowtherewasalimit.”
Jesus.Ilookaway,downatthespreadofmedicalsupplies.“Areyougoingtofixmeup,McDreamy?”
“WhothehellisMcDreamy?”
“HewasonashowI’vebeenbingeingthat’sonits,like,fortiethseas—”Iwavemyhandintheairimpatiently.“Youknowwhat,itdoesn’tmatter.He’sahottelevisiondoctor.”
IlookbackuptofindTheo’ssmirkhasgottenbigger.Hisdimplewinksatme,thoughhiseyesarestillstormy.“Hot,huh?”
“Settleyourego.YouskewmuchmoreMcAngsty.”
Hegivesmealookthatbroadcastshisskepticismashepicksupanantisepticpacket.“McAngstywhosavedyourass.”
“Iwantedtogettheperfectshot.”
Theripofthepaperfillsthebathroom.God,it’ssmallinhere.Theo’sshouldersalonetakeupseventypercentofthespace.
“Andyoufelldownahill,”hesays.“How’sthatperfectionfeelingnow?”
Ithurtslikehell.
TheolooksatmelikeI’vesaiditoutloud,andhisexpressionsoftens,justbarely.Hebracesahandonmyuninjuredknee,steppingintotheveeofmylegs.
“Thisisgoingtosting.”
Istareatthestarburstinhiseyes,thinkingyes,itisjustbeforetheviciouspainhits.
“Ohfuck,”Igaspout,grippinghisforearm.“Ohmygod,thathurts.”
“Breathe,”hecommands,andmylungskickoutanexhaleoninstinct.He’ssoclosemybreathstirsthecurlinghairbeneathhisear.IsqueezemyeyesshutsoIwon’tlookathimormyknee.Theantisepticburnsalmostasbadlyastheinjuryitself,nearlyasmuchastheburninmychestfromrealizingIcouldhavehurtTheo,too.Hedrivesmetotheedgeofmypatienceconstantly,butI’dneverforgivemyselfifsomethinghappenedtohim.
“I’msorry,”Ibreatheout.
There’sabeatofsilence.Then,“Don’tdoshitlikethatagain,Shepard.We’regoingtobewalkingalongmuchhigherdrops.Idon’twanttowatchyourbodyfalloffthesideoftheGrandCanyon.”
Ifweweren’tclose,Iwouldn’thaveheardthetremorinhisvoice,butwe’repracticallyontopofeachother.Myeyesflyopen.Hisheadisbowed,focusedonhiswork,histhickblacklasheslyingagainstthehollowbeneathhiseyes.Aflushspreadsacrosshischeeks.
Iswallow,recognizinghisfear.Ifeltit,too,whenIwasfalling.Ifeelitnow,knowinghecares,evenifit’sjustthathedidn’twantmetodieonhiswatch.
“I’msorry,”Isayagain.
“Iknow.”
Whenhedoesn’tgoon,Ipress,“Thisisthepartwhereyouforgiveme.”
“AndifIdon’t?”Heliftshischin,pinningmeinplacewitheyesthataredark,butedgedinamusement.
“ThenliesoIfeelbetter.”
Theohuffsoutalaugh.“Iforgiveyou,”hesays,justashepressestheantisepticwipeagainstmykneeagain,addingpressure.
“Shit.Ohfuck,”Ihissout,myeyeswatering.“You’remakingithurtonpurpose,youasshole.”
“Onlyifyouasknicely.”Hisvoiceiselectrified,arcingfromhismouthrightintothepitofmystomach.
Isuckinabreath,picturinghishandsonme.Nothurtingme,butlettingmeknowhe’sthere,thathe’sgotme.
Theairchanges,storm-like,awarenessrollinginonTheo’shotexhale.Forallofthewaysweclash,Ihavenodoubtwe’dbegoodtogetherlikethat,andheknowsit,too.
“You’renotsupposedtolikethat,”hegrowlsout,frustrated,hisgazetracingmyfacelikeatouch.
Somehowhisshirthasmadeitswayintomyfists.“Whydidyousayit,then?”
Hisgazeflickersupfrommymouth.“BecauseIwastryingtobeanasshole.”
“Youdon’thavetotry.”
He’sgottensoclose.Idon’tknowifIpulledhimorhecamewillingly.He’sbetweenmythighs,butnotthewayI’dlike.Theslickmaterialofhisjoggersbrushesupagainstmyskin,hishandsshapingthecurveofmylegsastheantisepticwipefallsaway.
Weweredoingsomethingbefore,butIcouldn’tsaywhat.
Theotiltshishead.Ournosesbrushandmystomachspiralssoquicklyitmakesmedizzy.He’sgoingtokissme,andI’mgoingtolethim.Somefoggypartofmeremembersthatthisisabadidea.Thatwedon’tlikeeachother,andwehadtomakeatrucetogetalong.
Idon’tthinkourtruceincludedhimrunninghishandsupmythighs,histhumbstracingtheinsidewiththeperfectpressure.
“What’sthatgamecalled?”hemurmurs.“Fromlastnight?”
“TellMeaSecret,”Imanage,myheartinmythroat.
Hisjawticks.“So,tellmeone.”
Idon’twanttoadmitit,butit’stheelephantintheroom.Histhumbsareinchesfromthespotthrobbingworsethanmyknee.
“Iwouldn’tstopyouifyoukissedmerightnow.”Isayitquietlyincasehechangeshismind,buthiseyesdarken,pupilsdilating.Hedoesn’tmove,thoughhismouthpartslikehecanalreadytasteit.“Nowyou.”
Hisbreathdancesovermylips.“IfIkissedyourightnow,Iwouldn’tstop.”
Mylegsflexinstinctively,tryingtoclosetorelievesomeoftheachebetweenthem,butTheo’sgripturnsevenfirmerashedipshisheadtorunhismouthbarely,barelyagainstthespotwheremyjawmeetsmyear.
“Whenyouwearyourhairup,Ican’tstoplookingrighthere,”hewhispersagainstmyskin.Anothersecretrevealed,andIdidn’tevenhavetoask.“You’venevercaughtme?”
“No,”Imoan.“Whyareyoumessingwithmerightnow?”
“Notmessing,Shepard.”Hisnoseskimsalongmycheekuntilhismouthismillimetersfrommine.“Let’scallitplaying.Isn’tthatwhatwe’vealwaysdonewitheachother?”
Likethat,heputsusonequalground.Ibitebackatriumphantgrinasmyhandsreleasehisshirtandmovetohisforearms.Histendonsdanceundermypalmsasheflexeshisfingersintomythighs,buthedoesn’tmoveotherwise.Whywon’thekissm—
There’sasoftknockatthedoor.Arustle.Footsteps,andthesoundofthedoornexttomineopening.
Paul.Hetoldmehe’dletmeknowwhenhedroppedoffmywaterandmedicine,alongwithchocolatehepromisedwouldbemorehealingthanAdvil.
Paul,thegrandfatherofthemanI’mabouttokiss.Paul,who’spausinghislifetoaccompanymeonthisroadtrip,tellingmethesecretsGrameithernevergottoorneverintendedtospill.
Paul,whoclearlywantsTheoandItobearealthing.
Mychestgoestight.Icannotmessthisup,andgettingtangledwithTheowould.
“Holdon,”Iwheezeout,lettinggo.
Theostepsbackimmediately,andthesuddenabsenceofhistouchnearlymakesmecry.Itwould’vebeenamistake,butitwould’vebeenamistakethatfeltreallyfuckinggood.
Ikeepmyeyesfirmlyonhisface.He’shardandthematerialofhispantsisthinandItrulycan’thandleanydetails.“Weshouldn’tdothis.”
Hedoesn’tanswerrightaway.Hispulsethrumsinhisthroat,belowhisimpossiblytightjaw.“Okay.”
“Iwantto,”Isay,inanattempttoreassurehim.
Onecornerofhismouthpullsupasherubsahandupanddownhischeek,thenacrosshisjaw.“Iknow.”
“ButPaul,”Isay,ignoringhissmugtone.“Imean,youcanseehe’stryingtoplaymatchmaker,right?”
Theoletsoutabreath,hisexpressionsoftening.“Yeah,Ican.”
Irunmyhandsovermythighs.Tryingtoerasehistouchorpreserveit,I’mnotsurewhich.“We’reattractedtoeachother,butthat’sallitis.It’snotlikewe’deverhavesomethingforreal.”
Notifheknewwhatstatemylifeisin,anyway.I’mnottooproudtoadmitthatI’vegoogledhispastgirlfriends.They’reallbeautiful,withaccomplishmentspageslong.OnewomanworkedforNASA,forgod’ssake.MaybeI’dbeafundistractionforhim,awaytoworkouthisstresswhilehe’saway,butthenwhat?
Moredistressingly,Ifeelmyselfsofteningtowardhim,andit’sonlybeenaday.IfItanglethoseemotionswithahookup,itcouldgetmessy.
Idon’tneedmoremessesinmylife.
“Right,”Theosays,interruptingmyspiral.
Hisfaceiswipedcleanofemotion.HegrabsaNeosporinpacketandQ-tip,appliesagenerousamountofgoopontoit,thenspreadsitovermycut.Mythroatgoestightatthegentletouch.
“Idon’twanttoupsetPaul,”Isay,watchinghiscarefulwork.Theburnisgone,justanachenow.“I—Icareabouthisfriendship,andIdon’twanttoriskhisplaceinmylifeifthingsblowupbetweenus.”
Hisgazemeetsminebriefly.“Igetit,Shepard.Theriskisn’tworththereward.Mygranddadalreadycaresaboutyou,andhe’sinvestedinallofthis.I’mnotgoingtomessthatupforeitherofyou.”
Theopreparesseveralbandages,thenpressesthemontomyknee.Hismovementsareefficientnow,nothungry,notlingeringorrough,andImournthelossofiteventhoughit’snecessary.
Whenhe’sdone,hehelpsmedown,steppingawaybeforeourbodiescanconnect.
Ileanagainstthecounter.“Canweextendthetruceto‘canlookbutdon’ttouch’?”
Hiseyebrowsraise.“Youwanttolook,huh?”
“Nothingwrongwithalittlewindowshopping,”Isay.“Nowthatwe’veadmittedwe’reattractedtoeachother,Imean.”
Theohuffsoutatightbreath.“Fine.I’mgoingtogocheckonmygranddad,soI’llgiveyoutheopportunitytostareatmyassagain.”
“Again?”
“IfeltyoulookingwhenIwalkedin.”
Imakesureheseesmy360-degreeeyeroll,butIdostareathisassashewalkstothedoor.Hecatchesmewhenhelooksoverhisshoulder.ThelastthingIseebeforethedoorclosesbehindhimishissmirk.
Whathedoesn’tknowisthatI’mgoingtolookandtouch.ButtheonlytouchingI’mgoingtodoiswithmyself.
That’sapromise.Fourteen
Theokeepshisdistancewhileweexploretheparkthenextday.It’sforthebest,consideringourtruce’samendment,butIfindmyselfmissinghisirritatingsmirks,howclosehegetstomurmurdryasides.Hewalksjustaheadofusonourhikes,butoccasionallyhe’llanglehisheadtolistentomyconversationswithPaul.
So,onMonday,whenImakemywaydowntothelobbyforcheckout,I’mshockedtofindhimwatchingmyapproach.Theadrenalineofhavinghisattentionagainsnakesthroughmyveinsashismouthpullsup.
Hemeetsmehalfway,takingmysuitcase.“Sawyourlatestmasterpiecelastnight.”
Thebrushofhisfingersagainstminesetsofftinyearthquakes,andmyresponseissluggish.“Mylatest—?Oh.”
LastnightImadeThomassitwithmeviaFaceTimewhileIcraftedmynextTikTok.ItwasonlyfairtoholdhimhostagewhileImutteredtomyself,sinceitwashisideainthefirstplace,butheabandonedmetwentyminutesin.ThankfullySadiekeptmecompany,pumpingmefortripdetails.
MakingthisvideowassuchadifferentprocessfromtheoneImadesearchingforPaul.Then,Iassumednoonewouldseeit.ButIknewpeoplewouldlookatthis.Ispentoveranhourerasingandreshootingandeditingtomakesureeverythinglookedjustright.IcrawledaroundGramandPaul’smapspreadonthefloortocapturethestops,mykneestillstingingbutlessintensely.
Eventually,Ihadasixty-secondvideothatgavetheupdatepeoplehadbeenaskingfor.NowtheyknewI’dmetPaul.Theyknewtherewereletters—IshowedthefirstoneI’dread—andadditionalpictures.Theyknewtherewasamapplanningoutthehoneymoonthatneverwas.
TheyknewIwastakingthetripinherplace.
Ididn’tmentionPaulandTheo’spartinit,butthatdidn’tmatter.Peoplelovedit,andmyreliefandhopewereinstant.ThenotificationsstartedcominginasIwassettlingintobed.IturnedoffmyphonesoIwouldn’tstayupallnighttrackingthenumbers.
WhichiswhyI’mrollingintothelobbytwentyminuteslate.
Theodoesn’tlookannoyed,eitherbymytardinessortheTikTok.Helooksamused.“Iwaswonderingwhenyou’dgetaroundtomakingit.”
Histeasingputsmeonedge.He’sbeensorobot-likesinceouralmostkissthatmyresponsecomesoutdefensive.“Ihadtothinkaboutitforawhile.Iwantedittobe—”
Idon’tsaytheword;it’snothowI’deverdescribeit.ButTheosaysitanyway.“Perfect.”
“Just—Iwantedittoberight.Iwantedtodothestoryjustice.”
“Thestorythathappenedsixtyyearsagoortheonethat’shappeningnow?”
It’ssuchanastuteobservationthatitthrowsmeoffbalance.Nowthathe’ssaidit,Irecognizethefeeling:livinginsideanimportantmemoryasit’shappening,andbeingviscerallyawareofit.“Both,Iguess.”
Theohitchesathumboverhisshoulder.“Well,you’vegotthatguy’ssealofapproval.He’sbeenreadingcommentsallmorning.Hopeyou’repreparedtotalkaboutitallthewaytoDeathValley.”
IcatchsightofPaulsittinginaplushleatherchair,onelegcrossedovertheother.HehasTheo’sphoneinhishands,readingglasseson,grinningdownatthescreenlikeit’sChristmasmorning.
It’salooksofullofjoy—andpride—thatitmakesmyheartache.ItremindsmeofGramwhenshe’dseemywork.
IcatchTheowatchingme.Hisexpressionisamanifestationofthewaymychestfeels.
“What?”
Hismouthparts,thenpressestogether.Thenthelookisgone,replacedbytheslyexpressionI’ve—shit—missed.“YousaidIcouldlook.”
Ichokeoutalaugh.“There’salotofnuancebetweenlookingandstaring,Spencer.”
“SometimesIliketotakemytime.”
Ican’ttouchthat,notevenwithaten-footpole.“PaulreallylikestheTikTok?”
“He’sbeencallingitaTicTac,butyeah,he’sintoit.”
Themiraculousthingis,Iam,too.
“Ihaveideasformore,”IadmitaswemakeourwayovertoPaul.Mymindwasracinglastnight.IstaredattheceilingfornearlyanhourdreamingupthestoriesIcouldtellnext.“IwanttodoacouplevideosforourYosemiteleg.”
“Thenkeepgoing,”Theosaysbossily.“Andstopthinkingsohard.”
Paulgrinsupatmewhenwegettohim,handingTheohisphone.“Goodmorning!IsawyourTicTac.Itwasjustlovely.Somanynicecomments,too,thoughIdidn’tunderstandhalfofthem.”
“Socialmediavernacularisconfusing,”Iagree,offeringmyhandtohelphimup.
Hegivesmyhandasqueezeoncehe’sstanding.“You,mydear,areastoryteller.I’veseenitinyourphotographs,andIseeithere.You’lldomore,right?”
ThelumpinmythroatissoviciousthatIcanonlynodatfirst.EventuallyIgetout,“Yes,I’llkeepgoing.”
MygazeslidestoTheo.I’verepeatedhisphrasing.Heacknowledgesitwithawink,andittugsatme,athreadthat’sjustbeencreatedbetweenus.IfI’mnotcareful,it’llturnintoawebIcan’tgetoutof.
IturnbacktoPaul.“ItoldTheothis,butIwon’tincludecurrentpicturesorvideosofeitherofyouunlessyouwantthat.”
“Oh.”Paul’seyeswiden,hismouthtwitchingintoasmile.“Well,I’malreadyalittlebitfamous,aren’tI?”
“You’reveryfamousbyTikTokstandards,”Ilaugh.
“Tellthestoryhowyouwanttotellit.Ifthatincludesthecurrentversionofme,I’dbehonored.”
“I’mokaywithit,too,”Theosays.
Iarchaneyebrowathim.“Itwon’taffectyourreputationastheveryseriouscofounderandCFOofWhereToNext?”
“Youshowingme,thecofounderofatravelingapp,traveling?”heresponds.“No,Ithinkit’llbeokay.”
“Maybeyou’llaccumulateafanclub.”
DeepinmybonesIknowpeoplewillgowildforhim.Iswearhewasspeciallymadeforfantasizingover.AlreadyI’mthinkingofthewaysmycamerawilllovetheplanesandanglesofhisface,thatbody,andthewayhungry,anonymouseyeswilldevourwhateverIputup.Itstirssomethinginmystomach.Notjealousy,butsomethingstickylikethat.
Theoshrugs,cheeksflushing.“Notmyproblem.Ifyou’regoingtotellthestory,mightaswelltellallofit.I’mnotgoingtostandinyourway.”
Paulgrinsatthetwoofus,thentakesmebytheelbowaswewalkouttothevan,sharinghisfavoritecomments.
Theo’salreadyloadingupthetrunkbythetimewegetthere,andinstructsustodropourbagssohecanfinish.Paulsettlesintothebackseatasusual,andItakeadvantageofTheo’sabsencetoaddmyphonetotheBluetooth,disconnectinghis.
Whenheslidesintothedriver’sseatandturnstheignition,MaggieRogers’svoicesnakesoutthroughthespeakers.Helooksatthemultimediascreen,thenoveratme,unimpressed.
“Itoldyou,moreThomYorkeandI’mgoingtothrowmyselfoutofthecar.Allowmetointroduceyoutomodernmusic.”
Hesighs.Isettleintomyseat,smugandsingingalong,asTheoputsusinreverse.
“Allright.”Paulclapshishands.“Wheretonext?”
WemakeittoDeathValleybeforesunset,hikingthequartermiletoBadwaterBasin,apopulartouristspot.Thelandscapeismonochromatic,anombreofbrownsthatfusetogethertomakesomethingbeautiful.Inthedistance,themountainrangelookspaintedonthehorizon.Thoughit’sevening,theairisstillheavywithheat.
IwalknexttoTheowhilePaulmeandersahead.
“So,whichcamefirst,PaulsayingWheretonext?oryounamingyourcompany?”
Iknowtheansweralready,butIwanthimtosayitoutloud.
Theogivesmeasidewaysglance,lettingoutaquietlaugh.“Ofcourseyou’dpickuponthat.”
“Yes,I’magenius.Didyounameitafterhim?”
There’sacorneredlookinhiseyes,buthedoesn’thesitate.“Yeah.”
Ilethissilencehangforapproximatelytwoseconds.“I’mgoingtoneedmorethanthat.”
Theo’smouthcurlsintoabarely-theresmilebeforehesquintsoutatthehorizon.“It’swhathe’dsaytomeeverysummerwhenweweregettingreadytotakeoffsomewhere.Healwaysknewwhereweweregoing—hehadtoclearitwithmyparentsfirst—buthelikedtopretendweweregoingonthisunknownadventuretogether.”
“Whythatmoment,specifically?”
“ItmeantIgottospendtimewithsomeonewholetmebeme,withoutexpectations.Wegottogotoplaceswherenooneknewus—alloverthecountrywhenIwasyoung,andinternationallyonceIwasolder.”Ourarmsbrush,bringinggoosebumpstomyskindespitetheheat.Butit’snotjustTheo’stouch;it’stheemotioncoatinghisvoice.Irecognizeitinmyself,thebittersweetnessofrecallingperfectmomentsyoucan’tgetback.“Itwasfreeingtogetawayfrommylife.So,whenAntonandMatiasandIwerethinkingaboutnames,itwasthefirstthingthatpoppedup.Itfeltright.Iwanteveryonetofeelthatwhentheytravel.”
Ifiddlewithmylenscap.“That’skindofapay-it-forwardmomentforyou,overandoveragain.”
Theo’sfeaturesarepaintedgoldeninthelightfallingdownonus.Thetipsofhislashesarehoneyhued,theblueofhiseyessoclear,nearlybright.Aftermydisastrousassistantstint,Iprefertoshootlandscapesinsteadofpeople,buttheurgetogetthisshotofTheoisintense.
Heswallows.“I’veneverthoughtofitthatway.Butyeah.Iguessthat’sright.”
“You’vedonesomethingprettyamazingwithit,”Isayquietly.
“Yeah.”Hisvoicebreaks,andheletsoutabreath,runninghishandthroughhishairbeforegivingmeawrylook.“Youstillaskalotofquestions.”
Ibitebackasmile.Sometimesinclass,he’dtallyupallthequestionsIaskedandslipthepaperintomyhandonhiswayoutthedoor.IhatedthattouchasmuchasIwantedit.“Somethingsneverchange.”
“True.”
Theairbetweenusisthick,hissadnesssittingontopofit.Ibumphisarmwithmyshoulder.“Youcantellmetomindmybusiness,youknow.”
“Iknow.”
Thebasinstretchesoutinfrontofus,bleached-whitesaltflatsshapedlikepolygons.Thesunisstartingtosinkinearnest,andthoughI’meagertotakesomephotos,I’mdisappointedourconversationiswindingdown.Theogivingapieceofhimselftomefeelslikeagift,andIwanttograbitwithbothhands.Askformore.
Heturnstome.Hisgazetracesthepathofmyponytailpulledovermyshoulder,movinguptothatspothetouchedwithhismouththeothernight.Butit’snotsexual;it’sfamiliar.Itmakesmeache.
“Noone’severaskedmethatquestionbefore.Ididn’trealizehowmuchIwantedtoanswerit.”
Ihearthethankyouhedoesn’tsay.Inod,tootakenabacktocomeupwithacasualresponse.Heflashesmeaquicksmile,thenwandersaway,handsinhispockets.
Iwatchhimfortoolong.I’mgoingtomissthesunset.Mypictures.ButIcan’tseemtostepoutsideofourmoment.
Agentlehandonmyarmsendsmecrashingbackdowntoearth.
“Ididn’tmeantostartleyou,sweetheart,”PaulsayswhenIwhiparound.Hiscameraiscradledinhishands.
“It’sokay,Iwasjust…thinking.”AboutyourgrandsonandhowIseemtobeslidingheadfirstintosomethingalittleterrifying—
Paulsavesmefrommyself.“Youshootmostlylandscape,right?”
“It’swhatI’mmostcomfortablewith,yeah.”
“Haveyoudonemuchportraitwork?”
“I—”Iliftashoulder.“Iassistedaphotographerforalmostayearrightoutofcollege.Igotburned,soIsteppedawayfromit.”
Hehums,appraisingme.“Youtrulydohaveastoryteller’sheart.IrecognizeitinyoujustasIknewitinmyself.Ihopeyoudiscoverthat,anduseittomakeartthattouchespeople.”Heelbowsme,conspiratorial.“Evenifit’sjustyouittouches.”
HeliftshischintowardTheo,turnedtowardthemountainrangewithhisfaceinprofile.Theshapeofhimislonely.
“I’mnotsureIshouldinterrupt,”Istall.
“You’renotinterrupting.You’rerecordingamoment.”Oureyesmeetandhesmiles,amixtureofsadnessandjoythere.“Teddy’sbeenmyloyalsubjecthisentirelife.It’sokay,Ipromise.”
Ibringtheviewfindertomyeye.ItfeelstoointimatetocatchTheoinmylens,tobringhimclosertomewithaquickadjustmenttothezoom.TheanglesofhisfacearesocloseIcouldtouchthem.Iwanttospreadtheheatfromtheairandthesunontohisskin,downhisneck,intohischest.
Iwanthimcloser,eventhoughhe’ssaferatadistance.
Withmyheartflying,Ipressmyfingerontheshutterrelease.It’smyfirstpictureofTheo.ButIdoubtit’llbemylast.
ThememoryofTheo’sfaceisstillimprintedhourslaterasLasVegascomesintoview,aneonblanketoverthenight-blackvalleybelow.
“Iwishitwasn’tsodark.”Paultsks,squintingoutthewindow.“I’vegotaletterhere.Ishould’vethoughtofitwhenwewereinDeathValley.”
“Wecandoitnow,”Iblurtexcitedly.Myhandshootsout,landingonhisknee
Withachuckle,Paulreachesovertothecardiganlyingontheotherseat,pullingouttheletter.
TheoglancesoverasIsmoothitoutonmylap.“Howareyouplanningonreadingthat?”
“I’mgoingtoturnonthelightandreaditoutloud.”
“Iwon’tbeabletoseetheroadifyouturniton.”
Thisletterisgettingreadrightnow,comehellorhighwater.“That’sanolddad’stale,youknow.Thecarisn’tgoingtocrashbecauseyouturnonareadinglight.”
Eveninthedarkness,Icanseehiseyesroll.
“Here,I’lldoyouasolidandusemyphone’sflashlight.I’lleventurnitdownsoyoucanstillconcentrate.”
Hesighsbutdoesn’targue.Awin.
“Paul,what’sthestorywiththisone?”Iask.
“Oh,thisoneisquiteself-explanatory.Icananswerquestionsafter,ifyouhaveany.”
“Shewill,”Theosays.
Itosshimaglare,thenclearmythroat.“Allright,herewego.”
ThevanissilentsaveformyvoiceasIstarttoreadGram’swordsoutloud.
November17,1956
DearPaul,
HaveyoureadF.ScottFitzgerald?Probablynot.Yournoseisalwaysstuckinaphotographybook.
There’saquotethatremindsmeofus:“Theyslippedbrisklyintoanintimacyfromwhichtheyneverrecovered.”
Whenyoutoldmeyoulovedmelastweek,the—
Iwhirlinmyseat.“Thisiswhenyoutoldheryoulovedher?”
Theosnorts.“Yousaythatlikeyoudidn’tknowitwascoming.”
“Excuseme,thisisahugemoment.”
Hegivesmeasardoniclook.“We’reonaroadtripthat’sfollowingthehoneymoontheyneverhad.Mentallyprepareyourselffortherest,Shep.”
IshootanaggrievedlookatPaul,whosimplygrins,thenreturntotheletter.
Whenyoutoldmeyoulovedmelastweek,thehappinessIfeltwasalmosttoomuchtobear.It’sbeenjustovertwomonthssinceImetyou,andyou’vequicklybecomethemostimportantpersoninmylife.Beforethat,itwasmyfamily,andnowtheyhavetosharemewithyou,thoughtheydon’tknowityet.
Whichbringsmetomynextemotion—thefear,again.It’sdifficulttobeinloveandnotshareitwithmyfamily.ButifItellthemaboutyou,they’llinsistonmeetingyouandyourparents.Iworryabouttheoutcome.They’lltalkaboutmarriageandaskyoutoomanyquestions.Myfatherandbrothermightbehorrible.Theycouldruineverything.
Ifitsoundstooterrible(itwouldtomeifIwereyou!),thenIwon’tblameyouforwantingtoforgetitall.Wegotourselvesbrisklyintothisdamnintimacy.Wecangetourselvesout,ifnecessary.
Myhearthurtsthinkingaboutit.Whatshouldwedo?
Love,
Kat
Theo’seyesflickerovertome,darkandthoughtful.Thentheyfocusbackontheroadaheadofus,hisrighthandrestingcasuallyoverthetopofthesteeringwheel.Theaudacityofthismanforlookingsohotwhiledrivingaminivan
IturntoPaul.“Well,weknowyoudecidedtocontinueon.”
Henods.“Iwould’vedoneanythingforher.”
Atmydelightedsigh,Theogroans,butit’sindulgent.
“ShecalledherparentssoonafterIreadthatletter.Theyweren’tenthusiastic,”Paulcontinues.“Ispoketothembriefly,didthesirandma’amsonganddance,buttheirprotectiveinstinctswerefierce.Kathleenwastheirbabygirl,andIwasastrangerwhoseintentionstheydidn’ttrust.WemadeplanstohavedinnerrightafterfinalsinDecember.TheyweregoingtobeinLAtobringKatbacktoGlenlakeforChristmasbreak.”
“Wereyounervousafterthatcall?”Theoasks.
“Notformyself.ThethoughtofmeetingKat’sparentsdidn’tscareme.ButIworriedforherandherexpectations.Shewouldn’tadmitit,butshewashopingit’dgomoresmoothlythanwefeared.Shesometimessawherfamilywithrose-coloredglasses.”Hesmiles.“Shesawmewiththem,too.Shethoughtthebestofeveryonesheloved,andthoughtshecouldmakeitworkthroughsheerforceofwill.”
“Butshecouldn’t,”Isay.
“No,”hesayssadly.“Thatcomeswiththenextletter,though,unlessyouwanttokeepgoingnow.”
Ismoothmythumboverthepaper,shakingmyheadasIimagineGram’shope—whatitlookedandfeltlike.Howthefearprobablymingledwithit,makingitmorepotent.Makingitevenmorefragile.
“Iwanttowait.”Ilovehearingitallslowly,littlecrumbslaidoutformetofollow.IwishIcouldfollowthemforever.
Imagesdancethroughmymindaswemovetowardtheever-nearinglightsofVegas.Theo’sknowinglooks,thecarehetookwithmyknee,thekisswenearlyshared.Ourmomentearliertodaywhenhesharedtheoriginofhiscompany’sname.Thatbreakinhisvoice,thegratitudeinhiseyesrightbeforehewalkedaway.Forme
They’realltinypebblesofintimacyundermyfeet,gatheringsoquicklytheythreatentosendmetumblingifI’mnotcareful.Somuchisridingonthistrip:mytethertoGram,myrelationshipwithPaul,mytenuousreentryintophotography,andthestoryI’mtellingonTikTok.
Ineedtobecarefulnottogettoocaughtupinwhateverthisis—adistraction,abriskintimacy.IfIfall,it’llbescarierthanmyactualtumbledownthatembankmenttheotherday.It’llbefasterandwillprobablyhurttwiceasmuchFifteen
I’mdownstairsatthebarifyou’reup.
IstareatTheo’stext,perchedontheedgeofmyhotelbed.It’snearlyeleven,butI’mwired.I’vebeensittinghereforanhour,uploadingYosemitephotosinpreparationformynextTikToks.IlingeredonavideoofPaulandTheoatapicnictable,lookinglikeasplitscreensixtyyearsapart—theyhavethesamesmile,thesamehunchedmotionintheirlaughter.Eventheirlegsarepositionedthesame—leftstraightout,rightbent,footbalancedonitstoe.
ItremindedmesomuchofGramandme.I’dlookatpicturesofusandlaughbecauseweweremirrorimages,smilingourwidesmiles,thattooth-snaggedone,oureyesnearlyclosedwiththeforceofourhappiness.IsensethesamepurejoyintheconnectionbetweenTheoandPaul,andIcan’twaittointroducethemtotheworld.
Butnottonight.Notwiththistextwaitingforme.
Irereadtheinvitation.Nonchalantasitsounds,that’sexactlywhatitis.Ijustdon’tknowifit’sanolivebranchorsomethingelse.
I’mcrouchedovermysuitcasebeforemybraincatchesup.Ipackedonesemi-appropriateVegasoutfit,andIshimmyintoitnow—theblacksleevelessbodysuitthatdipslowinfront,revealingthesubtleslopeofmybreasts,thejeansthatliftmyassintoouterspace.Ilayeracoupleofdelicategoldchainsaroundmyneck,pullmyhairoutofitshaphazardponytailandfinger-combitintoahot,carelesstousle.Ievenputonmascara,tamemybrowsintosubmissionwithbrowgel,anduseacherryredbalmtoflushmycheeksandlips.
IlooklikeIjusthadsexandhadtoquicklyputmyselfbacktogether.Mirror-me’sgrinisdiabolical.
Theosaidhewantedtolook.I’llgivehimsomethingtolookat.
Insteadoftextinghimback,Islidemyphoneintomypocket,slipintomystrappysandals,andmakemywaydownstairs.
Thebarisinanopen-conceptareanotfarfromthecheck-indesk,curvingsleeklyaroundatoweringdisplayofliquorbottles.It’squiet,evenforaMonday.
Theo’sseatedatthebarwithhishandcurledaroundaglass.He’swatchingabaseballgame,eyesglazedwithboredom.Helooksdownathisphone,illuminatingthescreenwithhisknuckle.Whateverhefindsthere—ordoesn’t—makeshismouthpinchwithdispleasure.Hisattentiondriftsbacktothetelevision.
Untilitsnagsonmyapproach.
Surpriseflashesacrosshisface,hiseyebrowspullingup.Butherecoversquickly,andwatchingtheawarenesssinkintohisgazesendswhite-hotpowersurgingthroughmyveins.
There’saconfidenceinthewayhiseyesdropdownmybody,aconfessionthathe’dknowexactlywhattodowithme.ThatI’dlikeit;he’dmakesureofit.Hetracestheshapeofmyhipsfromtwentyfeetaway.Mybreastsandneckfromten.BythetimeI’mstandingnexttohim,hisgazeisbouncingupfrommymouth
Itpullsupunderhisattention.“Hello.”
“Hello,”heechoesinasmokyvoice.“Couldn’tmanageatextback?”
“Figuredit’dberedundant,sinceImadeitdownheresoquickly.”Islideintoaseat,tiltingmyheadtoappraisehim.Thesweepofmyhairovermybareshoulderpullsgoosebumpsontomyskin.“Unlessyouwerecheckingyourphonewaitingformyresponseorsomething.”
Hegrins,caught.“Suchalittlestalker,Shep.”
Igivehimacheekywink.“What’reyouhaving?”
“Bourbon.”Hisdimplepopsashismouthpoutsintoasmirk.“Twofingers.”
Iliftmyhandtogetthebartender’sattention.“Idon’trespectamanwhocan’thandlethree.”
Theochokesonalaughasthebartenderapproaches.Ifthiswereatennismatch,thepointwouldgotome.
InodtowardTheo’sglass.“I’llhavewhathe’shaving.”
Heleansinasthebartendermovesaway,hisshouldergrazingmine,breathbrushingmyear.“Twofingersareenoughtosatisfyyoutonight,huh?”
AquietchucklefollowstheshiverIfailtostaveoff.Idipmychin,levelinghimwithalook.“We’resupposedtobehave,Spencer.Don’tgetallriledup.”
Hegrins.“Who’sriled?”
Ournosesarepracticallytouching.Hehasthefaintestscarjustabovetheseverestrokeofhisrighteyebrow.
Aglassslidesintomyperiphery—mydrink.Ipullittowardme.
Theomirrorsme,pressinghisglasstominewithasoftclink.“Cheers,Shepard.”
“Whatarewecheersingto?”
“Looking,Iguess.”
Ican’thelpmylaugh.“Tolooking.”
Withoureyeslocked,hetakesaslowsip.Ifollow,imaginingthebourbononmytongueisfromhim.
Theobreakstheconnectionfirst,settinghisglassdownandswipinghistonguealonghisbottomlip.IshovemyhandundermythighsoIwon’trunmythumboverhismouthtofeelthedampnessthere.
“Haveyourecoveredfromtheexcitementoftoday’sletter?”heasks.
Mychestwarmsatthequestion.Maybehe’ssimplymovingusintoneutralterritory,butattheveryleasthecaresenoughtowanttohearmyanswer.“Mostly.Isthisboringforyou,sinceyouknowtheirstory?”
Heshakeshishead.“Idon’treally.LikeIsaid,Kathleenwasn’tasecret,butmygranddaddidn’tgoarounddroppingtonsofdetails.”HisgazemovesuptotheTV.“Ilikelearningaboutitlikethis.Ontheroad,Imean,withhim.”
Hiseyesmovetome.Hedoesn’tsayitoutloud,butIcanreaditonhisfaceanyway:withyou
Anotherlittlepebble.Myheartshimmiesnervously.“Whenyousayshewasn’tasecret,whatdoyoumean?”
“ShewasapointofcontentionbetweenGranddadandmybiologicalgrandma,apparently.Hemetherrightafterhegraduated.”Onesideofhismouthquirksup.“Itwassupposedtobeaone-nightthing,butshegotpregnant.”
Myeyeswiden.“Withyouruncle?”
Henods.“Theyhadtogetmarried.Idon’tthinkGranddadwasoverKathleenbythatpoint,eventhoughit’dbeenacoupleyears.”
“I’mprettysureGramhadmetGrandpaJoebythatpoint.”TheygotmarriedNewYear’sEvein1959.Ifshe’dstayedatUCLA,shewouldhavegraduatedthepreviousspring.“So,notthebeststartforPauland…”
“Anne,”Theosays.“Notthebeststartanditnevergotbetter.Theytried.Backthenyoudidyourbesttostayinamarriage,buteventuallyitwastootoxic.”
“Paultoldyouallthis?”
Theopauses,takingasipofhisbourbon,along,slowone.Whenhesetshisglassbackdown,hiseyesstayfocusedthere.“Mygranddadtoldmesomeofit,andmydad…”Hetrailsoff,hisjawgoingtight.
Iletmykneefallagainsthis,justtowatchthetensionbrieflyflowoutofhim.
Withasmoky-scentedexhale,heshakeshishead.“Mydadgrewupwithparentswhoneverlovedeachother.Heheldalotofshitagainstmygranddad,hisfeelingsforKathleenincluded,andairedallhisgrievancestome.HeknewhowmuchIidolizedGranddadandhewantedtopunishhim.Afterawhilethepunishmentwasn’tverydistinguishablebetweenGranddadandme.”
Irubahandovermychest,wishingIcouldrubitoverhisinstead.Isitthealcoholmakinghimsowillingtosharerightnow,orisitme?
“Heseemedhardonyou,”Iventure.“ThetimesIsawhim.”
Theo’slaughishumorless.“Stillis.IfIfuckup,itgoesinhistoldyasofile.Iremindhimtoomuchofhisdad,Iguess.”
“Whataboutyourmom?”Theo’sdadhasalwaysloomedsolargethatshe’sanunderexposedimageinthefamilyportraitstoredinmymind.
“Sheintervenedsometimes,butmydadcanargueapersonintoexhaustion,andsheneverhadthestaminaforthat.”Histhumbarcsslowlyacrosshisglass.Icanseethememoriesplayingbehindhiseyes.“NowthatI’manadult,sheletsusworkitoutourselves.”
Itrytoimaginehowlonelythatmustbe,tonothaveareliableparentforcomfortorsupport.It’snotsomethingI’veeverhadtodealwith,anditleavesmescramblingforaresponse.
Buthe’sclearlydonewiththesubject.Withahardswallow,hepusheshisglassawayandrunsahandoverhismouth,asifwipingawaythewords.“Anyway,that’smysecretfortoday.Ifwe’restillplayingthegame.”
“Always.”Somehow,Idon’tthinkwe’deverrunoutofthingstoconfess.Itscaresmeasmuchasitthrillsme.Wehavetendaysleft;howmuchcouldwefitinifwereallycrackedourselvesopen?
Hisgazesharpensatthesadnessinmyvoice.“Tellmeoneofyours.”
“Ithoughtyourlifewasperfect,”Iadmit.“Youdrovemebatshitwithyourperfectgradesandthatnastyserve—”Helaughs,hiseyescrinkling.Thatamusementbreaksawaveofreliefovermyheart.“ThespreadinForbes.”
“You’vegotthatpagebookmarked,don’tyou?”Thecockinessisbackinhisvoice,intheupwardcurveofhismouth.Hislipsaresoperfectlyshapedforkissing,biting,suckingon.
“YouwishIdid.”
Theoshakeshishead,hissmilequietingasthemomentbetweenusextends,thenshifts.“Ifthere’sonethingI’velearned,it’sthatthemoreperfectitlooksontheoutside,themessierthatshitisontheinside.”
Ilethimseetheunderstandinginmyeyes,evenifIcan’trevealmysecretentirely.ThenIliftmyglass.“Cheerstothat.”
I’mnotbuzzed,butbythetimeTheoclosesourtabsometimeaftermidnight,I’msoftaroundtheedges.Wemovedonfromtheheavystuff,pivotedbackaroundtothetensionthatwasbrewingbetweenusearlier.
Theokepthishandstohimself,butnothisshoulderorthighorknee,allofwhichpressedagainstmewhenhe’dleanintomurmursomequipinmyear.WhenIsweptmyhairovermyshoulder,hiseyeszeroedinonthatspotheclaimed.Idon’tknowwhyInevernoticedhimlookingbefore;itwassohungryIfeltitinmystomach.
Now,asheleadsmeouttothelobby,hispalmcurvesintothesmallofmyback.
Whenwestepintotheelevatoraminutelater,hepressesthebuttonformyfloor,butnothis.Islidehimalook.
“I’mgoingtowalkyoutoyourroom,sinceyou’reattheendofthatlong-asshallway.”Hewanderstotheothersideofthecar,handsinhispockets.Earlier,whenhehelpedmewithmyluggage,thewalktomydoortookdecades.“I’dbeannoyedifIhadtogolookingforyoubecauseyougotstolen.”
Despitehisinnocuouswords,myheartstartsupatafuriouspace.“Howchivalrousofyou.”
“Onlythebestofintentions.”Hiseyesglintunderneaththelights.Helookswolfish,andsuddenlyI’mplayingthepartofLittleRedRidingHood.Onlydifferenceis,I’dlovetogeteatenup.
ButIcan’t.Ipinchmythigh,turningbacktowardthedoorssoIwon’tbackTheofurtherintothewallhe’sleaningagainst.
Therideupistoofastandexcruciatinglyslow.Thehallwayislinedwithplushcarpetthatmufflesourfootsteps;it’ssosilentthatIhearTheo’ssoftexhalesbesideme.They’realittlefast,andwhenIlookover,hisgazemovesupfromsomewheresouthofmyeyes.
Thebutterfliesinmystomachmigratesouthexpediently.“You’renotcomingintomyroom.”
“Ididn’taskto,”hemurmurs.
“Right.Becauseweagreedweweren’tgoingthere.”
“Zerointerestinthat.”Hegrinsatmydisbelievinglook,amischievousoneIhaven’tseeninyears.“Imeanit.Iwouldn’twanttodoanythingyouweren’tenthusiasticallyinto.”
“It’snotaboutenthusiasm.”
“Right.It’saboutmygranddad.”
“It’sabouteverythingexceptmyenthusiasm.”
Ishouldn’thavesaidthatoutloud,thoughit’snotasecretanymore.Helooksatmelikeitwas,andmybodyheatsinresponse.
We’reatmyroomnow.Ishouldshovemykeycardintotheslot,shutthedoorbehindme,anddoublelockit.ButIdon’t.Myself-controliscrumbling,anditfallsapartcompletelywhenIturnandfindhimtooclose,lookingdownatmewitheyesonfire.
“Mybrothermadeabetwithhisgirlfriend.Imean,mybestfriend.She’sboththings.”I’mbabbling.“Whatever.Mypridedependsonnotgivingintothis.”
OneofTheo’seyebrowsarchesinamusement.“Whatwerethetermsofthebet?”
Ohgod,whathaveIdone?Mybrainislustaddled.
“Ifwehookeduponacertainday,oneofthemwouldwinmoney.Thomasalreadylost.”
Theomovesincloser.Hislasheslowerwiththemeanderingpathofhisgaze.Thethicksweepofthemoverhisskinlooksalmostsweet.Iwonderwhatthey’dfeellikeonmyskin—onthebackofmyneckifhekissedmethere.
“Whatwashisbet?”heasks,hisvoicelow.
“Threedays.Sadie’sisten.”Iwon’ttellhimabouttheotherbet.It’snotgoingtohappen.
Butthismight:Theo’smouthonme.IwantitsobadlyI’mnearlypanting.Igripthedoorhandlejustforsomethingtoholdonto.
“Whatdoyoumeanwhenyousayhookup?”
“Whyareyouaskingsomanyquestionsonathrowawaybitofinformation?”Iask,irritatedwithhispressingandhiscloseness.
“It’snotthrowawayandyouknowit.Whatdoesitmean?”
“Sex.”Isayitlikewe’reinthemiddleofit.
Hiseyesdarken.“Soifwejust…”Hetrailsoff,staringatmymouth.
“Kissed,”Imanage.
“Yeah,”hemurmurs.“Thenitdoesn’tcount.Forthebet.”
“No,itdoesn’t.”
“Andwe’reinVegas,sowhathappenshere—”
“Stayshere.”
“Yeah,”herepeats,hisvoicegoinghoarse.Ourgazeslockandhewon’taskorpush,butifIwantit,then—
Iletoutabreath.“Justonce.Itcouldbeoursecret.”
Thesilencestretchesoutunbearably.
WhenTheo’shandslipsacrossmycollarbone,restingthere,everypartofmepullstight.Andwhenhepushesmebackagainstthedoorwiththeslightestpressure,Istopbreathingaltogether.
Histhumbgrazesthebaseofmythroat,rightwheremypulseisbeatingwildly.Forhim,andheknowsit.Everythinghe’sdoingisjustasuggestion,thelightesttouch,buthemightaswellbegrippingme.
“Doit,”Iwhisper.
“You,”hedemands,soIgrabhandfulsofhisshirtandpullhimtightagainstmybody,liftinguptotakehismouth.
Heopensupformeimmediatelyandatthefirstslideofourtongues,letsoutthesoftest,mostachinggroan.Hishandmovesintomyhair,theothercradlingmycheek.Andthenhetakesover,tiltingmyheadexactlythewayhewantsit.EventhoughIstartedit,it’sTheoinchargenow.
Hekisseslikesomepeoplefuck:slow,deep,anddirty,withbitten-offnoisesthatbroadcasthisneed.Thedampslipofourmouths,theoccasionalclickofourteeth,thewaywe’retastingeachother—allofitfeelslikewe’redoingthiswithourclothesoff.Hisbodyonmineagainstthedoorfeelslikehisbodyinmineinthebedjustbeyondthewall.
Iturnwildatthethought,knowingIcan’thaveit,knowingthisisit.Oursharedsecret,atruthwe’reonlytellingeachother.Myfingersslipintohishairandtighten,andhegroanssodeeplyIfeelitbetweenmylegs.Ipressintohim,wherehe’shardformealready.
“Fuck,”hesaysagainstmymouth,dragginghishandsdownmybodyuntilthey’reatmyhips.Hisfingersdiginhard,thenhepushes,pinningthemagainstthedoor.“Justkissing.”
“Sorry,”Igroan.
Hemoveshismouthfrommine,acrossmycheek,pantingagainstthespotwheremyearmeetsmyjaw.“Yourrules.”
Right.Kissing,justthisonce.Dryhumpingisnotontheapprovedlist,butgod,itfeltgood.
Wehavetostop,though.EventuallyI’llrememberwhy.
Irestmyheadagainstthedoor,staringupatthefirealarmblinkingsilentlydownatus.“Okay.Okay.Thatwas—okay.”
“Isokayyourreview,ordidIkissyouintospeechlessness?”hewhispersintomyneck.Ifeelhissmirkagainstmyskin.
Igroan.“Ohmygod,youhavetoleave.”
Hegoesstillbeforepressingasoftkisstohisspot.Noonewilleverbeabletotouchmethereagain.Whenhepullsback,mouthdamp,hisexpressionisunreadable.
“Youhavetoleave,”Irepeat,“becauseI’mgoingtoshoveyouintomyroomotherwise.”
Thenakedlustonhisfaceisdevastating.IshouldhaveastreetnamedaftermeforallthiscontrolI’mshowing.“Andwecan’tdothat.”
“No.”
“Becauseofthe…”
“Theeverything.”
“Right.”Heblowsoutabreath,runningahandthroughhiswreckedhair.“Okay.”
“Yes,okay.”
Tuckingastrandofwildhairbehindmyear,hesays,“Okaytotheotherstuff,notthekiss.”
“Yes,thekisswasfivefuckingstars,Spencer,nowgoaway.”
Ipushathisshoulder,laughinginexasperationasasmilespreadsacrosshisfacewhenhestumblesback.Hismouthisswollen,shirtwrinkledwhereIgrabbedit.Helookslikeamess,likehebelongsinVegas.He’sallsin.
HewalksbackwardasIstickmykeycardintotheslot.“Youneveransweredmyquestionearlier,bytheway.”
Ipausehalfwayintomyroom.“Whatquestion?”
“Whethertwofingerswouldbeenoughtosatisfyyoutonight.”
It’sagoodthinghe’stoofartograb.“I’llletyouknowtomorrow.”
AndthenIshutthedoor,lockingitbehindme.Sixteen
Itwasatacticalerrorlettingthatkisshappen.Icanbarelymeetanyone’seyesthenextmorningwhenIjoinPaulandTheoforbreakfast.Theocurlstwofingersthroughthehandleofhiscoffeemugatonepoint,andmyimaginationsetsoffdownalong,dark,dirtyroad.WhenweloadupthecartodrivetoourAirbnboutsideZionNationalPark,hecatchesmyeyeandsmirks.Infuriating.
IdomybesttoignorethevibesaswemakeourwayintosouthernUtah.Paulhandsoveraletter,whichisreallyabulletpointlistofGram’sideastomaketheirfamilydinnerlesshorrible.Itremindsmeofhergrocerylists,exceptinsteadofmilk,it’sdon’tbringupwar.Ilaugh,missinghersomuchithurts.IsootheitbytellingPaulandTheoaboutthetimeIranintoatoweringdisplayofmacaroniandcheeseatSafewayandgotburiedundertheboxes,andhowhardGramlaughedasshewasdiggingmeout.
Theo’slaughtersoundslikehersdid,incredulousandamused,andit’salmostlikeshe’shere.
ThelandscapefliesbyaswedrivethroughSt.George,Hurricane,andafunnylittletowncalledLaVerkin.WewindtowardSpringdale,thelocationofourAirbnb.Oneachsideofus,massiverocksofbrilliantred,rustyorange,andfawnybrownriseupagainstthebrilliantbluesky.Itlookslikesomeonetookapaintbrushtoeverypartoftheearthandsaturateditwithbeautiful,vibrantcolor.
It’sgoingtobemyfavoriteplacethiswholetrip;Icanfeelit.Peacesettlesinmychest.IrolldownmywindowsoIcaninhaleit,too.
Afterwegeteverythingunloaded,I’llworkoneditingmyYosemitephotos.Tomorrowwe’llgointoZionforthefirstofourthreefulldayshere,andPaulpromisedhe’dletmehavesometimewithhisHasselblad,whichisgenerousconsideringI’llprobablyjustruinhisfilm.
Thecautiousoptimismbloominginmychestfeelsnew.Inreality,it’ssimplysomethingIhaven’thadformonths.
WhenwerolluptotheAirbnbthirtyminuteslaterandIcatchmyfirstglimpseofthehomewe’retemporarilycallingours,thecautiouspartofmyoptimismfliesoutthewindow.
Ijumpoutofthevan,myhandsclaspedinfrontofme.Thehouseissmallerthanitlookedinpictures,butthefrontporchiswide,withthreepinerockingchairslinedup,colorfulthrowpillowssittingsweetlyoneach.
“Great,right?”IsayasTheoandPaulclimboutofthevan,appraisingitwithvaryinglevelsofenthusiasm.Theo,ofcourse,islargelyunmoved,butPaul’sfacelightsup.
“It’sfantastic.Whatafind.”
“Andnottooexpensive,either.”WhenIfoundit,Iwassotakenabackbythepricethatmyfingerstrippedoverthemselvestofilloutthebookinginformation.
Webringourbagsintothehouseandspreadouttoexplore.Themainroomisopenconcept,withthelivingroom,kitchen,anddiningroominonebrightlylitspace,decoratedinasouthwesternstyle.Thediningroomtableismadeofroughlyhewn,palewood,bigenoughformetospreadmyequipmentoutoverlatersoIcangettoworkonmyediting—andmaybefinishmynextTikTok.Outthelargepicturewindow,pinkandredrockssweeptowardthesky.Ipressmyfingersagainsttheglass,gazingoutattheincrediblecolorsI’llgettocapturetomorrow.Ican’twaittowakeuptothat.
There’salonghallwaythatgoesbacktothebedroomsand,Iassume,thebathroom.Theoheadsthatway,myandPaul’ssuitcasestrailingbehindhim.
Paulputtersaroundinthekitchen,pointingtoaFrenchpress.“Oh,this’llbehandyforourearlymornings.”
“Yeah,IbroughtabagofBlueBottlecoffee,wecanuseit—”
“Hey,Shepard?”Theoyellsfromthebackofthehouse.Hisfootstepsrattlethefloorlikeanearthquake,andIbracemyselffortheproblem.There’saraccoonfamilylivinginoneofthebedrooms.Theairconditioningisbroken.A—
Hestridesaroundthecorner,hiseyebrowsarchedinsurprise.“Wanttotellmewhythere’sonlyonebed?”
Paul,Theo,andIstandatthefootofthebed,handsonourhips.
“Thelistingsaiditwastwobedrooms,”Isayforthefourthtime.
Theofollowsthescripttoatee.“Areyousure?Becausethere’sdefinitelyonlyonebedroom.Andonlyonebed.”
Withasigh,Ipullmyphonefromitshaphazardtuckinthewaistbandofmyleggings.Igototheapp,clickingonthereservation.“Righthere.Itsays:sleepsfour,onebedro…”
Itrailoff,mybloodturningcold.
“Whatwasthat?”Theotakesmyhandinhis,pullingthephoneupsohecanreadthelistingdetails.Thedisorientingheatofhisbodyandtherealityofmymistakemakemejerkagainsthisgrasp,buthewon’tletmego.“Onebedroom,Shep.Itsaysitrighthere.Theotherbedisapulloutinthelivingroom.”
Histoneismild,butallIhearisyoufuckedup.It’sinmyvoice,nothis,anunfairprojection,butitcurdlesmystomachallthesame.
Itwistoutofhishold,mycheeksheating.“IsentyouthislinkbeforeIbookedit.Youdidn’tsayanything.”
“Iassumeditwasfine,”hesays.“AllIcaredaboutwasenough—”
“Roomsandbedsforall,yeah,Igotthat.Would’vebeenniceifyou’ddouble-checkedmywork,isall.”Ipressmyhandtomyhotforehead.IgetflushedwhenIfail.
Enzo’svoiceblastsintomymind,screamingatmeformissingtheshot.TellingmeI’museless.ThenI’msittinginthecoldacrylicchairintheHRdirector’sofficeatwork,mybossseatednexttomewhiletheytoldmetheyappreciatedmycontributions,butunfortunately—
Itsoundedsohollow.Weallknewmycontributionswerefew,especiallythepreviousmonthwhenIwaslivinginafuguestate.TheflushonmyfaceandthecoldrushofadrenalinewhentheytoldmeIwasbeinglaidoffwasthefirstemotionI’dfeltotherthannumbgriefsinceGramdied.Whatawaytobreaktheice.
Thisisn’tthesame.It’ssillyandsmall.ButIwishIcouldrubthefeelingoffmycheekssoIdon’thavetothinkabouttherealmistakesI’vemade.
Paulwrapsanarmaroundmyshoulders.“It’sallright,Noelle.It’sjustforafewdays.Whydon’tyoutakethisroom,andTheoandIcansleeponthepullout?”
“No,”TheoandIsayinunison.
“That’sgoingtodestroyyourback,”Theocontinues.HisgazewindsovertowherePaul’sarmisstillencirclingme,beforesettlingonmyface.Hesighs,scratchingathisjawashelooksbackatthebed.“I’llsleeponthefloor.”
“Youcan’tsleeponthefloor.I’llsleeponthefloor.”
Heturnshissterneyebrowsonme.“You’renotsleepingonthefloor.”
Icrossmyarmsovermychest,tryingnottosoundcombativeandmostlyfailing.Verythematic.“Thisismymess.”
“Icould’vecheckedthelinkwhenyousentittome,andIdidn’t.We’llsharethisone.”
“Youdon’tneedtomakemefeelbett—”
“I’mnotdoinganything.”Histoneisbusinesslike,verygetyourheadoutofyourass.Ibethe’sabadassintheboardroom.Ibetnoonepusheshimaround.
Mythroatgoestight.He’salwaysbeenultracompetent,andinhighschoolitwasannoyingbutmotivating.Wespentyearsgoinghead-to-headoneverything—tennis,grades,endlessverbalsparringmatches—andIalwayskeptup,evenifheedgedmeoutonoccasion.
ButthistimeIcan’tkeepup.Ihavenothingtovolleyback,andthatdetonateswhateverisleftofmydignity.I’mrawfromthisfreshmess,smallthoughitis.Therehavebeensixmonthsoflossandstumbling,yearsoffailurebeforethat,andnowI’mstaringdownthebarrelofthirtyandIstillhaven’tfoundmyplace.Theo’swillingnesstoownpartofthemix-upishisownsubtlebrandofpity.Itfeelslikeapremonition.
WhatifItoldhimeverything?ThatI’mjobless,directionless,soafraidtofailthatI’llneverhaveachanceatsucceeding?Notthewayhehas,anyway.Wouldhereactthesamewayheisnow,withaconciliatorypatonthehead?Thethoughtmakesmewanttocry;itwouldbehimgivinguponme,andIdon’tknowwhyitwouldmattersomuchifhedid.
Theroomwe’restandinginistoosmall,toohot,toomuch,anunwelcomefeelingthatIthoughtIshookoffwhenwestartedthistrip,atleasttemporarily.
Thethicksilenceisbrokenbyatrillingphone.Theopullshisoutofthepocketofhisjoggers,checkingthescreen.FromhereIcanseethename:Dad.
Hisexpressionpinches.
I’malreadybackingoutoftheroom.“We’llfigureitoutlater.I’llbeoutfrontifyouneedme.”
Butbothmenareintheirownworldalready.Paulonlynods,andTheostaresdownathisphoneasIeasethedoorclosedbehindme.
Ican’thelppausingwhenPaul’svoicedriftsout.“Youdon’thavetotakethat.Youknowwhathe’sgoingtosay.”
“Maybehe—”
“Yourfather’sopinionisn’tgoingtochange.Hewantsyoutodosomethingthatyouknowisn’tpossible.”Paul’svoiceisasfirmasTheo’swasaminuteago.“What’smostimportantisthatyoucometotermswithwhat’shappening.Leavehimoutofit.Hedoesn’thaveasay.”
“Youknowthat’snothowitworkswithus,”Theosays,voicelow.
“Teddy.”Paulsighs.“Whydoyoudothistoyourself?”
Ishouldn’tbeeavesdropping,butnowI’minvested.
That’snottrue.I’vebeeninvested.IrememberourgameofTellMeaSecretlastnight,whenIconfessedthathislifeseemedperfect.Iknownow,evenifhewon’ttellme,thatit’snot.Butregardlessofthemessinessontheinside,he’sbuiltsomethingamazingwithWhereToNext.Maybethere’ssomethingtoit,thatevenifIfeelmessyandtiedupandlost,itdoesn’tprecludemefromeventuallygettingitright.
Ijustdon’tknowhowtogetthere.
Thephone’sringcutsoff.Theoletsoutasigh.“Okay,well,nowImissedthecall.”
“Good.He’sgoingtoupsetyoufornothing.Letyourselfbehappyforasecond,mygod.”
Thesilencebehindthedoorisdeafening,andTheosaysinabrokenvoice,“Don’tsayit.”
“Allright,”comesPaul’squietreply.“Justtellmewhatyouneed.”
“Alcohol.Ametrictonofit.”
“Wow,thisis…something.”
Paulstepsacrossthethresholdofthebarbehindme,hiseyebrowspullinguphigh.“Ohmy.”
Theo’sthelasttocomeinside.HelooksaroundtheStardustCocktailLounge,glancingatPaul.“Thiswasreallyourbestoption?”
“Noellehelpedmesearchforbarontheinternet,andthisiswhatittoldme.”Paulliftsashoulder,whichiscardigan-cladnowthatthesun’sgonedown.“Ittickedallyourboxes,kid.”
“Ihadonebox.”
“Thenittickedyourbox.”
Theparquetfloorthatstretchesbetweenusandthewallofliquorbottlesbehindthebarisdull.Iknowwithouthavingtoconfirmthatmyshoesaregoingtosticktoitallthewayacross.
Theorubsatthebackofhisneckandsighs,eyeingtheconfuseddécor;thereareseveraltaxidermiedanimalsmountedonthewall,includingatabbycatprowlingonwhatlookslikeafoamcoreboardtowardamallardduck,wingsstretchedmid-flight.
Pepperedalongthewood-panelwallsareframedpicturesofcelebritiesfromthe‘80sinterspersedwithfamilyportraits.Ajukeboxstandssentryinthecorner,anoldDirtyDancingsongplaying.Overhead,afanturnslazily.
Butthere’sagoodcrowdinhere,andeveryoneseemshappy,whichissorelyneeded.
Paulleansinconspiratorially,asmileonhisface.“Goodenough,right?”
“It’sawesome,”Iadmitaswemakeourwaytoanemptytable.
Sureenough,thefloorsucksatthesolesofmysandals.Inearlylosemyleftone,butIeventuallywinthewarandgettomyseat.Theositsnexttome,andPaulsettlesacrossfromus,pickingupthehandwrittenmenulyingonthetable.Which,yes,isalsosticky.
Weorderfoodandaroundofdrinksfromourwaitress.Onceshe’sgone,Theoturnshisattentiontome.
“Haveyourecoveredfromthisafternoon?”heasksinthatwrytone.ButI’vespentenoughtimewithhimnowtohearthesubtext.There’sgenuineconcernthere.Imaybeseeinghiscracks,buthiswellnesscheckmakesitclearhe’sseeingmine,too.
“Ishouldbeaskingyouthat,”Ideflect.
Theo’seyebrowsjumpinsurprise.“Eavesdroppingagain?”
“It’sasmallhouse.”
“Sureis,”hemurmurs,hismouthpullingupslightly.
“Toosoon,”Isaywithaglare,butitlacksheat.
Acrossthetable,Paul’seyebrowsraiseslowly,andhepullsouthisphone,tappingatthescreentoshowhe’smindinghisbusiness.
“Isyourdadcausingwaves?”Iventure.Theoconfidedinmetheothernight;maybeheneedsitnow,too.
Heleansback,eyeingme.“Youreallywerelistening.”
Mycheeksheatasourwaitressreturns,settingdownourbeers.“Smallhouse,Itoldyou.Ishetryingtogetinvolvedinyourworkissue?”
“Hewasourfirstinvestorandisstill…enthusiastic.”Theo’schoosinghiswordscarefully.Hetakesasipofbeer,andhismouthcomesbackglossy,aspeckoffoamclingingtothepeakofhistoplip.“Justwantedtogivemeadvice,youknow.Realcaringshit.”
“Adviceonyourworkissue?”
Helooksdownatthetable,hismouthflattening.“Yeah,Antonlikestogivehimalltheinsiderinfo,eventhoughhe’snottechnicallyinvolved.They’vegotacozyfather-sonvibe.”
Myheartdrops.
Theomustseemyconcern,becausehefrowns.“Wipethepityoffyourface,Shepard.It’snotabigdeal.Hehasopinions.SometimesIhavetohearthem.Doesn’tmattertome.”
“Teddy,”Paulsaysquietly.
“Idon’tpityyou,”Iinsist.“They’reshitty,yourdadandespeciallyAnton.It’syourbusiness,nomatterhowmuchyourdadinvestedearlyon.Heshouldstayoutofit,andAntonshouldrespectyourplaceinthecompany.”
Thegriefinhiseyesisthereandgone,butIseeitbecauseI’mcloseenoughto.BecauseI’vefeltit,too.
Ijustdon’tknowwhyit’sthere.
Thearrivalofdinnerbreaksupourconversation.PaulandIexchangealookandwemakethesamewordlessdecisionsimultaneously.Therestofthisnightisgoingtobelighter.We’regoingtorecaptureourpeace.I’mgoingtomakeTheoforget.Maybeevensmile.
AndI’mnotgoingtothinkaboutwhyIwanttobetheonetoputitthere.Seventeen
Ipullmyhairintoaponytail,wavingmyhandsinfrontofmyflushedface.“You’reanabsolutemachine.Ican’tkeepupwithyou.”
Paulhasexpertlyledmethroughfivesongs,singingalongwithalloftheclassicswe’vequeuedup.Despiteourattempts,Theo’smerelybeenaspectator,nursinghisfirstbeerwhilehisgranddadandItearupthedancefloor.Butthatsmileisthere,thedimplepoppingeverytimewemakeeyecontact,whichisnearlyconstant.Hiseyesareoftenwarm,sometimesheated,ashewatchesmewithavidinterest.
“Oh,Ilovedancing,”Paulsays,pullingmeoutofthesnareofTheo’sduskyeyes.“OnemoresongandthenI’llhandyouovertoTeddy.”
“Granddad—”Theobegins,butPaulholdsupahand.
“YouoweNoelleadance.Ihopeyou’vebeentakingnotesonhowit’sdone.”
Theolaughs,shakinghishead.“You’resuchapainintheass.”
ButTheo’ssmilequietswhenIslipmyhandintoPaul’s,andheframesusup.Myheartfeelstoobigformybodyfromthatlookonhisface,fromthinkingaboutTheo’sarmsaroundme.
Thejukeboxclicksquietly,indicatingit’squeuingupthenextsong.Whenitcomeson,Igasp.“Oh”
“Whatisit?”Paulasksaswebegintosway.
Ican’tbreathethroughtheaching.“Gram’sfavoritesong.”
Paulmakesasoothingsound.Theo’sexpressionturnsintent,andhecurlshishandaroundthebackofhischair,likehe’sgoingtogetup.Buthedoesn’t;Paul’sgotme.
EttaJames’s“ASundayKindofLove”waftsoutofthejukebox.GramandGrandpaJoeusedtodancetoitallthetime.Now,withPaul’spaper-skinnedhandgrippingmine,theslightstutterinhisotherwisegracefulsteps,I’moverwhelmedwithemotionforthegrandparentsIwasneverpreparedtolose.Ithitsmelikegriefoftendoes,awavethatdrownsme.
ButbreakingthesurfaceisreliefmixedwiththejoyofbeingherewithPaul.WithTheo.BeingpulledintotheorbitoftheirrelationshipislikelivingminealloveragainwithGram.Ithurts,butit’sagift,too.
Atearslipsdownmycheek.PaulturnsusjustasI’mwipingitaway,andTheostandsup,determinednow.Paulchucklesunderhisbreath.Thetransferbetweengrandfatherandgrandsonisseamless,andsuddenlyI’minTheo’sarms.It’sinstincttowrapmyhandaroundthewarmnapeofhisneck,topressinagainsthischestandlethimtakemyrighthandinhis.
Iclosemyeyes,restmycheekagainsthisshoulder.IswearIfeelthesunlightonmybackfrommygrandparents’backyardwhenThomasandIwouldlookinthekitchenwindow,spyingontheirimpromptudances.
“Imissher,”Iwhisper.
Theo’shandtightensaroundmine.“Tellmesomething.”
I’msinkingintothewarmthofhimnow.Mythoughtsturnhoney-like,stickyandslow.“Asecret?”
Hischeekbrushesmytempleasheshakeshishead.“Somethingaboutherthatmadeyouhappy.”
“Howmuchtimedoyouhave?”Iquip,smilingwhenhelaughssoftly.“IlovedwatchingherdancewithGrandpaJoe.Anytimeasongcameon,she’dgrabhishandandmakehimdancewithher.Eveninpublic.Ican’ttellyouhowmanyrestaurantstheymadeascenein.”
Hisvoicelowers,amused.“Diditembarrassyou?”
“No.God,Ilovedit.Theycrackedthemselvesupdancinginthemiddleof,like,GlenlakePizza.AfterGrandpaJoedied,I’dbeherdancepartner,whichshethoughtwasthebestthing.Herlaughmademesohappy.”Mynosetingleswithunshedtears,andIclosemyeyes,tryingtoremembertheexactcadenceofherlaughter.“ItfeelslikeI’mforgettingit.”
Foramoment,Theosimplyleadsmeinaslowsway.Fromthetable,Paulwatcheswithasmall,sadsmile.
“Wasitloud?”
Ipullback,frowning.“Waswhatloud?”
Helooksdownatme,hiseyesshiningwithmischief.“Herlaugh.Wasitloud?”
“Oh,absolutely.”
“Anddiditgetkindofhigh-pitchedattheend?”
Whereisthisgoing?“Actually,yeah.Alittlebit.”
“Thenyoucan’tforget,becausethat’swhatyourssoundslike,”hesays.Hiswordsclutchatmythroat.Istareupathim,gaping,ashemovesustothemelodyGram’slaughterdrownedoutmorethanonce.“Icouldhearyoudownthehallmostdays,Shepard.Yourlaughshookthewallsuntilitwentintodogwhistlemode.”
Hiswordshaveabitetothem,buthisexpressionissosoftitmakesmewanttopullhismouthdowntomine.“Areyoutryingtodistractmefrommysadnessbyroastingme,Spencer?”
Theoraisesaneyebrow.“Isitworking?”
Irollmyeyes,whicharedrynow.“It’sverytellingthatthat’syourgo-tostrategy.”
“It’sverytellingthatitworksonyou.”
Mylaughburstsout,andIpushathim,butheholdsontight.“You’reridiculous.”
Hegrins,curvingovermeandpressinghisroughcheekagainstmine.Iwanttotellhimthankyou,butthetruthis,heprobablyalreadyknows.It’sburiedinourbickering,inthesmallsecretswe’regivingaway.
Andanyway,I’mreadytomoveon.Ourconversationfallsaway,themoodshiftingfrombarbedteasingintosomethingwarmIsinkinto.Theo’sbodywasmadeforminelikethis;ourrhythmisthesame,everythingliningupinawaythatfeelslikecomfortasmuchasitdoeslust.
Theopushesmeback,holdinghisarmoutsoIcanturnunderit.Thenhegrabsmeandpullsmebackhome.
Hissmileiselectrifyingandbeautiful.I’veheardpeopletalkaboutlivinginthemoment,butrightnowIreallyunderstandit.Ifeelsoviscerallyhere.Andit’snotthatthemessinessofourlivesdoesn’texist,it’sjustthatrightnowitdoesn’tmatter.
“Ihaveasecret,”Theomurmurs,hismidnighteyesfixedonme,fullofstarlight.
“Tellme.”
“Don’tletitgotoyourhead,okay?”
“Well,withthatdisclaimer…”
Hisgrinissmall,butitfadesasquicklyasitcame.“Youlooksofuckingbeautifulrightnow.”
Thefloorfallsoutfromunderme.“Oh.”Iswallow,desiremixingwithsomethingdeeper.“I—”
Theopullsmecloseagain.“Youdon’thavetogivemeoneback.Thatsecretwasonme.Justcouldn’tkeepit.”
Idon’tknowhowtorespondtothatinawaythatwillkeepussafe,butitdoesn’tmatteranyway.SomethingvibratesinTheo’spocket.
Hisphone.
“Don’tans—”Istart,buthishandisalreadyfishingintohispocket.Idon’tneedtolookatthescreentoknowit’shisdad;Theo’sfacesaysitall.Hiscontentmentbursts,afingerstraightintothefragile,magicalbubblewecreated.
“I’llberightback.”
He’swalkingawaybeforeIcanopenmymouth.
Paulwalksover.Forabeat,welookatthedoorTheojustdisappearedthrough.
Icollapseintomyseat.“?‘Notabigdeal,’huh?”
Paul’sexpressionistorn.“It’scomplicated,Noelle.Teddytendstoshutdownwhenhe’sstruggling.”
“Yes,I’venoticed.He’saniconamongmysteriousmen.”
Paulsitsacrossfromme,takingasipofbeerbeforesettlinghisgazeonme.“It’shardforhim.”
Iraiseaneyebrow,likegoon
Heletsoutasigh.“It’sasymptomofthehouseTheogrewupin,unfortunately.Andthehousehisdadgrewupin,too.AfterAnneandIdivorced,Itraveledquiteabit,andIwasn’taroundasmuchasIcouldhavebeen.IthurtSamdeeply,andheovercorrectedwithTheo.HepushedhimselfintoeverypartofTheo’slifefromthetimehewasoldenoughtodoso.”
Ithinkofmyowndad,whonevermissedatennismatch,celebratedmywinswithenthusiasmandcommiseratedmylosseswithfrozenyogurtfromWoody’sandbig,squishyhugs.Who’salwaysletmebeexactlymyself.
TherearewaysinwhichI’vecompetedagainstTheowithoutknowing,andwaysI’vewonwithoutrealizing.
“Teddyhasalwaysbeenkeentoearnhisfather’sapproval,becauseSamholdsbackonpraise,”Paulcontinues.“Theo’dreachagoal,andthere’dbefivemorewaitingforhim.”
“MaybehiminvestinginWhereToNextwasabadidea.”
Paulletsoutafrustratedbreathinagreement.“IwarnedTeddy,butheneededthemoney,andhisdadwantedtohelphim.Deepdown,Theotranslatedthathelpintoprideforhisaccomplishment.”
“Aretheseallthingshe’stoldyou?”
“Abitofit,butmostofitIknowbecauseIhelpedraisethekid.”Hesighs,pushingawayhisbeerglass.“Theo’snotanopenbook.Itmustfrustrateyoubecauseyouare.”
Ishiftinmyseat,uncomfortable.GodknowsIhavemysecrets.Myparentstextedonthefamilythreadthismorningaskinghowthetripwasgoing,andIcouldbarelygetmyfingerstotypearesponse.
Paul,oblivioustomyinnerturmoil,goeson.“I’mtellingyouthisbecauseTheosharesthingswithyou.”
Iblinkoverathim,disbelieving.“Barely.”
“Morethanyouthink.YouhaveabondbecauseofmeandKat,butyoualsohaveyourown.Iseeit.”
TheeagerlookonhisfaceiswhyourkissinVegashastobethefirstandlast.There’sanintimacybeingbuiltbetweenus,thoughit’sverymuchonestepforward,twostepsback,andPaulseesit.He’stiedsomehopetoit,likeIcansomehowcontributetoTheo’shappiness.ButIcan’t.Ican’tevencontributetomyown.
Theopushesthedooropen,pocketinghisphone.Evenwiththegloweronhisface,he’salightsource.Ilifttowardhimlikeathirstyflower.
Hewalksrightpastustothericketybarwiththeequallyricketybartenderbehindit.Idon’thearwhathetellstheguy,butaminutelaterashotglassissetinfrontofhim.
Theodrinkstheshot.It’snotaquicktossdownhisthroat;it’saslowpour,likehe’sshoringhimselfup.
Icanalmostfeeltheburninmythroat,racingdownmystomach,theacidicturntherefrombadnewsandalcohol.IgotdrunkthedayIwaslaidoff,threwupinthebushesoutsidetheapartmentIhadtomoveoutofamonthlater.
I’moutofmyseatbeforeIcanoverthinkit.AcrossthestickyfloorbeforeIcandecidewhatI’mgoingtosay.Hehelpedmeearlierwhenthegriefgottooheavy.MaybeIcandothesame.
TheogivesmeasidewaysglanceasIleanupagainstthebar,ultracasual,myeyesmovingovertheliquorbottledisplay.“Youwanttotalkaboutit?”
Heshakeshishead.
“Okay,Iexpectedthat.IdidseeRadioheadonthejukeboxifyou’reinthemarketforamood-enhancingsoundtrack.”Ipulltwoquartersoutofmypocket,lettingthemrestonmypalm.“Onme.”
Hestaresdownatthequarters.“Idon’tneedthis.”
“What?Moneyforyourfavoritesadboymusic?”
“Adistraction.”
“I’mrepayingthefavor,”Isay,makingaloosefistandjinglingthechange.“Literallyandfiguratively.Yousavedmymoodearlier,I’mheretosaveyours.”
Heflagsdownthebartenderandordersanothershot.Finally,helooksatme,butbarely.“Mymoodisunsavable,Shepard.Spareyourselfandgohangoutwithmygranddad.”
Hisrebuffstings.Ittwistsmyconcernintosomethinguncomfortableandhot.Paulsaidhesharesthingswithme,butit’snotmuch.Sometimeshe’llthrowmeacrumb,butwhatdoIreallyknowabouthimbeyondthingsIlearnedtenyearsago?
He’sTheoSpencer,andanyproblemhehashecanfigureoutonhisown.I’mNoelleShepard,whoneedssomeonetocomeinandrescueherwhenshecriesoverasongthathergrandmaloved.Thedifferenceisclear.
HemustseemeshuttingdownasIrealizethatI’mnotgoingtogetanywherewithhimtonight.Hismouthpressesintoathinline,andhelooksdownatthecounter.
Ipushoffthebar,waitingforaresponseIknowwon’tcome.“Comegetuswhenyou’rereadytoleave.”
It’sfoura.m.andIcan’tsleep.Theoiscurleduponthefloor,facingthewall.Hedranksteadilyforanotherthirtyminutesafterhestonewalledme,thenstumbledoutthedoor.
“Iguessthat’sourcuetoleave,”Igrumbled.Theridehomewasthickwithsilence.
IworriedI’dhavetohelphimgetreadyforbed,butheclankedandstumbledaroundinthebathroombeforecomingoutwithgymshortson.Iwatchedhimwhilehewrangledextrabeddingoutofthelinenclosetandarrangedithaphazardlyonthecarpet.
“Youdon’thavetosleeponthefloor.”
Hestopped,hisbacktome,andforasecondIthoughthe’dcapitulate.Butthenheshookhishead,droppedtohisknees,andwrappedtheblanketaroundhisbodybeforestretchingout.Fiveminuteslater,hewassnoringsoftly,andIwasstaringattheceiling.
Ifellasleep,butmyrestlessnesswokeme.Forlackofanythingbettertodo,IpullupTikTokandrewatchmyvideos,eyesfillingatthepicturesofGram,themap,thisintroductiontotheirstoryI’mstilllearning.
IhavetorememberwhyI’mhere.Thisisthestorythatmatters,notwhetherTheowantstopourhisheartouttome.I’vestartedtomistakeourparallelpathsonthisjourneyforsomethingitisn’t.Ican’tkeepdoingthat.
Withasigh,Ikickoffmycoversandrolloutofbed,grimacingwhenthemattresssqueaks.ButTheoisoutlikealight.Hisshouldersarebare,curvingoverthetopoftheblanket,hairmussedanddarkagainstthewhitepillowcase.Igrabmyphoneandtheduvetfromthebed.Thisroomfeelstoosmallwithbothofusinhere.
It’scoldoutside,theairlikesoothingfingersbrushingovermyflushedcheeks.Idropintooneoftherockingchairsandleanmyheadback,staringupatthevelvetsky.
Thepeacethatsettledovermedrivingherehasgoneandcomebacktwotimesover.Now,tracingmyeyesacrossthestarsabove,Iurgethefeelingbackintomychestwherethatacheneverreallyleavesme.
Butthepeaceisgonenow,initsplacethatgriefthatalwayslingers.
“Gram,”Iwhisperupatthesky.“Whereareyou?”
Theairisstill.Notevenabreeze.
She’snothere,Iknowit.Butincaseshe’ssomewhere,Istarttalking.“YourfavoritesongplayedatthisbarIwenttotonight,andithurtthinkingofyouandGrandpa.Butthenaboystarteddancingwithme,andithurtalittleless.”
Iwipeimpatientlyatatear.“Ihaveunfortunatenewsthere:Ilikehim.”Ipointupatthesky.“Don’ttellanyone,okay?Thisisasecret.It’scomplicatedanditcan’tgoanywhere.Paul’shisgranddad—weird,Iknow,butstaywithme—andhe’stravelingwithuswhilePaultellsmeyourlovestory,theoneyounevertoldme.”Wetemotionsoaksintoeveryword.“IlikePaul,too.Idon’thaveanyofyouleft,andhe’ssonice.Igetwhyyoufellinlovewithhim,althoughI’mstilllearningwhyyoudidn’tenduptogether.”
Astarwinksdownatme.RealisticallyIknowit’sprobablyaplane,butIlookforhereverywhere,always.
“I’mafraidthatoncethistripisover,I’mgoingtogobacktonotknowinghim.”Idon’tevenknowwhoI’mtalkingabout,PaulorTheoorbothofthem.“I’mreallytiredoflosingpeopleIcareabout.”
It’ssosilent.Itinfuriatesmethatshecanjustbegone.Thatsheleftmelikethis,flounderingforanswers,talkingtothesky.
Icovermyfacewithmyhands,mypalmspressingagainstwetskin.“God.Idon’tknowwhatI’mdoing,Gram.Pleasehelpme.”
Nothing.Nothing.
Myeyesfillwithtears.Iwanttoscream.InsteadIsigh,standingup.
Butthenmyphonebuzzes,slippingofftheduvetwrappedaroundme.Itclattersontothewoodporch,buzzingagain.
Ipickitup,illuminatingthescreen.It’sanalertforaTikTokDM.Curiositypiqued,Iopenit.
Iwatchedthevideosaboutyourgrandma.Omg,incredible!Ialsolookedbackonyourfeedandyourolderphotosareamazingtoo.HaveyougonetoYosemiteyet?I’mlookingforabirthdaygiftformymomnextmonth—shelovesYosemiteandhasbeenlookingfortheperfectprintstoputinherhouse.PlsletmeknowifIcanbuysome!
Myheartraces.Isthisasignorcoincidence?IfGramhadtheabilitytocommunicatewithmefromwhereversheis,woulditreallybethroughaTikTokDM?
Theuncannytimingisundeniable,though.I’msodesperateforanyglimpseofher,eventhisway,thatItellmyselfit’spossible.
Theurgetocreatesomethingnewsneaksintomyveins.IfGramweretrulyhere,she’dencouragemetodoit.
It’swhyIcreepbackintothehousetogetmylaptop,thensitontheporchforanhour,maybelonger,sendingshotstomyphone.Icompilethemintoasixty-secondclipthatshowcasesmybesteditedphotosofourtimeinYosemite.
Oncethat’sdone,IrespondtotheDMwithalinktothevideososhecanseesomeofthepicturesI’vetaken.Ivolunteertosendheradditionalwatermarkedphotosifnoneoftheonesinthevideopiqueherinterest,andIonlypauseforabeatbeforehittingsend.Theadrenalineandvulnerabilityhitmelikeawaveasithurlsthroughspacetolandinastranger’sinbox.
It’sbeensolongsinceI’vesharedmyworkwithanyone.Iforgotwhatit’slike,howterrifyingitis.Howitstripsyourightdowntothebones.Iforgot,too,howgooditcanfeeltohearIlikewhatyoudid
Asmallstep,butit’sastepnonetheless,andtheheavinessinmychestlifts,justalittlebit.
There’sonethingstillweighingmedown:IwanttoendthenightwithTheosmilinginsteadofshuttingmeout.Itshould’vegonethatway—mewithsaltonmyskinfromhoursofdancingagainstTheo’sbody,mylimbsstretchedandtired,mindcloudless.
MythoughtsdrifttothatvideoofhimandPaulatthepicnictableinYosemite,Theo’sheadthrownbackinlaughter.IimaginewhatitwouldlooklikeifImadehimlaughlikethat,andhowitwouldfeel.
Iwanttomemorializeit.Isn’tthatthemagicofcapturingmomentslikethat?Theabilitytogobackandvisitthatexacttimeagainandagain?Icertainlywill.
Istitchtogetherthatvideowithacoupleothers,includingoneofthemhiking,Theowithhisshirtslungoverhisshoulder,hisbackpackhidingmostofhisbareskin.Atonepoint,helooksoverhisshoulderintomycamera,andhedoesn’tsmileexactly,buthiseyesarewarm.
TheintroductiontoPaulandTheoiscompelling,andit’sonlypartiallyatestamenttomytalent.It’stheirbond.Itsings.
EveryoneisgoingtofallinlovewithTheo.
That’sfine,Itellmyself,caughtinthelingeringmidnightblueofhiseyes.Aslongasit’snotme.Eighteen
Bynow,myresponsetoPaulreachingforaletterispracticallyPavlovian,sowhenhepullsoneoutonourridetoZionthenextmorning,myhandisalreadyoutstretched.
Theo’smotionlessnexttome,hissweatshirthoodpulledoverhishead.Iheardhiminthebathroomearly,whenthehousewasstilldark.Hewastryingtobequiet,butitwasclearhewasmiserable.
Iknewhewouldn’tletmeinifIknockedonthedoor.Soinstead,Istaredoutthewindow,tracingtheblackenedlinesofthemountains,onlyclosingmyeyeswhenTheopaddedbackintotheroom,thefloorcreakingunderhisfeet.
Paullaystheletterinmyhand.“Hereyougo,mydear.”
“Comebacktoyouwithquestions?”
Hegrins,delightedbyourroutine.“Yougotit.”
Iturninmyseat—onlytofindTheo’sfaceinchesfrommine,hiseyesopenandwatchful.
“Jesus,”Igaspout.“Youwereasleeptwosecondsago.”
“Iwasneverasleep,”hesays,hisvoicerough.“Iwastryingnottodie.”
Iholduptheletter.“Wannaread?”
Heletsoutamintysigh.“It’sliterallytheonlyreasonmyeyesareopen.”
Idecidetolethimgetawaywithbeinggrumpy;hishangoverispunishmentenough.Iholdtheletterbetweenussowecanreadittogether,butmymindwon’tlatchon.Theohasmovedinclose,hisarmpressedagainstmine,chindippingintothespaceabovemyshoulder.
“Canyou…”Ipressmyelbowintohisside.
Heshifts,barely,butIfeeltheminusculesmirkthattwitchesathismouth.“Distracted?”
“Withyoumouth-breathingonme?Forsure.”
Aquiethuffofairescapeshisnose,andIbiteagainstasmile.Amused-at-my-expenseTheoisbetterthancomatoseTheo.
“Startatthesametime,”hesays.“Ready?”
ButI’malreadyreading.
December15,1956
Mygod,howwerewesupposedtoprepareforthat?ThatstupidlistImadedidn’taccountforwhattodoifourfathersstartedyellingateachotherinthemiddleofacrowdedrestaurant.Orhowtorespondwhenmybrotherstartedinterrogatingyoulikeyouweretheenemy!Askingyouwhatyourintentionswere,Lordhelpme.
Yourparentsmusthatemyfamily.Youmusthatethem,too,andmyheartisbreakingatthethought.IwaslecturedfortheentirecarridebacktoGlenlake.I’veneverbeentalkedtolikethat,notfromthemoranyoneelse.
Paul,theytoldmeIcan’tdateyouanymore.TheysaidIcan’treturntoschoolunlessIpromise.ItoldthemIwould,butit’sonlybecauseI’mdesperatetogetbacktoyou.Ican’tbelieveI’mstuckhereuntilthebeginningoftheyear.
AllIcanthinkaboutnowishow,inthoseweeksbeforeourdinner,I’dworryaboutwhatwasgoingtohappen,andyou’dforcemetostoppacing.You’dputyourhandsonmyshoulders,lookmeintheeye,andsay“itwillbeokaynomatterwhat.”
Ineedyoutotellmethatrightnow.Butyou’renothere.I’malone,andIhavetofigureoutawaytokeepyouandkeepmyfamily,too.
Ihavetwoweekstofigureitoutandthenwe’llbetogetheragain.Iloveyou.Pleasedon’tgiveuponme.
Love,
Kat
“WereyouinLAwhenshesentthisletter?”IaskPaul,turninginmyseat.Theopluckstheletterfrommyhandsandcontinuesreading.
Paulnods.“Yes,shehadagirlfriendinGlenlakesendittomesoherparentswouldn’tknowweweretalking.”
“Youmust’vebeensoupset.”
“Forher,”hesays.“Iknewshemust’vebeenamess.Ihatedtoreadthatlastlineinherletter,pleadingwithmenottogiveuponher.Shewastheonewitheverythingtoloseifshedidn’tgiveuponme.”
It’strue.Shehadsomuchtoloseifshechosehim—hereducation,herrelationshipwithherfamily,heraccesstoPauliftheydidn’tallowherbackatUCLA.Isensethecornershefeltbackedintototellthislie,howsickshemusthavebeen,tornbetweenherfamilyandthemansheloved.
Ithinkaboutthehopeshehadbeforethatdinner,themixtureofwantandfear,andmythroatcrowdswithemotion.Iknowthatfeeling,too—theplansyoumake,thedreamsyouweaveinyourhead,onlytohavethembreakapartundertheslightestpressure.Itcouldbeaterribledinner,afamilywhodoesn’tapprove.Amentorwhomakesyouquestionyourselfforyears.
Itcouldbeamanwholetsyouleanonhim,butwon’tleaninreturn.
Planscanbemadeandthenjustaseasilybroken.Hopecanbecreatedandfizzleaway.
IwishGramknewhowbraveIthinkshewasfortrying,eveninthefaceofalmostguaranteedfailure.
Andgod,Iwishshe’dtellmehowtodothesame.
Nexttome,Theoissilent,sensingmymoodshift.Heleansintome,justabit,likeheheardmythoughts.It’ssuchasmallmovement,wouldbenearlyimperceptibleifIwasn’tsohungryforit.ButIam,soIfeelitasifhewrappedhisarmsaroundme,andthoughIknowIshould,Idon’tpushhimaway.
Ileapoffaslabofrock,yelpingwhenthefrigidwatertouchesmyskin.Itswallowsmewhole,andIcomeupgasping.Acrosstheway,Theomovestowardme,hisnakedshouldersglisteningunderthesun.
“Oh,holyshit,”Ilaugh.“It’ssocold.”
We’respendinglunchtimeataswimmingholeoneofTheo’sfriendstoldhimabout,notfaroffoneofthepopulartrails.Apparently,it’snotaswell-knownasseveralotherplacestoswim—nooneelseishere.
It’sanoasis.We’resurroundedbycottonwoodtreesandsmaller,scrappierburstsofverdantplants.Aboveus,themountainstowerintothesky.Voicesechoeverywhere,butthey’redistantandthengone.
Afteramorningofexploringsomeofthemorepopular,easygoingpathsinthepark,thefrigidwaterisawelcomeshocktomyskin.Themorningstartedoutchilly,butnow,withthesunhanginghighaboveus,thetemperature’screepingpasteighty.Thedichotomyoftheheatintheairandthechillinthewaterisdelicious.
Theoglidestoastopinfrontofme,hisshouldersbunchingwithhisshort,treadingstrokes.“Alwayshavetomakeanentrance,huh?”
Ipushmyplasteredhairoffmyforehead.“Youhavetoadmititwassplashy.Punintended.”
“Thecherryontopwould’vebeenyouslippingandcrackingyourheadonarock.Thistripismissingahospitalvisit.”
Myfingersinstinctivelygotothescabonmyknee,mystomachtwisting.“NoneedtomakeupstupidshitIcoulddo,Spencer.I’vealreadyrackedupacoupleofactualinstances.”
Hemovescloser,hisexpressionsmoothingoutintosomethinglighterindeferencetomytighttone.Ifnothingelse,hepaysattention.“What,likethattimeyoufelldownanembankmentandnearlygavemeaheartattack?”
“Orthefactthatyou’resleepingonthefloorbecauseIdidn’treadtheAirbnbdetailsclosely.”Wedrifttoashallowspot,mytoesbrushingagainsttheroundedrocksbelow.Theostands.Itexposeshischest,thatsoftlyfreckledskin,andherunsbothhandsthroughhiswethair,pushingitbackfromhisimpossiblyhandsomeface.Iclearmythroat,blinkingaway.“Youdidn’thavetosleeponthefloor,youknow.Thepulloutisbigenough.”
“Don’tthinkitis,”hesays,hisvoicethesametextureastheredrockIrunmypalmovertogroundme,avelvetroughness.“Iwastoodrunktocareaboutsleepingonthefloorlastnight,butI’mpayingforitnow.Myentirebodyisfuckedup.”
“Thatcouldalsobethe—andIquote—metrictonofbourbonyoudranklastnight.”
Hegroans.“Notmymostbrilliantmoment.”
MygazedriftstoPaul,who’sacrosstheway,proppeduponaflatrock,bookinhand.Thoughhehasaclearlineofsighttous,IfeelalonewithTheo.
Iturnbacktohim.“Doyoufeelbetternow?”
Ican’thelpmycuriosity—orconcern,thoughit’llprobablyberebuffed.
Hisfacewipescleanofitssmallsmile,hiseyebrowscinchingbackintothefrownthat’sbeenhisconstantcompaniontoday.
Myheartsinks.Istartturningawayinanticipationofhimshuttingmedown.Idon’twanttolookathisfacewhenhedoesit.Idon’twanthimtoseehowmuchitaffectsmethatIcan’tgettohim.
“Shepard,”hesaysjustasIstarttoswimaway.
Iglanceovermyshoulder,raisinganeyebrow.Helooksnervous,butsomethinginhisgazeisfortified.
“Canweplayourgame?”
It’smygamewithGram,butthetruthis,playingitwithTheokeepsitalive.Andifhe’sgoingtohandmeasecretrightnow,hecancallitoursallhewants.
“Okay,”Imurmur.“Tellmeasecret.”
Hewipesahandoverhismouth.Delicatewaterdropsshiftalloverhisskin,clingingdesperatelytohiseyelashesandhair,collectinginthesofthollowsofhiscollarbonesandrollingdownhisshoulders,hischest.TheytouchhimeverywhereIwantto.Iresisttheurgetopressmyfingeragainsteveryone,wipethemawaysoallhefeelsismytouch.
“I’mstressedbecausethey’re—uh,WhereToNext’sbusinessmodelisshifting.Wehadinvestorscomeinlastyearandbuyamajoritystakeofthecompany,and—”Heletsoutadejectedsigh.Imovecloser,thewaterlappinggentlyatmyskin,andhewatchesmyapproach.“AnywayIdescribeitwillbeamassiveunderstatement,buttogiveyouanexample,theoff-seasondealswillgoawayeventually.”
“What!”Iexclaim.“That’sthebestpart.”
Theo’sexpressiontwists.“Iknow.Iftheprojectionshold,thenwe’llrecoupwhateverlosseswesufferwithVIPpackagesandotherelevatedofferings.Andiftheydon’thold,thenthewholefuckingthinggoesdown.Ithinkit’llgooneway,everyoneelsethinksit’llgotheother.”Herunshishandjustbeneaththewater.“AntonandMatiasgotonboardwithitquickly.Reallyquickly.”
“Thathurtyou.”
Theo’seyesflashwithsurprise.“I—Imean,itcouldrunthecompanyintotheground,andtheregoesallourhardwork.Italsogoesagainstthereasonwecameupwithitinthefirstplace.Travelshouldbeaccessible,notsomeseriesofInstagrammablemomentsthatputspeopleontheoutsidelookingin.Thiswouldmakeitunachievableforsomeofthepeoplewe’veservedforyears.”
Hisvoicedrops,soquietthatthebirdssingingaboveusnearlydrownhimout.“MydadthinksI’mtooemotionalaboutit.HekeepsdemandingthatIdowhatevertheywantjusttokeep—thepeace.”Heclearshisthroat,squintingoffintothedistance.“LastnightItoldhimhehastostopcallingme.Idon’twanttospendtherestofthistripmiserableovershitIcan’tcontrol.It’sbadenoughIlethimruinmynightlastnight.”
Reliefisascoolasthewateragainstmyskin,andprideaswarmasthesunshiningdownonus.Igetthefeelinghedoesn’tsetboundarieswithhisdadoften
“I’mgladyoudidthat.Nooffense,butyourdad’sadick.”
Onecornerofhismouthpullsup.“Toldyou,itrunsinthefamily.”
Normally,I’djumpalloverthat,butI’mstartingtoseethere’sverylittleofTheo’sdadinhim.Paul’sfingerprintsareeverywhere;it’sjusttakingtimetorevealitself.
“There’snothingwrongwithbeingemotionallyinvested,youknow.”HisexpressionsoftenswiththerealizationthatI’mnottakingthebait.“It’snotclosetothesamething,butforme,caringaboutthepicturesI’mtakingmeansI’mdoingmybestwork.Whyisitabadthingthatyou’reinvested?Youbuiltthisbusinessfromnothing.Ifyou’reworriedaboutitssuccess,ofcourseyou’llwanttofightit,whetherit’sbusiness,emotion,oramixofboth.”
Hisgazemovesovermyface.“Idowanttofightit.”
“Thendon’tstoppushing,”Isay.“Maybeyoucanchangetheirminds.”
Theolooksdown,thenoveratPaul,who’slyingonhisbacknow,handsrestingonhisstomach.Hiseyesareclosed,andTheo’sclose,too,justforabeat.
“Yeah,”hesaysfinally.“It’llbefine.”
It’shardtotellifheactuallybelievesit,butIhavenodoubtitwillbe.Ifanyonecanmakemiracleshappen,it’sTheo,evenbackedintoacorner.
Hecirclesaroundme,thetightnessinhisshoulderslooseningjustabit.“Nowit’syourturnforsecrets,Shepard.”
Iblurtout,“I’mproudofyou.”
Idon’tknowwho’smoreshockedbywhatcomesoutofmymouth:Theoorme.
“Ohgod.Ican’tbelieveIsaidthat.Outloud.”Ipressmyhandtomyforehead,groaning.“Yourhead’sgonnagetsobigit’llexplodeeverywhere.”
Hegrimaces,butamusementovertakeshissurprise.“Graphic.”
“It’strue,though.I’ve…kindoffollowedyourcareeralittlebitovertheyears.”Hismouthcurlsinawidegrin,hisdimplepopping.Ipressmyfingeragainstit,pushinghisfaceback.“Shutup,don’tyoudarebringuptheLinkedInthing.”
Thankgodhedoesn’tknowaboutthenotifications;he’salreadytoosmug.
“Wefoughtalotforsupremacyinhighschool,didn’twe?”Icontinue.
“VotedMostLikelytoSucceed,”hesays,dryly.“Ouroneandonlytie.”
“Butyouwonthat,too,intheend.”I’mbeingunbearablyhonest.Butwithhisadmission,he’sshowingmeI’mstrongenoughtoleanon.Thatmaybeit’ssafetoleanonhim,too.“I’msureyou’refartoobusydoingForbes30Under30thingstostalkmyLinkedIn,butI’mnotexactlykillingit.”
“Youneverlistyourtitles,soIdon’tactuallyknowwhatyoudo,”hesays.“Youdon’tlikeyourjob?”
Idon’thaveone.Icouldjustspillitallrightnow,butthat’stoobig.IfI’mvulnerableinpieces,Iwon’tlosemyselfcompletely.
“It’snotwhatIwanttodo,”Isayinstead.“ButI’vebeentooscaredtodowhatIactuallywant.”
“Yourphotography.”
Inod.That’sasecret,too.I’mhandingthemoutnow,butthey’remanageableones.“ItriedtomakeitworkafterIgraduated,butIgotburnedandgaveup.Orfailed,dependingonhowyouwanttoframeit.WhenGramdied,Ididn’twanttodoanythingatall.”Iblink,andadropofwaterfallsfrommyeyelashes.“Especiallysomethingthatshenevergottoseemesucceedat.”
“Idoubtthat’showshesawit.”
Deepdown,itfeelstrue,butithurtstoomuchtodwellon.“Anyway,you’vealwaysbeenthisbastionofsuccesstome.Youneversecond-guessedyourself.Andtrustme,Irecognizethatsomeofthatiswhitemanconfidence.”
Helaughs.“Isecond-guessmyselfallthetime.”
“Well,frommyperspective,toseeyouatthehelmofthisthingyoubuilt,beinginvestedinitineveryway,andfightingback…Idon’tknow,it’simpressive.You’vealwaysbeenimpressive,whichisyourmostannoyingtrait.”
Iexpecthimtolaugh,butinsteadhejuststaresatme,hischeekspink,lookingleveled.
“TherearefortyothertraitsIcouldnameoffthetopofmyhead,”Isay,suddenlyuncomfortable.
Hepressestheheelsofhishandsagainsthiseyes.“Goddammit,Shepard.”
“AtwhatpointdidImakeawrongturn?”
Whenhelowershishands,hiseyesareredfromthepressureheputthere.“Youdidn’t.”
Idon’tbelievehim,buthemovescloser,gazingdownatmewithanexpressionsotangledIcouldneverpullthestringsofitaparttoidentifyeachemotion,evenifIlookedfordays.Foryears.
Hereachesout,peelingapieceofhairfrommycheek,hisfingerslingering.“Weshouldyellitout.”
Iblinkupathim.“Excuseme?”
“Yell,”hesays,laughingnow.“It’saproventechniquetoreleasebullshit.”
“Wecan’tyell.Someone’sgoingtothinkwe’rebeingmurdered.”IlookovermyshoulderatPaul,who’spickedhisbookbackup.“We’llinterruptPaul’schillvibes.”
“Thenwe’llgounderwater.”
Istareathim.“Areyouokay?”
“No.Areyou?”
It’smyturntolaugh.“No.”
“Thengetunderwaterandscream,Shepard.”
Buthedoesn’tgivemeachancetodoitmyself.Hetakesmyhandandsubmergeshisbody,yankingmeunderwithhim.Hisyellisadullroarinmyears,muffledbutpowerful,likethefirstsecondsofanearthquake,whenit’sjustthelowgroanofthegroundshiftingunderneathyourfeet.Rightbeforeitknocksyouoffthem.
Iyelltoo,firstinsurprise,thenbecauseitfeelsgood.It’slikemyfirstplungeintothiswaterminutesago—theshockofit,thenthenumbnessthatbringsrelief.Thewaterrushesintomymouth,pushesbackoutwiththeforceofmybreathandvoice.Withit,Ipushallofthegriefofthelastsixmonths,thefrustrationofthepasthowevermanyyears,thedisappointmentandpressureI’veputonmyself.Forwhat?
Wecomeupgasping,staringlikewe’reseeingeachotherforthefirsttime.Waterrunsliketearsdownhischeeksandmine.Theopantsout,“Again.”
Iduckunderthewaterwithhim,leavingmyeyesopenthistime,driftingcloserwhilewescreamintandem,bubblesrushingfromourmouths.Theo’slegwindsaroundmine,andhepullsmeclose,wrappinganarmaroundmywaist.MyheartracesasIgrabhisforearms,ashishandcupsmyneck.Hismouthgetscloser,andforasecond,Iswearitbrushesagainstmine.Butit’sjustthewaterbetweenus.
Wecomeupwrappedaroundeachother,waterrushingoffourbodies,gaspingforair.Ifeelexorcisedandelectrified.Notfixed,butbetter.LikemaybeI’mnotthesumofmymistakes,myfailures,myfears.Likemaybeit’snottoolatetofightforwhatIwant,ifIcanadmitittomyself.Thatit’sokaytohavehope,totry,evenifitdoesn’tturnoutthewayIexpect.
Icanfeelmyselfattheprecipice.
“Ahh,”Theosayssoftlywithasillygrin.It’sthelastvestigesofourjointtensionridingoutonhisbreath.Iwanttotasteitonhismouth.
Instead,knowingwehaveanaudienceofone,Ilaughandshakemyhead,reluctantlyuntanglingmybodyfromhis.“ThatwastheweirdestendtoTellMeaSecretever.”
“Doyoufeelbetter?”Theo’shandslippingfrommyneckisourlastconnectionpoint,andtheslideofhisskinliftsthehairsonmybodymoreeffectivelythanthefrigidwaterwe’rein.
Inod,unabletobreakmygazefromhis.Beneaththesurface,hiskneebumpsmine.Nowthatwe’veachievedemotionalrelease,I’mhyperawareofhowphysicallyclosewewere.Howclosewestillare.“You?”
“Rightnow,yeah.”
Paul’svoicecarriesonasuddensoftbreeze,breakingourstaringcontest.“Takeheart,youtwo.Nothinglastsforever.”
TheoandIturnbacktoPaul,wherehe’sloungingontherock,camerainhand.“Isthatagoodthingorabadthing?”
Paulsmiles,aquietone,ashebringsthecameratohisfaceandsnapsashot.“Both.”Nineteen
Ican’tletyousleeponthefloor.”
Theolooksoverhisshoulderfromhiscrouchedposition.“Whatdoyoumean?”Buthisgazedriftstotheemptyspacenexttome.
I’vebeenpretendingtobusymyselfwithTikTok,readingandrespondingtocommentsfrommyvideos.ButsomanyofthemarethirstycommentsaboutTheo,anditjustbringsmebacktohim.
God,doIgetit.Iftheycouldseehimnow,bentovertheblankethe’stryingtosmoothoutinlow-slunggymshortsandashirtsothreadbarethegoldenhueofhisskinshowsindiffusedpatches,thatthirstwouldmultiply.They’dbescreamingatmetotellhimtogetinthisbed.They’realreadyscreamingatmetohookupwithhim,datehim,fallinlovewithhim.
Ican’tdothat.Butthere’salotofspacebetweenhereandlovewherewecouldplay.
“Ican’tletyoucontinuefuckingupyourbodyingoodconscience.Ifeltbadaboutitlastnight,andtonightit’sextraabsurd.”
Hestandsandturns,handsonhisleanhips.“Whyabsurd?”
Igivehimalook.Histinysmirkrevealsheknowsexactlywhy.Ican’tgivewhatshiftedbetweenustodayaname,butnowit’sasemotionalasitisphysical.Icraveboththingswithhim.
Maybehecravesit,too.Hepickshispillowupandpadsover,pausingatthebed’sedge.Heloomsthere,chindippedtowardhischestasoureyeslock.
“Areyousure?”
Iletoutabreath,pullingdownthecoversonhisside.“Rarely,butaboutthis,yes.”
I’mwearingtheshortshemistookasunderweartheothernight,andhisgazegoesdarktakingthemin,justbeforetheroomgoesdarkwhenheturnsoffthelamp.
Sightisreplacedbysound:Thebrushofhisskinagainstthesheetasheslipsintobed.Therustleofthecoverswhenhepullsthemoverbothofus.Thesqueakofthemattressspringsadjustingtohisweight.Thedamppartingofhislipsandhissoftinhale.
It’sbeenalongtimesinceI’vehadsomeoneIcaredaboutinmybed,threeyearssincemylastrelationship.HavingTheonexttome,feelingtheheatandweightofhisbodyisunbearablyintimate.Thatit’sTheo,theboywhooccupiedsomanyofmythoughtsadecadeago,themanwho’sturningeverythingupsidedownnow,makesthemomentsurreal.It’ssocoincidentalthatI’mstartingtothinkitcan’tbeanythingbutinevitable.
“Goodnight,”Iwhisper,litupwithawareness.Iwon’tsleepforhours.
Heletsoutabreath.“?’Night.”
Evenminuteslater,myheartisbeatingtoohardtoclosemyeyes.It’sthesamesensationIfeltleapingintothewater,thatheadyrushofadrenaline.ButIhavenowheretoexpendit,soitjustkeepspulsingthroughmyveinsinanendlesscycleofanticipation.
IshiftmyheadthebarestinchtoseeifTheo’sasleep,onlytofindhimlookingatme,hiseyesglitteringinthedarkness.Therushbecomesawave.I’munderwateragain,butmyscream’scaughtinmythroat.“What?”
“Idon’tknow,”hemurmurs.“You.”
It’sthewayhesaysit,strippedbare,thathasmeturningfully.Ipressmylipstogether,waitingforhimtogoon.
Hedoes.“YousaidIdidn’thavetosleeponthefloorlastnight,butIstayedtherebecauseIwantedthealternativetoomuch.Tonight,Itoldmyselfifyousaiditagain,I’dignoreitlikeIdidlastnight.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIwantittoomuch,”herepeats.“AndafterVegas,wemodifiedthetruce—”
“Yeah,well,Ithinkthetruceisbroken.”Wecrossedalineearlier.Ormaybewesteppedintoabubblewherewearen’twhoweweretenyearsago.Wearen’tevenwhoweweretwoweeksago.“Ineededthatearlier.Theyellingwithyou,Imean.ButI…”
“Tellme.”
“I’mnervoustosayit,”Iadmit.Eventhatfeelsliketoomuch.
“Tellme,”herepeats,softlythistime.“You’renotdoingitalone.”
“Itmademeneedthis,too.”
“What’sthis?”
He’spushingme,butthetimbreofhisvoiceistight.It’sasifhealreadyknowstheanswer,andit’sthesameashis.“You,hereinthisbed.Us,lettingwhatever’shappeningbetweenusjust…happen.We’rebothinaplacewhereweneedthat,don’tyouthink?”
Hisvoicedropslow,singingdownmyspine.“YouknowwhyI’dneedit.Besidesthephysicalattraction,whydoyou?”
“Toomanyreasonstocount,”Isay,andhebreathesoutalaugh.Iclosemyeyes,pushingasideeveryresponsibilityanddecisionandconversationthat’swaitingformebackhome.Wehaveninedaysleft.Thethoughtofreallysinkingintoit,ofnotoverthinkingorworrying,isthepressurereleaseIdesperatelyneed.“Wedon’thavetonameit.Itcanbewhateverweneedittobewhilewe’rehere.”
“Andmygranddad?”
“Ifwedon’thaveconcreteexpectations,willhe?”
“Maybe.”Hepauses.“Butpossiblylesssoifwe’rechillaroundhim.”
“Iwasn’tplanningondryhumpingyouinthevan,so…”
“Wereyouplanningondryhumpingmeinotherplaces?Justcurious.”Histeethflash,almostpredatory.“BesideshotelhallwaysinVegas,Imean.”
Rememberingthat—andthewayhekissedme—hasmeslidingtowardhim.Hisfeaturesstartsketchingthemselvesoutasmyeyesadjusttoboththedarknessandhisever-increasingcloseness.FinallyI’mnearenoughtoseehisfaceinstarkrelief.HisexpressionisstrippeddowntothenakedneedIfeel.Whatever’sinmeisreflectedinhim,anditremovesthefear.
Iholdmybreathwhenourlegsbrush.Theheatofhisskinisunreal,andsoisthefeelofhishandsnakingovermyhip.Ipressmyhandsagainsthischest,gratifiedtofeelhisheartbeatingashardasmine.
“Whatareyoulookingfortonight?”hemurmurs.
“Justyou.That’sasfarasI’vegotten.”
Histhumbgrazesoverthehighplaneofmycheek,andhepressesthesoftestkisstomyforehead.Isighoutabreath.Hisfingersdigintomyhipashepullsmeclose,oneheavythighcoveringmine.
“Nosex,”hewhispers,hislipspoutingoverthewords,barelygrazingmymouth.“Notsayingyouwantthat,Ijustdon’twanttogetcaughtinacompromisingpositionifmygranddadwakesup.Butkissing…”
“Beyondencouraged,”Ibreatheout,closingmyeyesashislipsbrushovermine.
Hishandslidesdownmyhip,andhemoveshislegsohisfingerscandriftdownmythigh,thencupthebackofit.“CanItouchyou?”heasks,burningawhiskeredpathacrossmycheek,tomyneck,wherehegentlybites.
“Mmm,”Isighout.
“Hmm?”
“Yes.”
“Youcantouchme,too,”hesaysagainstmyear.“Doyouwantthat?”
Ifistmyhandinhisshirt.It’ssoquietIhearaseamgroan.Iwanttoripthewholethingoff.“Yes,Iwantthat.”
“Fuck,Ido,too,”hesaysjustbeforehismouthcoversmine.Istilltastethatfuckonhistonguewhenitslipsagainstmine,andIgaspintohismouthwhenhewrapsanarmaroundmywaistandpullsmybodytighttohim,likehe’splanningtokeepmeforawhile.
Hishandmovesupmyside,fingerswindingintomyhairaswefallintoanendlesskiss.Ipressmypalmagainsthislowerback,feelingthesurgeofhisspineasherollshalfwayontopofme.
Thefeelofhisbodyisincredible.I’vebeenwatchingitfordays,stridingdowndirtpathsandscrabblinggracefullyupinclines,overmassiveboulders.I’vesecretlytracedthecontourofhisthighwhilehe’sdriving,wonderedhowmuchthemusclearcinguptowardhishipwouldgiveundermyfingersifIgrippedhimthere.I’vewatchedthelineofhisbicepsextendandbunchwhenhestretchedhisarmsoverhisheadwitharoughgroanafteralongdrive.I’vestudiedthewholeofhimbehindmycameralens.HisbodyisallanglesandplanesandhardcurvesI’vewantedtoexplorewithmyhands.
Idothatnowashegroansalmostsilentlyintomymouth,histonguesilkyagainstmine,thatslow,dirtygive-and-take.Icuphischeekwithonehand,lettingtheotherexploretheheatofhisskinbeneathhisshirt,thesoftnessofitstretchingoverleanmusclethatshiversundermytouch.
Hetakesmybottomlipbetweenhisteeth,thenlicksittosoothethesting.Ilikethewayhemakesithurt;ittakesmeoutofmymind.It’sthewaywe’vealwaysplayedwitheachother—alittlerough,becausewecantakeit.ThathethinksI’munbreakableenoughtogripmyhipthatway,tograbmyassandyankmeagainsthisbodymakesmemoanintohismouth.
“Yoursounds,”hesaysonalaughinggroan.“Youdrivemesofuckingwild,Noelle.”
Thatwildnessfromhimsayingmynamericochetsintomybody,andIsinkmyfingernailsintohisskinuntilhehissesatthebiteofit.Iturnitsweet,skimmypalmsdownhisback,justsoIcanmakeitwickedagainwhenIgriphisassinmyhands,pullinghimagainstmesotightlythatforasecondthebreathleavesmybody.He’shardeverywhere,butespeciallybetweenmylegs,andIfeelthepulseofhimthere.
Theopropshimselfupabovemeafterafewminutesofdruggingkisses,leaningallofhisweightontooneelbowsohisotherhandcantraveldown,palmingthecurvewheremyneckandshouldermeet.There’snopressurethere,butnowIfeelhimeverywhere—pressedagainstmefromchesttoankles,measuringthefiercethrobofmypulsewithhisthumbashekissesmehard,deep,rough.ThewayIlikeit.ThewayIneedit.
“Please,”Igaspout.
Henipsatmybottomlip.“What?”
“Idon’tknow,”Imoanwithalaugh.It’stoomuch,notenough.
Herocksagainstme,exactlywhereit’stoomuch.Exactlywhereit’snotenough.
“Youaskedifyoucouldtouchme,”Ichallenge.“Sodoit.”
“Iam,”helaughs,scrapinghisteethalongmyjaw.
“Notthere.”
Hemakesanoiseinhisthroat.“Where?”
Icouldsayitoutloud,butI’drathershowhiminstead,soIreachupandgrabhiswrist.
Herollsoffme,readjustinghimselfonhisproppedelbow.Hedoesn’tstopkissingme;infact,itintensifiesashisfingersskimovermycollarbone,downmybreast.Heshapesitwithhishand,runshisthumbovermynipple,tippinghishipsagainstthesideofmybodywithagroan.It’sashortdetourtomystomach,wherehestops,hispinkyfingerflirtingwiththewaistbandofmyshorts.
“Here?”heasks.Hissmirkspreadsacrosshismouthandmine,pressingintomylips.
“You’reanasshole,”Isigh,tortured.“Keepgoing.”
Hisfingersarelong,andhebarelyhastomovehishandforthemtoslipunderthewaistbandofmyshorts,stoppingjustshyofwhereIneedhim.“Here?”
“Youtalkedabiggameduringthattwofingersconversation,andyou’renotlivinguptoit.”
Helaughs,quietandunguarded.It’ssodeliciousIgripthehairatthenapeofhisneckandpullhimdowntome,kissinghimdeeplyjustashisfingersfindthecenterofmyneed.Theyslipoverme,thenintome,andwebothletoutshakinggroans.Histhumbstartsatorturousrhythmintandemwiththeslowpushandpullofhisfingers.Histonguefollowsthesamebeat,slidinginagainstmineagainandagain.
He’spushingagainstmyhipinshortthrustswhileheworksme,gettingharderwitheveryminutehecontinuestobuildtheperfectpressure.Helistensformycues,circlinghisthumbfasterwhenIstarttoridehishandinearnest.
“That’sit,”hemurmurs.“That’sgood,isn’tit?”
“Mmm.”Igriphisforearmaseverythingstartswindingunbearablytight.“Canyoucomelikethis?”
“No,butitdoesn’t—”
“Itmatters,Theo,”Isay,myvoicebreaking.“Please.Ineedyouto.”
Hisbodyjoltsagainstmine,eitherfromhisnameormyrequest.“God,okay,”hebreathesout.“I—justletmegetyouthere.”
Theintensemixofhistouch,ofhispromise,ofusfinallydoingthis,pushesmerighttotheedge.“I’mthere—”
Hisvoiceshakeswithaheadymixofrestraintandexcitement.“Fuckyes,Noelle.”
It’shimsayingmynameagain,curvingovermetokissmedeeply,thatthrowsmeintointense,explosiverelief.Ireleasethesmallestcry,mythighsclosingaroundhishand,shakingashegaspsintomymouth.Hedoesn’tstop,justslowshispaceuntilIwindmyfingersaroundhiswrist,mykissesturningsloppy.
Hesitsupsuddenly,pullingoffhisshirt.“Ihaveto—”
Igetabrieflookathisbroadchestbeforeheputstheshirtdownbetweenusandlaysbackdown,proppedonhiselbowagain.Hepushesdownthewaistbandofhisshorts,justpasthishipssohecanwrapahandaroundhimself.It’ssodarkthatIcan’tsee,buthismouthfindsmineandaheadyrushoflustinterruptsmydisappointment.
IfeelthestrokingbumpofhishandagainstmyhipandbreakoffthekisssoIcanbiteathisjaw,replacinghishandwithmine.Hisskinishot,slickfromhisfingersinmybody,fromthepleasurehegottouchingme.He’ssoharditmusthurt,andthesoundhemakesinthebackofhisthroatwhenItightenmygriptellsmeitdoes.
“Showme.”
Hegroans,hisfingerscurlingovermyknuckles,andhedemonstrateswhatheneeds,thepaceandthepressurethatwillgethimthere.Wedoittogether,quietlyinthisdark,strangeroomwe’vemadeours.
“Kissme,”hepleadsafterbarelyaminute.“Please.”
Irunmytongueoverhisbottomlipandhegasps,ourpacestuttering,thenspeedingup.Hecatchesmylips,kissingmedeeplybeforepullingbacktopantagainstthecornerofmymouth,mycheek.Hisotherhandwrapsintomyhair,gripsitashewhispersasoftfuckandpulsesontomyskinandtheshirtbeneathus.
“That’sit.”Iechohisencouragementfromearlier,andhewheezesoutalaughinggroan,ourstrokesgettingslowerandlonger,hisforeheaddroppingagainstmine.
We’rebothshakingbythetimehefinishes.Theo’swarmbreathescapeshismouthinbursts,hisheartpoundinginhischestpressedagainstmyarm.Somethingdeeperthanpleasuresinksintomewhenhislipspressagainstmytemple,hisfingerslooseningtheirholdonmyhair.
“That…”hemurmurs,“…wasmyfavoriteshirt.”
Iturnmyfaceintohischest,shakingwithlaughter.It’sthelastthingIexpect,butthefirstthingIneed.Itdetonatesanypotentialawkwardnessbeforeitcanbuild.Ikeepmynoseandmouthburiedagainsthisshiveringskinwhileheuseshisshirttowipemyhipandstomach.Idon’twanttomove.Ever.
Whenhe’sdone,Theo’sarmscircleme.Ishiftontomyside,sinkingbackintothecradleofhisbody.Helayshisthighovermine,pressingatrailofkissesagainstmyshoulder,uptheslopeofmyneck.Ourfingerstangletogetheragainstmystomach,andIsinkintothequietconnectionofthemoment.We’venevertouchedlikeanyofthis,butit’sthisrightherethatmakesmeachethemost.
“Noelle,”Theowhispers.
“Mmm.”
“Ilovethewayyousaymylastnamewithallyourattitude,soI’mnotsayingstopcallingmeSpencer.”HepausesandIopenmyeyes,holdingmybreath.“Butnowthatyou’vestartedcallingmeTheo,don’tstopthateither,okay?”
Isqueezemyeyesshut,inexplicably,exhaustedlyhappy.“Okay.”Twenty
Areyousureyouwanttostayhome?It’sourlastdayhere.”
Paullooksupatmefromhisbook.“Oh,yes,thepasttwodayshavereallytakenitoutofme.Iwanttorestupforournextadventure.”
YesterdaywespentthedayontheKolobCanyonsideofZion.ThoughwestucktoflattrailsandPaulhasthestaminaofsomeoneadozenyearsyounger,Ibelievehimwhenhesayshe’swipedout.
Butthere’sdefinitelyasparkleinhiseyenowashetuckshimselffurtherintothecornerofthecouch.
God,thatcouch.Ifitwereaperson,Iwouldn’tbeabletolookitintheeye.IcanbarelylookPaulintheeye.MycheeksflameatthethoughtofwhatTheoandIhavedonetherethepasttwonights.Mybraininstantlyoffersmemoriesoftheconfident,commandingwayhekissesmewithhishandbracketingmyjaw,howhelooksloomingovermeinthedarkness.Thosetortured,bitten-offsoundsthatescapehismouthwhenIsuckonhisneck,orbitethecurveofhisshoulderwhileI’mstrokinghim.How,lastnight,afterafulldayofnotbeingabletotouch,hefilledhispalmswithme—mybreasts,hips,ass—likehe’dbeenthinkingoftheshapeofmeforhours.
“Shepard.”
Ijump.Theo’sstandingbythedooralready.Fromunderthebrimofhishat,hiseyessparklewithamusement,likeheknowswhatIwasdaydreamingabout.
IfeelbadleavingPaulhereonourlastdayinZion,butnotsobadthatIwon’ttaketheopportunitytobealonewithTheo.Plus,thismeanswecantackleamorestrenuoushike;mybodycravesthatburn.
“Okay,well,callusifyouneedus,”Isay.
Paulwavescheerfully.“Iwon’t!Enjoytoday’sletter.”
Ipatmybackpack,whereit’ssafelytucked.“Can’twait.”
“We’llbebackbydinner.”Theoopensthedoor,barelymovingbacksothatwhenIsteppasthim,ourbodiesbrushagainsteachother.Hebiteshislip,grinning,andIgivehimadrolllook,grazingmyfingersacrossthefrontofhisgymshortsaspayback.Hishandshootsouttograbmyarmasheshutsthedoor.Cuttinginfrontofme,hebacksmeupagainstthewood,stillchilledfromtheearly-morningair.
“GuesshowmanytimesIsaidyourname.”
Iarchaneyebrow.“Lastnight?”
Hissoftlaughbrushesmylipslikeakiss.“Rightnow.”
“Couldn’thavebeenmorethantwice.”
“Fourtimes.”Hiseyesarefixedonmylips.Ifeelthebiteofhisteeththere,theslickslideofhistongue,theweightofhimwhenItookhimintomymouthlastnight.Hehadtobesoquiet.Histhighsshooksointensely,andwhenhecame,hisrelieffeltlikemyown.“Whatwereyouthinkingabout?”
Ilickmybottomlip,satisfactionrollingthroughmewhenhefollowsthemovementwithanintensityIusedtoseeonthetenniscourt.Thatsingle-mindedattentionwaitingforaserve,forthechancetodemonstratehisexceptionalskill.
He’sgoodatalotofthings.Idon’thateitsomuchanymore.
“Iwasthinkingaboutbreakfast.”Iletoutagaspinglaughashecrowdsintomyspace,pinningmyhipstothedoorwithhis.“Lunch,too.Wonderingwhatwe’llhavefordinner.”
Hesmirks.“Youdidlookprettyhungry.”
IflickhishatbillupsoIcangetabetterlookathiseyes.They’rehungry,too.“Youreadyforthishike,Spencer?I’mgoingtopushyou.Mightkickyourass.”
Hissmirkturnsintoafull-outgrin.“Thatsoundslikeareward,notathreat.”
“Yousaythatnow,butwait’tilwe’reonhourfive.”
“Again,thatsoundslikeareward.”Heduckssohismouthisrightthere.Almostkissingme,butnotquite.“Butyourthreatsalwayshave.”
BeforeIcanprocessthat,herubshisthumbovermybottomlip,thengrazesthecornerofmymouthwithhis.Thestubbleonhischinburnsmyskin.Andsodoeshishandwhenheslapsmyasswithdirtyenthusiasm.
Igasp.“Oh,youassho—”
He’salreadyhalfwaydownthestairsbutturnsbacktotossmethevankeys.“Let’sgo,Shep.Timeforyoutoshowmeup.”
“Fuckme,”Theowheezes.
Ilookovermyshoulderathimasadropofsweattricklesdownhisnose.I’dloveto
Instead,we’rehikingAngelsLanding,astrenuousfive-miler,withthesunblazingdown,Theorandomlycursingbehindme,andpeoplepassingusregularlyonthetrail.Whenthetimecomesforfucking,Isincerelyhopeithasasexierambiance.Andlessthreatofdeath.
We’renotattheterrifyingpartofthehikeyet,buteventhisportionisrigorous.Thetrailiscarvedintothesideofthecanyon,andthoughit’swiderinthisseriesofswitchbackscalledWalter’sWiggles,thedrop-offisstraightdownwithonlyscrubbyplantstostopthefall.
“Buckup,Spencer,yougotthis,”Icallovermyshoulder.I’mwinded,butmybodyislovingthefamiliarburninmylungs,legs,andchestfromthedemandingincline.
SuddenlyTheo’scloser,nearlyatmyback.“Logically,Iknowthatyouworethoseshortsbecausethey’refunctional,butyourassinthemistheonlythingkeepingmegoingrightnow.”Hereachesouttograspmyspandex-coveredhipwithfirmfingers,histhumbdiggingintomyass.“Also,thefactthatyou’redestroyingmeishot.”
Pridebuzzesinsideme.“Where’sthatcompetitivespirit?”
“Slidoffthesideofthistrailafterthetwelfthswitchback.”
Ilaugh.Therearetwenty-one.
“Andanyway,I’vealwayslikedwatchingyoukickass,Shepard.Evenifitwasmine.”
“That’snottrueatall.”
Iappraisehim.Despitehiscomplaint,helookslikehecouldgofordays.Hischeeksareflushed,hisforearmsdamp.Buthisstridesarelongandconfident,andhe’sonlyslightlymoreoutofbreaththanIam.
Hegrins,catchingmylingeringeyes.“Completelytrue.”
“Notinhighschool.”
“Forsureinhighschool.”Igivehimalook,andheholdsuphishands,laughing.“Maybeyouwereannoyedbyourcompetition,butIlovedit.Eitheryouwerecomplimentingmeinyourassbackwardsway,oryouwerekillingit.Doyouknowhowfunitistoseeyougetthathomicidalglintinyoureyes?”
“Ohplease,”Iscoff,likeIdidn’tinheritmyfocusedmurdereyesfrommymother.
Theo’sbreathdancesoverthebackofmyneckashegetscloser.Probablyadistractionsohecanovertakeme.“Yousawmeassomeonetobattleagainst,andIadmitIsawyoulikethat,too.Butthereweretimeswhenyoufeltlikemyonlyequal.”
MyfootcatchesonapatchofsilkydustandIslide,onlytocatchmyselfagainstthewall.Theo’srightthere,halfasecondbehindme,crowdingmetosafety.Myheartraces,bothfromthebrieflossofcontrolandfromhiswords.FromhowtrueIwantthemtobenow,notinthepasttense.
“Okay,well,”Isayslowly,“thatwasadecadeago.”
“You’rekickingassnow,too.”
Myeyebrowsraisedoubtfully.“You’reimpressedbecauseI’macompetenthiker?”
“It’sveryhot,don’tunderestimatethatasaskill.”Irollmyeyes,tryingtobreakfreefromhisgrasp,buthekeepsmecaught.Hebendsdownsohecanmurmurinmyear,“Notjustthat,though.AfterImadeyoucomelastnight—”
“Ohmygod,”Ichokeoutwithalaugh,pushingathisstomach.Buthejustsmirks,notgivingmeaninchofspace.Afoursomepassesus,thecoupleinbacklookingatuswithamusedsmiles.
“IspentsometimeonyourTikTokonceyoufellasleep.You’regood,Noelle,andIknewitassoonasyoupickedupyourcamerainYosemite.Youhadthislookonyourface—thesamelookyou’dgetwhenyou’dvolleyaballbackandyoufuckingknewyouweregoingtogetthatpoint.It’sthatI’vegotthislook,andeverysingletimeyouhavethatcamerainyourhand,it’sthere.”
Iswallowhard,staringupathim.Therearepeoplemovingaroundus,feetshufflinginthedirt,breathlessconversation,butitallbleedsawaywithhiswords
“Iadmittedlydon’tknowshitaboutphotography,sotakemyopinionwithagrainofsalt.Whatmattersisyouknowyou’regood,anditseemslikeyouneedsomeonetoremindyouthatyouknowit.”Theo’seyestrackovermyface.“SohereIam,remindingyou.”
Hiswordswarmme,butitdoesn’tchangethesituationwaitingformeathome:nojob,noplacetocallmyown.“Idon’thavemyshittogetherthewayyouthinkIdo.”
Igivehimapieceofmysecrettoseewhathe’lldowithit.Searchhisfaceforanysignofdimminginterest,orsuspicion.
Buthiseyesareclear,anditdoessomethingsointenselydangeroustomyheart,flaresitwithhopeandfeelingsIrefusetoname.“NeitherdoI.”
“Youreally,reallydo,”Iwhisper.
Hesighs,pushingbackastrandofhairthat’sfallenfrommyponytail.“Let’skeepclimbing.”
ThelasthalfmileofAngelsLandingisharrowing,sowedon’ttalkexcepttocheckinwitheachother.Theostaysrightbehindmeaswetraversewhatisessentiallyjustanarrowridgeofmountainwithathousand-footdrop.Thereareanchoredchainstoholdontoformostoftheclimb,butnothingelsetoprotectus.
“Yougood?”Theoasksaswecometoasectionthat’schainless,justasix-footexpanseofredrockwiththevalleyswoopingbelowusoneitherside.Onewrongmoveandwe’redead,literally.
Iswallow.“Um.”
Theo’shandcomestorestonmyback,rightundermycroppedtanktop.Myskinisstickywithexertionandfear.“Wedon’thavetokeepgoing.”
Iforcemyselfnottolookdown,insteadfocusingmygazestraightahead,wherethecanyonseemstogooninfinitely,themonolithicrockscurvingintothehorizon.It’ssobeautifulthatmythroatgoestight.“Iwanttogettothetop.I’mjustscared.”
Heletsoutashakybreath.“Metoo.ButI’mwithyou,Iwanttogettothetop.”
Itakeonestep,toeingouttotheunprotectedpath.
“Besofuckingcareful,Noelle,”hesays,hisvoicedeepening.“Takeyourtime.Don’trushit,okay?”
“Okay.”Butthewordissoquietthattheairsnatchesitaway,andIdon’tknowifhehearsmeatall.
Wegosilent,notevenwordsofencouragementsharedbetweenus.Thelastportionisastraightclimbup.Behindme,Theo’sbreathsawsinandout,andthecadenceofit,thefactthatI’mhearingitatall,sendsasupernaturalcalmthroughmybody.
Andthenwe’rethere.Theearthflattensoutandspitsusontoaplateau.Itfeelslikewe’reattheverytopoftheworld.
Itipmychinup,handsonmyhips,tryingtograbmybreathback.Theskyissoclose.IfIcouldjustreachmyhandup,andGramcouldjustreachhersdown…maybewecouldmeetagain.It’stheclosestI’vefelttohersinceshedied.
IturntoTheotosaysomethingprofound,buthecupsmycheekinhishandandpresseshisbodyandlipstomine.It’sasoft,tenderembrace.He’swinded;hismouthopensovermineforafewgulpsofairbeforehepoutshislipsagain,givingmeonepluckingkiss,thenanother.
“Holyshit,”hebreathesout.Heinspectsmyface,devouringeverycurveandcornerlikehe’sreassuringhimselfthatwedidn’tinfactfalltoourdeaths.Thenhekissesmeagain,thistimedeeper.Igriphisforearms,sinkingintothefeelingofhim,thehardbeatofmyheartandtheshakingfearandexhilarationinmymuscles.
“Lookattheview,”Isayagainsthismouthwhenwepullbackforabreath.
Histhumbgrazesovertheplaneofmycheek.“Iam.”
Heholdsmeinhisgazeforabeat,andrightthen,Iknowhereallyseesme.Thenheturns,droppinghishandfrommyfaceasmychestswells,curlinganarmovermyshoulderssowecantakeitintogether.
Theskyisanendless,sun-bleachedblue,theearthsplitintotwobeneathit.Thecanyonsoneithersideareanombreofred,pink,orange,andwhite,toppedwithtrees.They’remassive,jagged,andancient,layeredfrommillionsofyearsofmicroscopic,patientmovementsinterruptedbycataclysmicevents.Itfeelslikelife,thoseslow,steadymomentsofeverydayroutines,andthecracksmadebylife-changingthings:love,death,otherlosses.
“God,Imissthis.”
IlookoveratTheo,atthewonderpaintedonhisface.“What?”
Hegesturesoutinfrontofus.“This.Traveling.Living.Idon’tknow.”
“Youhaven’tbeenliving?”
“Idon’tthinkso,”hesays,hiseyeswanderingovertheview.
Idon’tthinkIhave,either.It’scertainlyneverfeltlikethis.
Ileanmycheekagainsthisshoulder,scootingcloserashisarmtightensaroundme.“Allright,sowhatwouldTheoSpencerdoifhewerereallyliving?”
Hisshoulderliftsinasigh.“I’ddothis,butforlonger.Travelallovertheplace.”
Theimageplantsitselfinsidemyhead,thoughIhavenorighttothinkit:mysand-crustedskinpressedupagainstTheo’sonsomebeach,asweatingdrinknexttoeachofus,tastingtheoceanonhislips.Exploringnewcitiesontheothersideoftheworldtogether.Futurethingswehaven’tagreedto.
Theobrusheshisfingersalongmybareshoulder,bringingmeoutofmysecretthoughts.“Yougonnatakesomepictures?”
Igivehimalook.“Doyouevenknowme?”
Hegrins.“Letmetakeapictureofyoufirst.Memorializeyoursuccessatnotfallingoffthesideofthemountain.”
“JustbecauseIfellonetime—”Itrytosoundannoyed,buthishappinessisinfectious,soIduckmyheadtohidemymirroredemotion,pullingmycamerafrommybag.
HefrownsdownatitafterIhandittohim,untilItakepityandshowhimwheretheshutterreleaseis.“Justlikethis,soyoucanseethroughtheviewfinder.”Ipushthecamerauptohiseyeandhenods,thendropsitaninch,squintingplayfullyoverthetop.
Hepointstoafewfeetaway.“Gostandoverthere.Infrontofthatbushsoyou’renotrightontheedge.”
Imakemywayover,unabletowipethestupidgrinfrommyface.Theo’sadorablewhenhe’scluelessandlethalwhenhe’splayful.Thecombinationofthetwomightdestroyme.
“Noelle,”hecalls,andIlookovermyshoulderjustashetakesapicture.I’mstillstartledbythesoundofmynameinhismouth,sodistractedbythethrillitsendsspiralinginmystomach,thatIdon’thaveachancetoschoolmyexpression.Hegrinsknowingly.“Gotyou.”
WhenhepullsmeontoaslabofrockafterI’vetakenmypicturessowecanreadtheletterfromGram,hewindshishandaroundmythigh,securingmetohimevenfurther.HehasmesofullythatIworryhowI’mgoingtountanglemyselfwhenthisisover.
Butthat’snotformetoworryaboutrightnow.Instead,IopenthelettersandreadGram’swordsfrommyspotontopoftheworld.
January26,1957
MydearestPaul,
Ithoughtbeingwithyouwithoutmyparents’blessingwouldbeterrifying.It’sscary,butsomuchlesssobecauseIhaveyou.
Idon’tknowwhat’sgoingtohappen.Wehaveuntiltheschoolyear’soverbeforewediscussournextsteps.Eventually,I’llhavetotellmyfamily,andIdon’tknowifthishappinesswilllastorifit’llbetakenawayagain.Icouldwriteathousandliststohelppreparemyself,butjustlikewiththatdamndinner,itwon’tmakeadifference.Anythingcouldhappeninthefuture.Good,bad,whoknows?
Tonight,afteryoudroppedmeoffathome,IdecidedthatI’mgoingtoletmyselfbehappyrightnow.I’mgoingtodothisforme,foryou,andnotconcernmyselfwithwhatifsorthefuture.
I’mtellingyouthissothatifIstartworryingormakinglists,youcanhelpmepushitaside.RighthereandnowisexactlywhereIwanttobe.
Yoursinthismoment,
KatTwenty-One
IfTheoandIdon’thavesexsoon,I’mgoingtoloseit.
WespendonemorenightattheZionAirbnb.WithPauljustdownthehallandusexposedinthelivingroom,we’retooparanoidtogetintoasituationwecan’teasilyextractourselvesfrom.Thetraumaforallwouldbelastingandcomplete.
Still,it’shardtoholdback,andwehavetokeepremindingeachothernottotakeittoofarthatnightwhenwe’retangledupinbedtogether.
“Fuck,Iwantyou,”Theobreathesintothedark.Hepresseshischeektomineashishandmakesmagicbetweenmylegs.“WehavehotelroomsinBryce,right?”
Inod,tooclosetoformulatewords.
“Good.Tomorrowyou’remine,Shepard,”hewhispers,catchingmymouthwithhistomufflemyquietmoanasIcome.
WespendSaturdayexploringBryceCanyon,andIendureendlessglancingtouchesfromTheowhilePaulisn’tlooking.SomehowImakeitthroughourlatedinnerwithTheo’skneepressedmeaningfullyagainstmine,butIdragmyselfbacktomyroom—whichisnextdoortoTheoandPaul’s—completelydickmatized.IhaveZionpicturestoedit,ahighlyrequestedTikTokofGramandPaulphotostoupload,andDMsandcommentstoanswer,butassoonasI’mdone,Theobettermakegoodonhispromise
Butfateisclearlyconspiringagainstus.That,andBestWestern.Thewallsseparatingourroomsmayaswellnotbethere.IhearPaulandTheo’shummingconversationasifI’mintheroomwiththem,andalltheplansIhadgoupinsmoke.There’snowaywe’regettinguptoanythingifthere’sachancePaulcouldhear.
I’dbelyingifIsaidIdon’tshedafrustratedtearortwo,butitturnsintoreluctantamusementwhenTheotextsmelater,afterI’vechangedintomypajamas.
Whatareyouwearing?
Ireply:Didyouhearmeunzippingmysuitcase?
Actuallyyes,comeshisswiftresponse.Thesewallsaremadeoffuckingpaper.
Uh,yeah.Somuchforourplanstonight.
ALLourplans?Wecanstillhavesomeplans.WehadplansinZion.
Isnort,typing:Paulwasdownalongasshallwayandwewerequiet.We’retalkingincheshere.
Yesweare.Eightofthem.
Mylaughechoesaroundmyroom.HiscomeswhenItext:Ofcourseyou’vemeasuredyourdick.
That’saneyeballestimate,butyoutellme.
Iwouldnevergiveyouthatsatisfaction.
Still,whenTheoknockssoftlyonmydoorlater,Ilethiminside.Lethimpressmeagainstthewallandkissupmyneck,alongmyjaw,hoveringovermymouthuntilImakethequietestsoundthatscreamsmyneed.Onlythendoeshekissme,ahandfulofmyloose,damphaircrushedbetweenhisfingers.Wekisslikethat,nearlysilent,untilmylipsarebruisedandmythighsarepermanentlyclenched.
“Tomorrow’shotelbetterhavethickerwalls,Shepard.”Hisvoiceislowandhoarseasheplaceshishandagainstmychest,rightundermythroat.Hekissesmewithanintensitythatcontradictsthetendernessinhiseyeswhenhepullsback.“Sleeptight.”
“Iwon’t,”Igrumble.
Sundaynight,I’minmyroomafterourdayinMonumentValley,uploadingphotos.IclickthroughtoashotofTheofacingtheThreeSisters,atriooftall,slimrocksrisingfromtherichredNavajoland.Thebreezeiscatchinghisshirt,billowingitbehindhim.ThenextphotohasPaulsteppingintotheframe,cradlinghisbelovedHasselblad.Theo’slookingoverathim,chindippedtowardhisshoulder,anaffectionatesmilelightinguphisfeatures.
Myfavoritepicture,though,isofPaul’shandcuffingthebackofTheo’sneck.Late-afternoonsunlightslicesacrosstheframe,illuminatingtheirfaces—andtheobviouslovebetweenthem.Mychestaches;Icareaboutthesemen,andourtimeisrunningout.
Sighing,IclicktoaphotoofGram’sletter,heldopenbyPaul,capturedoverhisshoulder.Gram’selegant,loopyhandwritingisstarkagainstthepaper,madenearlytranslucentinthelight.
ItremindsmewhyI’mhere—forher,thissecret.Formyselfandmygrief.ButIstruggletorememberwhenTheo’snear.Atdinner,hesatclose,andIfeltthepromiseineverysubtletouchhegaveme.Butwhentheelevatordepositedmeontomyfloor,heonlywinkedasthedoorsclosedbetweenus.Ihaven’theardfromhimsince,andit’safterten.
Idon’tknowtherules.We’veadmittedwewanttoseethisthrough,sowhatthehell?Ishewaitingformyinvitation?Ayouup?text?
“Fuckit.”Igrabmyphoneandtypeoutwhatareyoudoing?
Hisresponsecomesimmediately:Openyourdoor
Mystomachbottomsout.I’mnotproudofhowfastIleapfrommyseat,butImanagetowrestlesomecontrolasIopenthedoor.
Theo’sstandingthere,slippinghisphoneintothepocketofhisgymshorts.Hishairismussed,likehe’sbeenrunninghisfingersthroughit,andhismouthcurlsup,hiseyebrowssetinasternslashthatgoesrighttothepitofmystomach.Hestepscloser,hishandcirclingmywrist.
Thattouchignitesme.“Wereyoualreadyhereordidyourunwhenyougotmytext?”
Hisdimplecarvesoutinhischeek.“CanIcomein?”
“UnlessyouwanttorepeattheshowwegaveinVegas,thenyeah,youshould.”
Helaughs,crowdingintomyspace,pushingmebackintothebedroomuntilthedoorcloses.
Ireachforhiships,bringinghimclose.Alltracesofhispreviousamusementvanish,replacedbythesamehungerIfeel.Hedoesn’tteasemetonight,justcradlesmyfaceandslantshismouthovermine.Assoonasourtonguestouch,heletsoutalowgroanthat’sstilllouderthananythingelseI’veeverheardfromhim.Itsendsawildnesscareeningthroughmyblood.Ifisthisshirt,towinghimbacktowardmybed,andhefollowsmewithstumblingsteps.
“Whatdoyouwanttonight?”heasks,sameashehaseveryothernightwe’vebeentogether.
Itwist,pushinghimdowntositontheedgeofthebed.Hegoeswithoutprotestandwrapshisarmsaroundmythighstopullmebetweenhislegs.
Icurloverhim,runningmyfingersthroughhishair,thengrippingitjusttohearhishotgaspagainstmycollarbone.“Iwantyounakedinmybed.Iwantyouinsideme.”
There’sabeatofsilencewhereTheo’sfacestayspressedagainstmychest,butIhearhismuffled“fuck.”
Hismouthmovesuptograzemythroat,suckingattheskin,teethscrapinglightly,thenharder,likewhatI’vesaidisfinallysinkingin.Whenhetipshischinback,thelamplightcatcheshiseyes.Hispupilsarewide,blownoutwithdesire.
“Getonmylap,”hemurmurs.
Icrawloverhim,settlingmykneesoneithersideofhiships.Hegrabsmyassandcinchesmetight,kissingupmyneck.Withaquietgroan,hetiltshishead,lickingatmytoplip,thenkissesmeslowandintense,inarhythmIknowhe’llusewhenhegetsinsideme.
“Fuuuckme,”TheobreatheswhenIstartgrindingagainstthehardlengthofhim.
“That’stheplan,”Ihum,kissingonecornerofhismouth,lingeringonhisdimplepushedoutbyhissmile.
“Isit?”
Igrazemypalmoverhischest,wherehisheartbeatsfastandhard.“Haveabetteridea?”
Hepullsback,hishandsmovingfrommyasstomywaist,makingafistinmytanktop.Hisexpressionistwistedwithdesire,smilegone.“No.Idon’t.”
Ourmouthsmeetashishandsslipundermytop,slidingovermyskin.Thefeelingofhiswarmpalmsshapingmyback,theincrediblepressureofhimbetweenmylegsandthewayhepullsbacktolookatme,hisexpressioninsuchseverepleasure—Icouldprobablygettherejustlikethis.
Butit’snotallIwant.I’mgoingtotakeeverythingIcangetfortherestofthistrip.ItfeelsgoodtogoafterwhatIwantandgetit.EspeciallywhentherewardisTheo.
“Takeoffyourshir—”
Mybuzzingphoneinterruptsmydirective,butTheo’salreadypullinghisshirtoff,withthatmagicalscruff-of-the-neckmaneuver.I’mhypnotizedbythesmoothnessofthemovementandthenakednessofhischest.
AFaceTimerequestpopsuponmycomputer,distractingme.Isquint,tryingtomakeoutwhoitis.ButI’mpulledawayfrommytaskwhenTheograbsthehemofmytanktop,whippingitoff.I’mwearingabraletteunderneath,buthelooksatmelikeI’mnaked.
“God,Noelle,”hebreathes,pressinganopen-mouthkisstoeachslopeofmybreasts.
Irunmyfingersthroughhishair,pushingawaythethoughtofwhatevercallI’mmissing,sinkingintothewetheatofhismouth.
Theringingstartsagain.
“What—”Theolooksoverhisshouldertowardmylaptop.“Thefuck?”
Ileanover,wrappingmyarmsaroundhisnecksoIdon’tfalloverinmyquesttoseethescreen.
Theflashingnamedousestheflameswe’vebeenbuilding,andmyheartfree-fallsintomystomach.
“Ohshit,it’smydad.”Myparentshavetextedduringthetrip,andI’vesentpicturesregularly,butthey’reotherwisehands-off.Twocallsinarowcouldbeanemergency.
Theo’sfingersclosereflexivelyaroundmeasIstarttogetup.
“Ineedtogetit.”Ipryhishandsoffmyass,nearlyfallingoffthebedinmyhastetountangleus.
“Youneedtogetit?”herepeats.He’sintenselyrumpled,hiskneesspread,veryclearlyhardwithaswollencherrymouthandfinger-fuckedhair.
I’mgoingtoregretthis.ButI’llregretitmoreifit’sanemergencyandIignoreit.
“Sorry,I’mjustnotsureifit’s—”Igrabmytanktopfromthefloor,pullingiton.“It’slateandtheydon’tnormallycallrepeatedly.”
Hisexpressionsoftenswithunderstanding.“Allright.”
Isitdownatthedesk,anglingthelaptopsothebedisn’tvisible.ButthenIrealizehavingahalf-nakedmaninmyroom,visibleornot,isn’tideal.Especiallywhenthathalf-nakedmandoesn’tknowthestoryIsoldtomyparents.
“I—theycan’tseeyou.Youneedtogointothebathroom.”
Theoblinks.“What?”
“Bathroom!”Iwavemyhands,panicked.Thecallcutsoff,thenstartsalmostimmediatelyagain.Whatthehellisgoingon?“Please,go.Now.Andturnontheoverheadfan.Um,incaseit’saprivateconversation.”
Theowipesahandoverhisface,dazed,butpicksuphisshirt.Hisgorgeousbackdisappearsbeneaththecottonmaterialashepullsiton,andmyheartbeatshardfromthewarringneedstohavehimandtakethiscall.Helooksatmeasheclosesthedoor,expressionunreadable.Asecondlater,thefanturnson.
Withadrenaline-clumsyhands,Ihitaccept,stuffingearbudsintomyears.
Myjawdropsatthescenegreetingme:myfamilyiscrowdedintotheframe,laughing.Myparentsareseatedatsomerestaurantpatiotable,ThomasandSadiebehindthem.
“Areyoujoking?”Iyelp.
“Beans!”theyallyellinvariousstatesofdrunkenness.
Iplacemyhandovermyracingheart.“You’redrunkdialingme?Ithoughtsomeonedied.”
Dad’sfacefalls,andhemouthssorry,butMomleansin,oblivious.“How’sourfavoritephotographerdoing?How’sthetrip?”
“It—it’sgreat.Itfeelsreallygood—Imean,it’sreally,um,it’sbeeneducational,”Istammer,staringatthebathroomdoor.Jesus,IhaveanarousedTheoSpencerinthereandI’mtalkingtomydrunkfamily?“Listen,I—”
“Educational?”Momrepeatsquizzically.
Ishakemyhead.“IjustmeanI’mlearningalot.Aboutphotographyandtheareaswe’revisiting.”AndGram’slong-lostlover,oh,andalsohisbeautifulgrandson,who’sabouttoblowoutmyback.
“Whatareyourchancesofcomingoutofthiswithworklinedup?”Shepicksupatortillachip,crunchinghappily.
Ohmygod.“Probablyprettygood,Mom.”
Thatpartistrue,atleast.I’vegottenmoreDMsfrompeopleinquiringaboutprints,andplentyofvideocommentsravingaboutmyphotos.Thetraffictomyonlineshop,whichIlinkedtomyprofile,isgrowingrapidly.It’snotenoughtosustainme,butit’smorethanwhatIhadbefore.
Itfeelsgood.Itfeelsright
IswearatearcomestoDad’seye.“I’mnotsurprised.MomandIaresoproudofhowyou’vegottenbackonyourfeet.Iknowithasn’tbeeneasy.”
Stickyguiltcoatsmythroat.“Thanks,Dad.It’sbeennicegettingbackintoit.”
ThomasturnstoDad,sensingIneedabailout.“CanyouandMomgogetanotherround?”
Dadfrowns,confused.“Butwe’retalkingtoNoelle—”
“Wehavesomesiblingmatterstodiscuss.”
“Loveyou,honey,seeyouFriday!”MomcallsaroundDad’sshoulder,thentowshimoutoftheframe.
Thomasturnstome,eyeswide.“Ohmygod,theywouldnotshutupaboutcalling.They’vebeenbombardingmewithquestions,likeIhaveacluewhatyou’reupto.”Hepauses.“Imean,IdobecauseofTikTok,butIcan’ttellthemthat.”
Apanic-inducingthoughtsuddenlybubblesup.“YouhavetokeepthemawayfromTikTok.”
“Firstofall,noshit.Secondofall,youthinkthey’regoingtosomehowstumbleacrossavideoonasocialmediaplatformtheydon’tevenknowexists?”
“Justpleaseplaydefenseforme,okay?”
“He’salloverit,”Sadieassuresme.
“Iam,don’tworry,”Thomasagrees.“ButthechancesofDadfindingoutwhatyou’redoingviasocialmediaareslimtonone,sochill.”
“Right.”Iletoutabreath,butitdoesn’treleasethepressureinmychest.I’vebeensobusyinsidemybubblethatIhaven’tletmyselfthinkofwhatI’llhavetodowhenIstepoutofit.TellingDadeverythingsoundsasappealingasgoinghome.
“Youshouldshowthemtohim,though,”Thomassays.“Afteryoutellhimaboutthis.They’rereallygood,Beans.ItmakesmefeelclosertoGramwatchingthem.”
“Yeah,”Isay,andweshareatwinsmileshadowedbyoursadness.“Metoo.”
SadieleanshercheekagainstThomas’sarm.“Areyougoodoverthere?Areyougettingwhatyouneedoutofthetrip?”
MycheeksflushevenhotterthanwhenIwasonTheo’slapminutesago.“Yeah.Ithinkso.”
SomethinginmytonemusttipThomasoff,becauseheletsoutahonkinglaugh,effectivelykillingourtendermoment.“You’refuckingTheoSpencer.”
“No.”Icutmyselfoff,because,well,hopefullyyes.“I’m—we’re—it’scomplicated.”
“So,you’reexorcisingyourgriefbygettingrailedbyGram’sex’sgrandson?”Thomasnods,impressed.“That’sonewaytodoit.”
“Ifthat’strue,youdeserveit,”Sadiesays.“AndIwantdetailslater.”
Inodmyaffirmation,thenturnbacktomybrother.“I’mnotexorcisingmygriefthatway,youdickhead.”
“It’saperk,though,”Thomassayswithasmirk.
“Ifyouhadn’tcalled,itwouldbe,”Imutter.
ThomasblinksasSadiehopsexcitedlyinplace.“Okay,well.TMI,butonthatnote,we’llletyougo.Ijusthaveonerequest.”
“What?”
“SadesandImadethatbetaboutyouandTheo,andherbetwasdayten.Whichis…”Hetrailsoffashecountsinhishead.Hiseyeswiden.“Fuck.Today.Soyou’regonnahavetodelay,Beans.”
Sadiecheers.“Hellyes!I’magenius.Noelle,gogetyourman.”
Icovermyfacewithmyhands.“Ohmy—”
“I’llbuyyoudinnerifyouwaitaday,”Thomaspleads.
“That’llcostmorethanwhatyouoweme,”Sadieargues.
Heturnstoher,placingasmackingkissonhermouth.“Yeah,butIhavetowin,honey.Glorybeatscash.”
Sadiesighsandlevelsmewithalook.“Fuckthebet.Don’tdelayonourbehalf.”
EverythinginsidemeiscravingaresolutiontowhatTheoandIhavebeenbuilding.NowthatIknoweveryoneinmyfamilyisinonepiece,Ineedthemtogoaway.“Goodbye,youtroublemakers.TakeanUberhome,okay?”
“Duh,”Thomassays.“Can’twaitforyournextTikTok,dude.Knock’emdead.”
Thescreengoesblack,andIstareatmyreflectioninthelaptopscreen.Mirror-melookswindblownandoff-kilter.Butdespitealloftheuncertaintyineveryotherareaofmylife,there’sonethingIknowforsure:IwantTheo,foraslongasIcanhavehim,andhewantsme.
Thesimplicityofitiscalming.Itfreesmymindofallitsotherdistractingthoughts,letsthemdriftawayuntilonlythehoneyedonesremain.Istand,makingmywaytothebathroom.
WhenIopenthedoor,Theo’sleaningagainstthesink,hisheadbowed,eyesfixedsomewherefaraway.Butthenheblinksup,straightening,andhisgazeheatsimmediately.
Ireachoutmyhand.“Comeon.Wehavesomeunfinishedbusiness.”Twenty-Two
Holdonasec.”
Theo’svoiceechoesaroundus.Hetakesmyhand,towingmetowardhim,armsgoingaroundmywaist.Thefeelofhisbodypressedagainstmineiscomplicated;Iwanttopeelhisclothesoffandlethiminsideme.ButIalsowanttolaymycheekagainsthischest,rightoverhisheart,andsinkintothisquietwithhim.
Hetucksmyhairbehindmyear.“Iseverythingokaywithyourfamily?”
Igroan.“They’refine.Itwasadrunkdialdisguisedasacheck-in,thosemenaces.”
“Theyseemgreat.FromwhatlittleIeversawofthem.”
Myheartsinksattheheld-backsadnessinhiseyes,andIcursemyclumsymouth.Noteveryonehasafamilywhocaresthewayminedoes.Ihavenodoubtthey’dcareaboutTheo,ifitwaslikethat.“Theyaregreat.Overbearingsometimes,butina…gentle,herdingtypeofway.”
Hismouthliftsinasardonicgrin.“NotinanI’mgoingtoinsertmyselfintoeveryaspectofyourlifeandfuckyouupway?”
Irunmyfingersthroughhishair,followingtheirpathsohewon’tseetheheld-backsadnessinmyeyes.“No.They’reprettygoodatlettingmebewhoIam.”
Theo’schindips,hiseyelashessweepingdownashecloseshiseyes,sighing.Heleansintomytouch,andIpressmyselfcloser,rubbingdownhisscalp,tothebackofhisneckwherehissilenttensionlives.
“Whatdotheythinkofallthis?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iask,distracted.
“Thisroadtrip,whatwe’redoing…”Hetrailsoffexpectantly,eyesopening.
Idon’tknowwhattosay,butTheodoesn’tpress,justwaits.Ican’tadmititall;thatwouldmeanexposingmyselfcompletely.I’mreadytosharemybody,piecesofmythoughtsandheart,butIcan’tgiveitallyet.I’mnotsurehe’llwantit.
“ThomasandSadieknoweverything,butmyparentsdon’t.Mydaddoesn’tknowaboutPaul.Atleast,Idon’tthinkhedoes.Ihaven’tsaidanythingaboutwhatIfound.Iwasworriedabouthowhe’dreacttoitall,butIalsowanted…”Iswallowhard,fixingmyeyesonthehollowedtriangleatthebaseofTheo’sthroat,thefaintfrecklessprinkledoverhisskin.“IwantedtoknowmoreaboutGramandPaulbeforeItalkedtohim.Andselfishly,Iwanttoknowhersecretsbeforeanyoneelsedoes.Thatwasourthing,youknow?”
“Yeah,”Theosaysquietly.
“I’mnotreadytoletitgo.BecauseifIletitgo,thenIlet…”Hergo.Idon’tsayit.Ican’t.Itmakesherdeathtooreal.I’llneverhearhervoicewhisperingthefourwordsweexchangednearlyasoftenasourmostimportantthree.TellmeasecretandIloveyou.Twodifferentthingsthatmeantthesame.
IwishIcouldtellheraboutTheo.Whatawildsecretheis.Itracethecurveofhiscollarbonewithmyfinger,watchinggoosebumpsriseonhisskin.Whatwouldshethinkofus?Isittoostrangethatwe’retiedbyherandPaul’sinterruptedlove,orwouldshethinkitwassomethinglikefate?
“Whatdidyoutellyourparents?”Theomurmurs,bringingmeoutofmythoughts
“Thatthisisaphotographytrip.Notalie,exactly,butitmakesmefeellikeshit.”
“Andtheysupportyou?”
“Completely.MydadwouldcryhappytearsifImadealivingfromphotographyinsteadof—”Staringatthewallsofmychildhoodbedroomforthepastfourmonths.DriftingfromjobtojobIdidn’tgiveashitaboutbeforethat.
God.That’sreallywhatI’vebeendoing.
“Insteadofyourcorporateslog,”hefinishesformewryly.
“Right.”Ican’thearmoreofmyownliesoutofhismouthanddon’twanttothinkaboutwhoIambackhome.Ismoothmypalmsoverhischest,movingthemuptocirclearoundhisneck.“Anyway,they’refine.Andwe’regettingofftrack.”
Histhumbbrushesmycheek.“Idon’tmindtalkingaboutit.Wehavetime.”
“Notmuch,”Isay.Fourfulldays.Five,includingourdrivehome.“I’mdonetalkingfornow.”
Asmilecurveshismouth,andIburrowmyfingersintohishair,pullinghimdowntome.Overhisshoulder,Icatchaglimpseofusinthemirror.Iwatchthebrushofhismouthagainstmycheek,theflutteringofhiseyesastheyclosewhenhetouchesmyskin.Iwatch,breathheld,ashishandslidesuptomyneck,thenmyjawsohecanbringmebacktohim.
Thekissstartsouttender,sosoftitnearlyhurts.Hedoesn’tgivemehistonguerightaway.It’slikehe’sgaugingwhetherwe’rereadytostepintothisdifferentmoment.
Ipartmylipsagainsthis,whisper,“Please,”soheknowsIneedthis—sinkingintothephysicalconnectionthatarcsbetweenus.Whenhishandcurvesaroundmycheekandheletsoutaquiet,painedsound,triumphsqueezesmychest.It’sathrilltocrackTheoopen,eventemporarily.
Hetightenshisarmaroundmywaistandliftsme,walkingmeoutofthebathroomwithmylegsdangling.
Ilaugh,wrappingmylegsaroundhiswaistjustbeforehestumblestositonthebed.Suddenlywe’rerightbacktowherewestartedbeforethatphonecallinterruptedus:mykneesbrackethishipsandwe’regrindingagainsteachother,kissinginlong,druggingwavesthatpauseonlywhenwehavetocatchourbreath.Butevenpantingagainsteachother’smouths,oureyeslockedwhileTheo’shandsshapeandgripmythighs,myass,mywaist—eventhatfeelslikefucking.
“Why’dyouputyourshirtbackon?”IgrabthehemsoIcangetitoffhim.
“Dunno,butI’mnotlettinggoofyourass,sofindadifferentway,”hesaysagainstmythroat.
Thematerialstretchesbetweenmyhands.“I’mgonnaripitoff.”
Histeethscrapemyjaw.“It’smyfavoriteshirt.”
“Thenletgo.I’mtryingtogetyounaked,Spencer.Cooperationwillgetyouinsidemesooner.”
I’munhandedinstantly,andhehelpsmedivesthimofhisshirt,thentakescareofmine.Igetstuckinsidethematerialofmybralettewhenhetriestopeelitoffme,andhelaughs,eyescrinkling.I’veneverheardhishappinesssounrestrained.Ituckitawaytorememberlater.Heleansinforakisswhilemyhandsareovermyhead,thestretchymaterialbindingmeattheelbows.
“Getmeoutofthis,”Isaywithoutheat.
Hissmilegrowsagainstmymouth,andhebitesatmylip,licksit,kissingmewithsurprisingplayfulnessashefreesme.Whenhepullsbackandlooksdownbetweenus,hiseyestracingthecurvesofmybreasts,hisamusementturnssmokier.
Oureyesmeetashishandsgentlygripme,histhumbsmovingovermynipples.Heleansin,capturingmymouth,fingerspinchingroughlyenoughtopulladesperatesoundfromme.
“Youlikethat,”hesays,notaquestionbutaconfirmation.
“Yeah,”Isigh,framinghisfacetokeephismouth,grindingmyhipsagainsthis.
Hepullsoutofmyhold,duckinghisheadtokisstheslopeofmyleftbreast,rightovermyheart.Small,pluckingkissesmakeapathtomynipple,wherehelicks,thensuckshardashishandslidesupinsidemysleepshorts.HerealizesimmediatelyI’mnotwearingunderwearandthevibrationofhisgroanagainstmyskinisunreal.
“Liedown,”hesayshoarsely.“I’mhungry.”
MystomachpullssotightsofastthatIalmostfalloffhislap.
I’mspreadoutonthebedinlessthanfiveseconds,andTheohoversoverme,kneelingbetweenmylegs,hisfingerscurledintothewaistbandofmyshorts.Atinygrinpullsuphismouth.“Isthatayes?”
“Yes,”Ibreatheout,liftingmyhipssohecanundressme.Hiseyesgodarkwhenhetossesmyshortsaside,takingmein.
MyhearttwistsasTheoscootsback,adjustingintoapositionthatlookslikesupplication—shouldersdown,headbowed.Hisfacelowersbetweenmythighsandhisgazesnaresmine,thenholdsitasheopenshismouthoverme.
Otherguyshavegonedownonme,butnoone’ssavoredmethewayTheodoes,lickingandsucking,stoppingonlytogaspoutabreatheveryonceinawhile.Hishandgripsmythigh,holdingitopensohecandohiswork.
“Fuck,Noelle.”Hepullsbackafteratime,watchingthewetslideofhisthumboverme,thepressofhisfingersastheymovedowntoslipinside.Hismouthfindsmeagain,exactlywhereIneedit,inarhythmthatgetsmetheresofastit’sembarrassing.ThenI’mcoming,handsgrippinghishair.Hegroansagainstme,eyeswildandlatchedonmine
MythroatstingsasTheocrawlsslowlyovermybodyoncehe’sbroughtmedown,kissingmystomach,mybreasts,myneck.I’mgratefulthewallsarethickerhere,andthathisroomisontheflooraboveus.Idon’thavetoholdback.
“Iloveyoursoundswhenyoucome,”Theosays,lickinghislipswithasmirkbeforekissingme.Againstmymouth,headds,“You’regoingtogivethemtomeagaininafewminutes.”
“Alwayssosureofyourself.”Ipushatthewaistbandofhisgymshorts,watchingavidlyashetakesover,strippingdown.
Whenhepressesagainstme,bothofusnaked,weletoutthesamehungrysound.He’sthickandhardbetweenmylegs.Ishiftsothathe’srightthere.
Hishipsstarttomove,andhegroansintomyneck.“God,thefeelofyou.It’ssofuckinggood.LetmedothisbeforeIgetthecondom.”
Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisneckasheadjustshisbodyovermine,nudgingmythighsfurtherapartwithhisown.“You’rereallytakingyourtime,Spencer.Comeon.”
“Mmm,”herumbles.“Feelslikeyourbodywasmadeforme.”
Itwas.MymindscreamsitasIsnakemyhanddownbetweenus.Iwrapmyhandaroundhim,runitupanddownhisslickskin.
“Jesus,holdon,”hegaspsout,fumblingforhisshorts.Hepullsafoilpacketoutand,withonelastsearchingkiss,sitsbackonhishaunches.
Thismanisaworkofart.Evenputtingacondomon,helooksbeautiful,hisexpressiontautwithpleasure.Whenhesmoothsthelatexdown,heletsoutashakybreath.Oureyesmeetandsomethingdeeperthanlustpassesbetweenus.It’sasharpneed,notjustforthemeetingofourbodies,butfortheemotionalthreadswe’vewoventogether.Rightnow,itfeelslikewe’recreatingsomethingunbreakable.
Ireachforhim.“Comehere.”
Hedoes,hishandwrappedtightlyaroundhisbasebeforeloweringhisbodyovermine.
“Areyouokay?”heasks,anechoofthesamequestionheaskedtheotherdayafterwe’dyelledourselvesintotemporaryrelief.
Maybethat’swhatthisis,too.“Yeah.Areyou?”
Hisheaddipsasheguideshimselftome,ashestrokesinjustbarely.“Yeah.”
It’sagradualpushandpull,eachtimegettingdeeper,butIwantallofhim.“Youdon’thavetobecarefulwithme.”
Hegroansquietly.“Fuck.Iknow.”
Itseemstounlocksomethinginhim,though,andhethrustsallthewayin,hardenoughtoshakeusboth.Hardenoughtomakeusgroanwiththeunbelievablepressure.
Herisestohisknees,panting,onehandonmyhip.Theothergoestomychest,rightbelowmythroat.Hebrusheshisthumbupthecolumnofmyneck,pressinginwhenhegetstomypulsepoint.
“Areyouholdingyourselfbackfromyournaturalinclinationtochokeme?”
Helaughs,incredulous.“What?”
“Youalwaystouchmyneckwhenwe’redoingthings.”
“Things?”Hishipsstartmoving,tooslowly,anunbearabledrag.
Igroan.“Kissing,touching,fuckingnow.”
Hisexpressionsoftensintosomethingachinglyvulnerable.“Ilikefeelingyourheartbeatfastforme.”Asecretrevealedinthemiddleofoursex.“That’showIknowyoulikeme.”
Ilookdownthelengthofourbodies,towherehe’sinsideme.Tohishand,curledtightaroundmyhip.Imakeawholeproductionofit,thendragmyeyesbackuptoTheo’s.
“Ithinkit’sobviousIlikeyou.”
Hebiteshislipagainstagrin,rockingintome.“Youhaven’tsaidit.”
Myheartstartsbeatingfasterunderneathhisthumb.“Wereyouwaitingformeto?”
Hisheadkicksbackashispaceincreases,thenslowsagain.Hegroans.He’sholdinghimselfback.Hewantsittolast,andthatmakesmewanttobreakhimintodesperation.Ineedit.
“BecauseIdo,”Isay,quietly.
Theo’seyesopen,andhelooksdownatme,hipsworking,stomachclenchedtight.“Youdowhat?”
Mynervesandneedandarousalallmixtogether,makingmyvoiceshaky.“Ilikeyou.”
Hepushesintomesohardontheyouthatmyvoicebreaks.
It’snotasecretnow:Ilikehim,somuch,toomuch,andmaybehe’llruinme.Notjustbecausehe’scurledovermenow,mouthcrashingovermine,holdingontomesotightI’llfeelitfordays,butbecausehepullsbackandsaysbreathlessly,grinning,“Ilikeyou,too.”
“Igotthat,”Isay,andhelaughs,grabbingmyhipstosetapacethat’shardandperfect.
Ouramusementbleedsawaytoroughgroans,thesoundsofTheo’sbodyworkingintomine.Hisfingersdigintome,movinguptomybreasts.Herestsahandonmychest,theheelofhispalmpressingovermyheart.It’sthesoftestpressurethere,themostintensepressureinsideme,buthishandfeelsheaviest.Ithurtsthebest.
Ireachupandpressmypalmoverhisheart.It’sracing.We’reeven.Hesmiles,likehewantsthat.Likethat’swhathewaswaitingfor.
It’sonlyminutesuntilI’mclose.Itellhimshakily,diggingmyfingersintohisarms.Hiseyesgetfeverbright,andhecurlsoverme,sealingourmouthstogetherashesnakeshishandbetweenustogetmethere.
“Ohgod.”Igroan,myeyessqueezingshutasmybodypullstighterandtighter
“Yeah,”hebreathesagainstmyear,nippingatmyskin.“Whenyoucome,Icome.Icanfeelhowfuckingcloseyouare—”
HiswordspushmesohardovertheedgeofpleasurethatIsurgeupagainsthim,cryingout.Hepresseshisfaceintothecurveofmyneck,panting,untilhispaceshortens,stutters.Thesoundhemakesashecomesstretchesoutmyorgasm;it’ssorelieved,sowrungout.
ThetensionleachesoutofTheo’sbodyinwaves,intheslowingundulationofhishipsandthewayourkissingturnsfromfrantictosated.Everythingslows,andafteranindeterminatestretchoftime,Theoletsoutasigh,hisfinalkisssomuchlikethefirst:tender,soft.
Heliftssomeofhisweightoffme,brushingmywildhairbackfrommyface.Iframehisjawwithmyhands,pressingmythumbtohisbottomlip.WestaycaughtinagazethatsayssomuchofwhatIcan’toutloud.Hisheartisracingfromwhatwejustdid.
Didhefeelit,too?Thatlinewecrossed?Itdidn’tfeellikesimplesex.Thenagain,nothingbetweenushaseverbeensimple.
Myheartskipsashegetsuptotakecareofthecondom,andit’sstillunsteadywhenIcomebackfrommytriptothebathroom.He’slyingwithhishandsbehindhishead,eyesfixedontheceiling.TheymovetomewhenIcrawlinnexttohim,andhismouthpullsupproudly.
“Youlookwrecked.”
IappraisehimasIsettlein.“DidInotworkyouhardenough?Youshouldbepassedout.Orincapableofspeech,attheveryleast.”
Hebringsmecloser,wrappingmeupinhisarmsanddroppingakissonmyhead.“Youdestroyedme,Shepard.I’mjustnotreadytosleepyet.”
There’satendernessinhisvoicethatpushesstraightintomyheart.Itiltmyheadback,searchingforitinhiseyes.It’sthere.He’snoteventryingtohideit.
“Meneither,”Imurmur.“Wanttowatchamovieorsomething?”
Hisresponseisimmediateandaccompaniedbyasmirk.“Orsomething.Butamovie’sgoodinthemeantime.”Ihuffoutalaugh,andherollsontopofme,bitinggentlyatmyneck.“Wegonnafightoverwhogetstopickit?”
“Always,”Isay.
HefreezesandthenIdo,realizinghowthatsounds.Likewehaveaninfinitenumberofthesedays,wheninrealitywehaveahandfulandthenit’sdone.
Hismouthparts,likehe’sgoingtosaysomething,butinsteadafterabeat,hegrazeshislipsovermine.Hetakesitdeepwithinseconds,tanglinghisfingersinmyhair.
Whateverhewasthinkingofsaying,I’mgladhestopped.Idon’thavetherightwords,either.Twenty-Three
WegettoourAirbnbinPage,Arizona,Mondayafternoon.It’sanadorableboxywhitestuccohouse,standingoutstarklyagainstthedesertlandscape.Ireleaseahappybreath,gladtobeoutofahotelroomandbackinaplacethatfeelslikeahome.We’llbeinanAirbnbinSedona,too.
“Howmanybedroomsthistime,Shep?”TheoasksasIpullthevanintothedrivewayedgedwithredrockgravel.
Unimpressed,Ireply,“Three.”
IcheckedaftertheZionsnafu.AndonceTheoandIstartedsleepingtogether,checkedagain.
HetossesmeawinkthatIcatchintheairandpretendtoflickoutthewindow,butthatonlyamuseshimfurther,hisdimplecarvingdeepintohischeek.Behindus,Paulchuckles.We’vekeptthingsnormalaroundhim,butIcan’thelpbutthinkhe’splayingchickenwithus.TheotoldmeearlierthathesuspectedPaulwasawakewhenhesnuckbackintotheirhotelroomthismorning.
Thethoughtofwhatwedidlastnight—thesex,andthemovieafterit—hasmybodyandheartpulsingintandem.
Pushingthatthoughtasidefornow,IthreadmyarmthroughPaul’saswewalkinside.Thehouseisgorgeousandabitofasplurge;ithassoftwhitewallsandwood-beamceilings,withwindowsallalongthebackofthehousethatlookoutontoawidepatioand,beyondthat,avalleysurroundedbymajesticredandpinkbuttes.Thesunsetsmustbeunreal.
“Don’tworry,Igotthebags.”Theo’sdrystatementfromthefrontdoorispunctuatedbytwothumps.
“Awesome!”Icallback,grinningoveratPaul,wholaughsandpatsmyhand.
WeexploretherestofthehousetogetherwhileTheogoestothegrocerystoretograbfoodfordinner.
Thebackyardextendswellpastthepatio,andwespendsometimepokingaroundbackthere,attemptingtoidentifyallthedifferentplants,whichsendsPaulintoafifteen-minutemonologueabouttheplantshe’sgothiseyeonforhisownbackyard.HisexcitementissoadorablethatIcouldlistentohimallnight,buteventuallyweheadinside.IinsistthatPaultakethemasterbedroom,mainlybecausehe’sPaul.EventhoughheandTheohavebeenhappilysharingaroomthiswholetrip,Iwanthimtobecomfortable.
Butitdoesn’thurtthattheremainingbedroomsareontheothersideofthehouse.
“Oh,Icouldn’ttakethis,”hesays,hiseyesroamingaroundthelargeroom,whichalsohasanensuitebathroom.
“Ofcourseyoucan,andyouwill.You’retheguestofhonoronthistrip.”
Heturnstome,pullingmetightagainsthisside.“No,sweetheart,that’syou.It’sbeenyearssinceTheoandIhavetraveledtogether,andyoumadeithappen.Ioweyoutheworldforlettingmehavethistimewithhim.”Hesmiles.“Andwithyou.”
Ihavenothingtosaythatwon’tendinmeuglycrying,soIpullhimintoaproperhuginstead.
Thefrontdooropensandcloses,butit’sbeentoolongsinceI’vehadahuglikethis—stillstrongbutsoftenedwithage,withawhiffofold-schoolcologne—soIdon’tstepoutofPaul’sembrace,evenwhenTheo’sfootstepsstopinthedoorway.
“Issheokay?”
WhenIpullback,Iseethestrickenlookonhisface.ItwipescleanwhenheseesthatI’m,infact,justfine.
“Justhavingatendermoment.”InudgePaulgently,mychestachingfromthathugandTheo’sconcern.“What’dyougetusatthestore?”
Theo’sgazelingersonme,thenPaul,andIswearlongingflashesinhiseyes.Butheblinksandit’sgone.“Ipickedupsteakandvegetables.Wecangrillitalltogether.”
Oncewe’vepreppedeverythinginthekitchen,Paulstaysbehindtogetthepotatoesgoing.Meanwhile,IfollowTheotothegrill,whichisalreadyheatedup.
IsetupmyskewerstationandgettoworkwhileTheothrowsthesteaksonthegrill.Theyhiss,andforaminute,it’stheonlysoundbetweenus.Eventheworldsurroundingusseemshushed,waitingforsomething.
Finally,Theoasks,“Youokay,really?Youlookedalittle…”Hetrailsoff,appraisingme.
Ispearazucchinislice,thenanonion,addingthemtotheskewer.I’vemadefourinrecordtime.“Ican’twaittohearwhatwordyoulandon.”
Herollshiseyes.“Youlookedlikeyouweretryingtoohardtobe…notupset.”
“Iwasn’tupset.”Ihandhimtheplatewithmypicture-perfectveggies.“Justachy,Iguess.It’sbeenawhilesinceI’vehadagrandparenthug.Paul’sbeenfillingabigvoidforme.”
“Youcanborrowhimanytime,youknow.Evenafterwegetback.”Heplacestheskewersonthegrill,carefulnottomeetmysurprisedgaze.“Separatefromme,Imean.”
“Oh.”Idon’tknowwhattosay.ThethoughtofhavingarelationshipwithPaulwithouthavingsomethingwithTheofeels…incomplete.ButTheoclearlywantsmetoknowthatourarrangementwon’timpactmyrelationshipwithhisgranddadoncewegethome.“I—”
“Hereallycaresaboutyou,”Theoblurts,pokingatthesteaks.“I’msurehe’dlovetokeepseeingyouwhenallofthisisover.EvenoutsideoftellingyouabouthimandKat.”
“He’sbecomeoneofmyfavoritepeople,soI’dlovethat,too.”IwishIcouldadmittotheotherthingsIwant.Itfeelswaytoobigforwhatwe’veagreedto,wantingtoseeTheowhenwegethome.Wantingtobewithhim.Datehim.
Therealizationsinksintomystomachlikeice:god,IreallydowanttodateTheoSpencer.Eighteen-year-oldmewouldbeshakentohercorerightnow,butIlikehim,andIthink,giventhechance,I’dcontinuetolikehim.Maybeuntilitturnedintosomethingelse.
Theolooksatme,hisjawticking.Hisexpressionissearching,buthestaysquiet.Thetensionbetweenusgrowstight,thatthreadbetweenuspullinguntilithurts.
Ilookdown,heartracingasIpickupacherrytomato,untilthemomentpassesusby.“So,youwouldn’tloanmeyourAPLitnotessenioryear,butyou’llloanmeyourgranddad?”
Asurprisedlaughhuffsoutofhismouth.“Youwould’veedgedmeoutonthatmidterm—”
“Iactuallydid.”
“Butthere’snochanceyou’lltakemynumberonespotwithGranddad.”
Gauntletthrown.“YouknowI’mgoingtotrynow,right?”
“WhydoyouthinkIsaidit?Iknowyou.”Ithitsmewhenhesaysthat;hedoes.Hegrins,seeingtherealizationonmyface.“Iwanttoseeyoutry,Shepard.”
Isnort.“Why,soyoucanseemefail?”
“No.”Hesetsdownhistongs,facingme.Aboveus,theskyisstartingtodarken.Thecloudsareturningpink,paintingTheo’sfaceinthesweetest,softestlight.Imisshimalready,hissingularattention,thewayhelooksatme.“BecauseI’mprettysureyou’dtieforfirst.”
Hehastoknowwhatthatdoestome,tohearit,toknowIcouldbeinPaul’slifelikethatsomeday.Hisfaintsmiletellsmehedoes.
Allofmyfeelingsbubbleupmythroat,butIdon’tgetachancetosayanything,andmaybeit’sforthebest.Theodoesn’tchecktoseeifPaul’sstillinthekitchenbeforeheleansdownandpresseshismouthtomine.Iinhale,surprised,buthedoesn’tpushitbeyondthegrazingofourlips,thebrushofhisnoseagainstmine.
ButTheotouchingme—Theodoinganything—ignitesmyblood,soIgrabahandfulofhisshirtandyankhimtome.Helaughsagainstmymouth,cuppingmycheeksohecantiltmyheadforabetterangle.
Aswitheverythingwedo,itquicklyturnsintense,andTheo’samusementturnsintoanurgencyIcantaste.Hewrapsanarmaroundmywaist,hishandfittingoverthecurveofmyasstopullmetighttohim.IgroanwhenIfeelhimgrowinghard,andhisfingerstighteninmyhair.
“Notthehairmove,”Icomplain.
Hegrins,kissingmesothoroughlymyeyescross,thensqueezesmyass.Hard.
“You’reanasshole,”Ipantagainsthismouth.“Ihopeyou’rehardallthroughdinner.Ihopeyouwatchmeeatingthatdick-shapedskewerandittorturesyou,becauseallI’mgoingtobethinkingaboutiswhattimeyou’regoingtosneakintomyroomsoIcanteaseyouuntilyou’rebeggingforit.ThenI’llholdoutsomemore.”
Hisshouldersstartshakingundermyarmsandthenhe’slaughingtoohardtokissmeproperly,sohepullsmeintoacrushinghuginstead,pressinghissmileintomyneck.
“Youaresuchamenace,NoelleShepard,”hemurmurs,hisvoicethickwithamusement.“WhatamIgoingtodowithyou?”
“Icanthinkofafewthingsoffthetopofmyhead,”Isaysilkily.
Hegrowls,“Ican,too.”
Suddenlymusicispumpingoutintotheeveningair.TheoandIspringapart.
“Ifoundastereo!”Paulcalls.“Canyouhearthemusic?”
“Uh,yeah,”Theocallsback,hiskiss-flushedmouthpullingupatthecorners.“It’sragingouthere.”
“What?”comesPaul’sreply.
“Jesus,”Theomutters,shakinghishead.Heflipsthesteaksandskewerswithaproficiencythat’sjustashotasthewayhegrabbedmyass,thentakesmebythehandandpushesmeawayfromthegrill.
Iresist,stretchingmyarmbacktowardit.“Thefood—”
“Canwait.”Hetakesmyoutstretchedarmandthreadsitaroundhisneck,smilingwhenIfollowwithmyotherarm,myfingerswindingintohishair.Hecircleshisarmsaroundmywaist,hisexpressionadizzyingmixtureofsternandplayful.
Andthenwe’redancing.Heholdsmecloseforafewbeats,andIlethisbodyguidethemovementsofmine.God,we’regoodatthis.
HeeitherhasPaulradarorhewantstodousetheattractionthat’sarcingbetweenus;hepushesmebackrightbeforePaulwalksoutwithaservingdish.
IlaughasTheospinsmewiththemostbeautifulsmileonhisface,thenturntoPaultomakesomepithycommentabouthisgrandson’srhythm(whichisactuallyphenomenal).ButPaul’sgazeisfastenedonTheo,hisfacelitupwithjoysointensehealmostlooksanguished.
Themomenthasnothingtodowithme,butitstillstirsemotioninmychest.Thelovebetweenthesetwomenhealssomethinginme,justasmuchasittearsmeapart.
Theacheinmychestrecedesaswesitdownfordinner,whenTheoslideshishandovermythighunderthetable.
Andlater,whenIlookupatthesky,IswearIseeastarwinkingdownatme.
Wespendmostofthenextmorningexploringthevariousbendsandcurvescarvedoutofmassivered-huedrocksatLakePowell.Theodrivesourrentedspeedboat,sometimesracingoverthedeepbluewater,sometimesputtering.HestopswheneverPaulorIasksothatwecantakephotos,andwetuckourselvesintoaless-busysectionofthelaketoeatlunch.
Pauldigsintohisbagwithonehandoncewe’vefinished,holdingupafingerwiththeother.“Howaboutaletter?Iforgottogiveittoyoutwothismorning.”
“Yes!”Ipracticallyshout,divingoutofmyseattogettoPaul.Heleansoverwithaquietlaughandhandsittome.Irunmythumboverthefoldedpaper.NomatterhowmanyoftheseIread,I’llalwayscravemore.“Ifeellikewe’rerunningoutoftimetohearthewholestory.Weonlyhave…”Sayingthenumberoutloudisafingeragainstmybubble,soIdon’t.“Wedon’thavealotoftimelefttogether.”
SomemagneticforceinmybodyrecognizesTheo’senergyashestandsbehindme.Iswaybackintohim,lettingmyshoulderrestagainsthischest.Icanblameitonthelakerockingus.
Pauleyesus,aninscrutablelookonhisface.“Whydon’twemakeadeal?”
“Okay.”
“We’llgetthroughasmuchaswecanoverthenextthreedays”—hisexpressionsoftenswhenIwince—“butthere’snoneedtorushit.You’veenjoyedreadingyourgram’swords,haven’tyou?”
“Somuch,”Isaythickly.“Iknewalotabouther,butonlythroughthelensofmyownlife,ifthatmakessense.Gettingtoknowthispartofher—herstorywithyou—islikemeetingheralloveragain.”Mythroattightens,andTheo’shandcurlsaroundmyhipbriefly,squeezing.“Ijustwanteverydetail,youknow?SoIcankeepfeelingthat.”
Paulnods,understandinglightinghisblueeyes.“Thestorywillcome.Let’sdowhatwecanhere,andI’lltellyoutherestwhenwegethome.”
Asenseofforebodinggathersinmystomach.“Imean,Iknowtheending,butisitgoingtobebad?”
Hisexpressionsoftens.“Oh,Noelle,no.It’slife.Someofitmaybepainful,butit’snotbad,sweetheart.YouandTheostandingherearelivingproofofthat.”
Inod,mythroattootighttospeaknow.Theoreleasesabreath,stirringthehairatmyneck.
Paulwinks.“That’sourdeal,allright?Thestorydoesn’thavetoendwhenthistripdoes.”
Hiswordssinkintome,pullingreliefIdidn’tevenknowIneededtothesurface.Suddenlymybubblefeelsunbreakable.Timeless.IcouldstretchthisstoryoutformonthsifIwantedto.GetaccesstoeverythingI’mcraving:Gram’ssecret,Paul’sfriendship.Theo.
“It’sadeal.”
“Whydon’tyoutworeadtheletter,andI’llstartusoutniceandslow?”
“You’regoingtodrivetheboat?”Theoasksdubiously.
“Betterthanyoucould,too,”Paulreplieswithadimple-poppinggrin.“Don’tforgetwhotaughtyouhowtodriveone,Teddy.”
Ilookovermyshoulder,eyebrowraised,toseeTheo’seyesroll.Buthe’sgrinning,thetwinofPaul’s.He’sbeenlookinghappierthepastfewdays;checkinghisquietphoneless,smilingmoreeasily.
Hishandtracesdownmyforearmuntilhisfingerstanglewithmine.Hetugsatmyhand.“Comeon,let’sreadthiswhileElderSpeedracer’sbehindthewheel.”
Wesettleintoourseats,andIholdtheletterupsowecanreadtogether.Theo’sskiniswarmwiththescentofsunscreenandwhateverlevel-tenpotentpheromoneshe’sconstantlygivingoff.
Iblinkdownattheletter,forcingmyselftoconcentrateonGram’shandwritinginstead.
April2,1957
DearPaul,
Imissmymother.You’llprobablythinkit’ssillysinceItalkedtoheronthephonejustyesterday.ImissherbecauseIcan’ttellherallthethingsIwanttosayaboutyou.Iusedtotellhereverything.She’dwanttoknowIwasinlove,wouldn’tshe?ButifItoldher,she’dgostraighttomyfather
Idon’tregretmydecisiontokeepthisfromthem.It’swhathastobedone,andthepastfewmonthswithyouhavetrulybeenperfect.Butitmakesmefeelveryfarawayfromthem.Whatwillhappenwhenschool’soverandIhavetotellthem?WhowillIlose?Idon’twanttoloseyou,andIdon’twanttolosethem.I’mstillsearchingforawaytoensurethisendshappily.Iknowtheremustbeananswer.
Pleasetellmeitwillbeokaynomatterwhat.
Allmylove,
YourKat
Atthebottomofthepageissomeoneelse’shandwriting.ItmustbePaul’s.
Itwillbeokay.Nomatterwhat.
“Ifeelthebadnewscoming,”Isayastheboatgainsspeed.“Iknowwhathappens,Iknowthere’snowaytostopit,butIwanttoanyway.”
“Yeah.”Theo’ssighisheavy.Ilookoverjustashistroubledexpressionsmoothsout.“Shefeltstuck.Likenochoicewasagoodone.”
Hisvoicegoesquietattheend,andthere’safamiliaritythere.
Mycameraisontheothersideoftheboat;IwishIhaditsoIcouldtakeapictureofhimandshowittohimlater.Evenifhefeelsstuckrightnow,myshotwouldshowthemilesofspacesurroundinghim.Theredrockscurvingallaround,thewaterbelowus,andtheclearblueskystretchingendlesslyaboveus.Thesunlightglintingdownonhishair,onhisskin,makinghimgolden.
I’dshowittomyself,too,soIcouldrememberthismoment.SomehowthechoicesI’vemade,whetherthey’veendedupbeinggoodorbad,havealldonetheirfatefulworktoputmerighthereforareason.
Mykneekicksout,pressingagainsthis.Helooksatwherewe’retouching,thenatme.
“It’llbeokay,”Isay.
Henodsandleansbackinhisseat,tippinghischintowardthesky.
Aplanedriftsoverhead.Fromthirtythousandfeet,theroaroftheenginesisbarelyawhisper.Itiltmyheadbacktowatch,pressingthelettertomychest.AbsorbingGram’senergyandlove.
Therearepeopleinthatplane,livingentirecomplicatedlivesI’llneverknowabout,whileTheoandIaredownhere,livingthesameone.Fornow,atleast.
IreachovertotakeTheo’shand.Hisfingerstanglewithmine,andIsqueeze,holdingonastightasIcan.Twenty-Four
Noelle.”
It’sbarelyawhisperattheedgeofmyconsciousness,butIbatitaway.I’mdreaming,floatingincottoncandyclouds,thesunhotagainstmybackeventhoughI’mstomach-up.
There’salsosomethingpokingme,whichmakesnosense.Cloudsarejustairandmoisture.
“Noelle.”
Thatvoiceagain,thistimesingsongywithamusement.Ihearmyownirritatedgroan,butitturnsintosomethingmorehoneyedwhenawarmmouthgrazesthebackofmyneck.Ashiverskittersdownmyspine,shakingmeintoawareness.
It’sWednesdaymorning,andwe’reinourSedonaAirbnb.I’minbed,raysoflightpushingthroughtheclosedivorycurtains.Theoisspoonedbehindme,hishandrunningfrommyhiptomythighandbackashekissesalongthecurveofmybareshoulder.Travelingisdisorienting,especiallywhenwe’removingfromplacetoplace,butthereareperks.Beingkissedawakeisoneofthem.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
Sillyquestion.IknowaTheoSpencerseductionwhenIfeelit.
AndIreally,reallyfeelit.
“Wakingyouup,”hesays.“It’safterseven.”
“Seven!”Itrytositup,butTheoslingshisthighovermine.
“Ourtourdoesn’tstart’tilten,”hesays,hisvoiceheavywithsleep.
We’regoingonaJeeptourtoday,butthat’snotwhatI’mworriedabout.“Paulwakesupattheass-crackofdawn.Heprobably—”
“Shh.”Theo’slipsskateuptomyneck.Hebitesgentlyatmyskin,drawingoutagasp.“Mydoorisshut,andhe’snotgoingtogobarginginthere.HehasnoideaI’minhere,andI’mgoodatsneakingoutbynow.”
“You’veneverstayed’tilseven,”Isighout.
“Feelingluckytoday.Andverymotivatedtostay,”hemurmurs,flippingmeontomyback.
Hehoversoverme,naked,hishaireverywhere,withsheetmarksrunningdownhischeek.Ireachuptotracethem,followingthepathuntilIgettohismouth.Hiseyesturnassoftastheearly-morninglight,ashotasthesunIwasjustdreamingabout.
Ilovewakingupwithhimlikethis—unhurried,quiet.ThepastfewdaysTheo’sbeenpushinghisluck,waitinguntilthesunpeeksoverthehorizontoleaveme.Butit’stoogood;notjustthesex,buttheafter,tangleduptogetherwhilewerecapourdayortalkaboutourfavoritecommentsonmylatestTikToksorwatchamovieuntilwebothdozeoff.Ican’tstopthinkingabouthowIwantthiseveryday,withoutanenddateinmind.
IswearIwould’vesaiditifmyteethwerebrushed,andforonceinmylifeI’mgratefulformorningbreath.AfterTheotoldmeIwasfreetohavearelationshipwithPaulseparatefromhim,I’vebeenwonderingifthatwasasubtlereminderofourterms.I’vesunksodeeplyintowhatwe’redoingnowthatit’sbeenhardtorememberwhat’llhappenwhenwegohome.
It’shardtorememberthatthisisn’thome.
IpullTheodownuntilmostofhisweightisonme,wrappingmyarmsaroundhisneck.Heburrowshisfaceagainstmythroat,pressingwhisper-softkissesthere.Hisbackmovesupanddowninalongsigh,andIechothemovementuntilwe’rebreathinginsync.
Aknockbreaksthepeacebetweenus.Theo’sheadpopsup,adarkwaveofhaircrestingoverhisforehead,hiseyesflyingtothedoor.
Paul’svoicecallsout,“Hatetobotheryou,butIjustputafreshpotofcoffeeoutandcutupsomefruit.ShallImakesomeeggs?”
Idon’tanswerimmediately,panicked,andTheopresseshishipsintomine.“Yourroom,”hemouths,graciouslyomittingtheverydeserveddipshit.
“Oh!”Isqueakout,pinchinghisasswhenhestartslaughingsilently.“Um,yeah,that’dbeamazing.I’llbeoutinjustafewminutes.”
Theofrowns,pressinghishipsforwardagain,sharinghisambitiouserection.“Fifteen,minimum,”hewhispers.
“Twominutes,tops,”Icall,shootinghimatriumphantgrineventhoughmybodyisscreamingforhisagain.
“Thatsoundsfine,sweetheart,don’trush,”Paulsays.
“You’regonnagetitlater,”Theowhispersagainstmyear.
“Oh,”Paulcontinues,thesmileclearinhisvoice,“anddon’tworry,Teddy.I’llmakeyoureggsovereasythewayyoulikethem.”
So,thecatisoutofthebag.
WhenTheoaskshowlonghe’sknown,Paulgiveshimalookoverhisreadersandsays,“Sincethebeginning.You’vebeendownrightcheerful.”
Inearlychokeonasliceofpineapple.Paulgivesmeawink.
Theo’sgazemovestome,asifhe’sgaugingwhatIthinkofthat.ButIwanttoknowwhathethinksbeforeIdeterminewhetherIshouldworry.It’sbeenalittleoveraweeksincethatnightinVegaswhenIsaidwecouldn’thookup.WhenIwassurewhateverhappenedbetweenuswouldruinmychancestoformarelationshipwithPaul.IthoughtthefoundationofwhatTheoandIwouldcreatetogetherwouldbetooshaky.MaybeIthoughtthefoundationofwhatPaulandIhadwas,too.Butmyrelationshipswithbothofthem,separatefromeachotherandintertwined,feelstrongenoughtotakethis,evenifitdoesn’tlast.
Iliftashoulder,like,whatcanyoudo?Theo’smouthpullsintoaquietsmile,andheduckshishead,focusingonhiseggswithhisbottomlipcaughtbetweenhisteeth.
Forhispart,Paulseemsunfazed,serenelycrunchingonmultigraintoastwhilehereadsthenewspaper.
There’snoearthshifting.NoavalancheofquestionsorconcernedlooksnowthatmyrelationshipwithTheoisoutintheopen.Itgivesmehopethatmaybewithtime,allofmysecretswillberevealedwiththislevelofacceptance.
Afterbreakfast,wegoourseparatewaystogetreadyfortheday.ButTheocornersmeoutsidemydoor,givingmealong,lingeringkiss.
“Gosh,youreallyarecheerful,”Isaysmugly.“Iwonderwhythatis.”
“YouknewwhythatwaslastnightwhenIhadyourlegshookedovermyarms,”hemurmursback,pressinghishipsintomine.Onecornerofhismouthpullsintoalopsidedgrin.“Youlikedthat,huh?”
“I’daskyouthesamequestion,butyoubarelylastedtwominutes,soclearlyyoudid.”
Hetsks.“Don’tdiscountalltheminutesbeforethat.Besides,you’dalreadycome.Atthatpoint,youwerejustalongfortheride.Literally.”
Igripthehairatthenapeofhisneck,justtowatchhisexpressionslackenwithdesire.“Mypointis,whoknewallittookwasregularsextoturnthatperma-frownupsidedown?”
“That’snotallit’staking,Shepard.”
ThetimbreofhisvoiceissolowIbarelyhearit.ButthelookonhisfacetellsmeIdidn’tmishearhim.
“I’mfeelingprettycheerful,too,”Iadmit.Ourgazeslockandhold,andthewarmthinhisspiralsdownmyspine.
It’snotjustthesexformeeither,eventhoughthatpartisthebestI’veeverhad.It’sallofit.I’veneverbeenlessabletodistinguishtheemotionalconnectionfromthephysicalone.WithTheo,onethingfeedstheother.Thesexissogoodbecausetheemotionalconnectiongetsstrongereveryday.Themoreheshareswithme,themoreIwanthim,andthemorehetouchesme,themoresecretsIwanttoreveal.
Thetruthis,Iwanthimtoknoweverything.Notjustaboutwhatmylifehasbeenlike,butwhatIwantittobe.ThehopesIhaveforit.WhenwegetbackonFriday,I’llbewalkingbackintothelifeIleftbehind.ButI’mrealizingthatI’mnotonlypreparedtodosomethingdifferent,Iwantto.
Isitpossiblehewantstobepartofthat?
“AreyouokaywithPaulknowing?”Iask,testinghim.
“Areyou?”
“Ithinkso.Hedidn’tlooklikehewasabouttoplanourweddingoranything.”Theo’seyebrowsraise,andpanicked,Irushon.“There’snowedding,obviously.Ijustmean,itseemedlikehehadexpectationsfromthestart,andheisn’tmakingabigdealoutofthemcomingtopass.Whyareyousmilinglikethat?”
He’sallperfect,shinyteeth.“Iloveseeingyouflusteredbecauseyouthinkyousaidsomethingtoorevealing.Likeyouhaveabinderfullofweddingshitwithapictureofmyfacepastedoneverypage.”
Irollmyeyes.“Yeah,I’vebeenaddingtoitsincethedayImetyou.”
“Freshmanyear,Cougar’sbioclass.”Thistimeit’smyeyebrowsthatraise;Ican’tbelieveheremembers.Theo’scheeksturnpink.“Youslippedonapuddlefromthewaterfountainandnearlycrackedyourheadonthedoorframe.Isavedyou.”
“Youdidn’tsaveme,Ihappenedtofallbackintoyou.Youseriouslyrememberthat?”
Hegrins.“Abeautifulgirltouchedme—”
“Onehundredpercentaccidentally.”
“Ididn’tcare.Iknewrightthenhighschoolwasgoingtobeawesome.”Hebacksmeintothedoor,smirking.“Andnowlookatyou.Touchingmeverymuchonpurpose.”
“Mmm.”Iletmyhanddriftbetweenus,grazingoverthefrontofhisshorts.“Afullcirclemoment.”
Theodoesn’trespond,atleastnotwithwords.Instead,hecatchesmymouthwithhis,kissingmeuntilwe’rebothbreathless.
“I’mgladmygranddadknows,”hesaysagainstmylips.“NowIgettotouchyouwheneverIwant.”
“Purposefully?”Itease.
Hepressesakisstomyforehead,murmuring,“Noneofmytouchinghaseverbeenaccidental.”
Iclosemyeyes,myheartswelling,allthewordsIhavelefttosaygrowinginmythroatuntilit’ssotightI’mnearlychoking.
“Youcanhavethebathroomfirst.GetinthatshowerbeforeIclimbintherewithyou,”Theosays,pushingmebackfromtheprecipice.
“Whatever.Waterconservationisextremelynearanddeartomyheart.”
Hegrins,backingawaydownthehall.Hiseyesstaylockedonme,sointenttheyfeellikeX-rays.Likehecanseeeverythingwrittenalloverme.
AmIthattransparent?Paulcaughtontouslongago,apparently.“WhenPaulsaidhe’sknownfromthebeginning,whendoyouthinkhemeant?”
Theopauses,palmpressedtohisbedroomdoor.“Idon’tknow.”
Butsomethinginhisexpressionmakesmewonderifhedoes,andhejustdoesn’twanttosayitoutloud.
Ourtwo-hourJeeptourtakesusontheBrokenArrowTrail.Theroadisbumpyashell,andTheoandItaketurnsaskingPaulifhe’sokay.Finally,hetellsbothofustoknockitoff,agiantgrinonhisfaceasthewindwhipsthroughhishair.
TherockingmotionoftheJeepsendsmybodyintoTheo’sagainandagain,adistractingmimicofthewaywemovetogether.Atonepoint,hegrinsoveratme,pressinghisthighhardagainstmine.
Westopatastunninglookoutabuttedbyredrockformations.Thestriationsinthem,whichourguideremindsusshowthepassageofmillionsofyears,makemefeellikeaspeckofdustintheinfinitestretchoftime.HowluckythatthisisthemomentIlandedin.Howtemporaryeverythingfeelswhensurroundedbyalandscapethatwasherelongbeforeusandwillbeherelongafterwe’regone.
ThatdayinZionwhenwewentswimming,Paultoldustotakeheart,thatnothinglastsforever.Maybetheserockswill,butit’sabeautifulandpainfulreminderthatnofeelingdoes,badorgood.Nomomentormistake.
AfterItakesomephotos,TheoandIreadtheletterPaulgivesus,asweetonewhereGramlistsoutthereasonssheloveshim.Ifshewasfeelinganxious,shedidn’tmentionit,thoughPaultellsusattimesshewaswrackedwithit.IknowabubblewhenIseeit.Fromthisletter,it’scleartheywereinone.
Sedonaisallegedlyfilledwithvortices,magical,healingenergythatcomesfromtheearthitself,andIswearIfeelGramslippingherhandintomine.Ifeverythingelseistemporary,atleastthegriefthatclutchesatmeis,too.IletitwashovermesoIcanclingtothepeacethatfollows.Iclosemyeyesandtiltmyfacetowardthesun,imaginingit’sherhandonmycheek,tellingmethatI’mexactlywhereI’msupposedtobe.DoingexactlywhatI’mmeanttodo.
So,itshouldn’tsurprisemethatwhenwestopatBellRockforanotherphotoopandIstepofftothesidetocheckmyemail,there’soneInevercould’vepredicted.
Itdoessurpriseme,though.ItshocksmesothoroughlythatInearlyslideofftheboulderI’mseatedon.Theo,who’sbecomemybodyguardagainstanysurfaceIcouldfalloff,shootsmeawarninglook.Buthiseyeswidenwithconcernwhenheseesmyexpression.
Hejogsover,Paulmovingatamoreplacidpacebehindhim.“What’swrong?Whathappened?”
“I…”Istaredownatmyphonescreen,thenlookbackupatTheo.“ThisnewboutiqueresortinTahoeemailedme.Theysaidthey’vebeenfollowingourstoryonTikTokandareobsessedwithit,andtheylovemyphotography.They’reopeningsoon,andtheyaskedifIcouldcomeupandtakesomepromotionalshotsoftheirpropertyandamenities,andcreatesomecontentonmyaccount.”
“Yeah?”Theoreachesformyphone,thenpullsback,silentlyaskingforpermission.Ihanditover,andhereadstheemail,hiseyesmovingbackandforthoverthescreenrapidly.Paulpeersoverhisshoulder,pullingouthisreaders.Iwatchbothmentakeintheinformation,theirmouthspullingintotwinsmilesastheyread.
“Noelle,thisiswonderful.”PaulmovesaroundTheoandcomestowardme,armsoutstretched.
Ileapupandstepintohisembrace,stillprocessingwhatthismeans.It’sanhonest-to-godjobdoingsomethingIlove.Ihavenoideahowmuchit’llpay—theemailsaidwecoulddiscuss—andit’snotlikeI’llbeabletomoveoutofmyparents’housebasedonthisalone.Butitgivesmeasenseofvalidationthatnothingelsehasinsolong.
AleapoffaithtakenwhenIhadnofaithlefthasturnedintothis.
Paulsqueezesmetight.“I’msoproudofyou,sweetheart.Andyourgrandmawouldbesoproud,too.”
Myheartswells.“Shewould,wouldn’tshe?”
Hegrins.“Absolutely.”
Ipullback,splittingalookbetweenhimandTheo,who’swatchingthetwoofus.“Iknowit’sjustonejob.It’snotlifechanging,but…”
“Acareerinphotographyisn’teasy,ifthat’swhatyouwant,”Paulsays.“Butthisisawonderfulstep.You’vemadesomanyofthemduringthistrip,andyoushouldbeproudofthat.”
Itswellsinmychest.“Iam.”
PaullooksatTheo,thenbackatmewithawink.“I’llmeetyouattheJeep.”
“Folks,we’regoingtoheadoutinaminute,”ourguidecalls.
Theoignoreshim,steppingclosertome.Heslipsmyphoneintomyhand,thencupsmyfaceinhis.Histhumbmovesovermyflushedcheek.“Ihaveasecret,andIshould’vetoldyouearlier.”
“What?”
Heshakeshishead,grinning.“Ifuckingknewyoucoulddothis.You’resogood,Noelle.”
Hisconfessionisashotofadrenalinetomyheart.Itstartsbeatingdouble-time.“Don’tgocrazywiththepraise,okay?Firstofall,it’snotlikeyou—”
Heletsoutahuffofinsultedlaughter.“What,I’mnotmeifI’mcomplimentingyou?”
Igivehimapointedlook,runningahandoverhisT-shirtcladchest.“Takeitdownanotchwiththeconclusionjumping.Youcancomplimentme,you’vejustgottoputalittlespiceinit.”
Hecoursecorrects.“You’resogood,it’sannoying.”
Inod,satisfied.“Better.”
“You’reintenselyweird,”hesaysaffectionately.
“Alittlesoftondelivery,butotherwiseperfect.”
Herollshiseyes,grabbingmywristsohecantowmecloser.“Yousaidfirstofallbefore,sowhat’sthesecondofall?”
“Oh,right.Secondofall,it’sexciting,butit’ssmall.Andjustonejob.”
Forabeat,heappraisesme.“Youhavenoideahowamazingyouare,doyou?”
“I—”Iswallowtheurgetodiminishthismoment.Ineedthiswin,andI’mgoingtotakeit.I’mgoingtolethimseemegrabitwithbothhands.“Ifeelprettyamazingrightnow,actually.”
Hisgazeturnswarmandtender.I’msomesoftcandymeltingintheheatofit.“You’regoodatthis.”
“Hellyeah,I’mgoodatthis.”
Thatwarmthflaresintosomethingmolten,andhisgringrowsfromsmalltobrilliant.“Let’sgocelebratetonight.Justyouandme.”
“WhataboutPaul?”
“Guaranteeyouhe’llpretendtobetootiredtosocializewithuslater,”Theosays.“AndIwantyoutomyself,anyway.”
Myheartfloatsoffintospace.“Okay.”
Hisgazedropstomymouth.“I’mgoingtokissthehelloutofyounow.”
“Okay,”Irepeat,dazed.
Hedoes,rightinfrontofPaulandthefamilyoffourwho’sonthetourwithus.
And,Isuspect,infrontofGram,too,whereversheis.Twenty-Five
God,thatwasgood.”
Theolooksoveratme,hisfaceshadowedaswecrossthedarkparkinglot,handsclasped.“Requestforyoutosaythatlatertonight,inexactlythatsametoneofvoice.”
Ipulloutofhishold,turningsothatI’mwalkingbackwardsaheadofhim.“Idon’ttakerequests.You’regoingtohavetomakeme.”
Hiseyessweepdownmybody;I’mwearingtheVegasoutfitsinceIhavenothingelse.HewatchedmeallthroughdinnerlikeitwasthefirsttimeI’dwornit.
Wegettothevan,andTheobacksmeagainstituntilthere’samillimeterofspacebetweenus.IfIbreathed,we’dbetouching.Idon’t,justtowatchhiseyesdarken.
“Shepard,”hesaysinthatvelvetvoice.Itbrushesovermethewayhispalmdoes,strokingupmyneckuntilhishandisbracketingmyjaw.“Idon’tknowifyou’venoticed,butI’vebeenmakingyounearlythisentiretrip.”
Youcanmakemeforalotlongerthanthat.Iraiseaneyebrow.“Youthinkso?”
“Youdoitrightinmyear,soyeah.”Hismouthpullsupintoasmirk.“Iknowso.”
“Thenwe’dbettergosoyoucangetonit.”
“Ican’twaittogetonit.”Hereachesbehindmeforthedoorhandle.Butinsteadofmovingussohecanopenit,heleansdowntobrushhismouthagainstmine,thenpartshislips,invitingmetodothesame.Itastethewinewehadonhistongue,thelemontartweshared.ItwasTheoindessertform:sweetwithabite.
It’sbeenmorethanayearsinceI’vebeenonadate,andnonehaveeverfeltlikethis—likeit’sthestartofsomethingI’mdesperatetonamebutcan’t,whetherit’stoosoonorbecausewedon’thaveenoughtimeleft.AsTheokissesmewiththemoonpeekingdownatus,Iknowhefeelsit,too.It’sinthepaceofhismouthmovingovermine,thewayheleansintomelikeheknowsIcanhandletheweightofus,thewayhishandtightensinmyhair.Itmakesmykissturndesperate.
Nearby,acaralarmchirpspolitely.Theopullsbackfirst,breathless,hislipsglossyfromme.
“Let’sgohome,”hesays,hisvoicebarelyarumble.
“Yeah,”Isay,wishinghomemeantsomewherelesstemporary.
Butthenmygazesnagsonaneonsigninastorefrontwindowacrossthelot.Thepsychic/tarotsignblinks.
It’snearlyten,soitstandsout.Maybethat’swhyIstraighten,pressingmyhandsagainstTheo’schesttomovehimoutoftheway.Everythingelsearoundthestorefrontisdark,butasoft,warmlightleaksoutofthegauzycurtains,paintedpinkbytheneoninfrontofit.
Theo’sarmwindsaroundmywaist.“Whatshinythingjustcaughtyourattention?”
“Psychic.”IblinkawayfromthesignandupintoTheo’sface,awashinskepticism.“Let’sgosee.”
“Youwanttogoseeapsychicrightnow?”herepeats,butI’malreadywalking,mysandalsclickingagainstthepockedasphalt.Hemutters,“Oh,Jesus,”buthisfootstepsaren’tfarbehindme.
It’sasiftherearehandspushingatmyshoulders,curlingaroundmyhandasitcoversthechippedgolddoorhandle.BeforeGramdied,Ineverthoughtofmyselfasspiritual,butsinceIlosther,I’vebeensearchingforwaystofindheragain,toholdon.Rightnow,IknowIneedtobehere.
AbelljinglessoftlywhenIopenthedoor.Iexpecttogethitwithafacefullofincense,butinsteaditsmellsvaguelyofjasmine,likethebushesGramhadplantedinherfrontyard.Thespaceissmallbutclean,nothinglikeIimagined.Onewallisanabstractmuralofadesertlandscape,aneyehoveringinthemiddleofit,therestasoothingsage.There’salong,beautifulpinetableinthemiddleoftheroomwithaniMac,adeckofcards,severalcandles,andashittonofcrystalsandrocks.Adeepgreenvelvetchairsitsononeside,twoorangetweedchairsontheother.
“Hello?”Icalltentatively.
Theostopsjustbehindme,hisbreathstirringmyhairashesighs.“Shepard,whatthehell.”
Awomanpushesthroughasetofyarn-wovencurtainsseparatingthefrontroomfromtheback.Liketheshopitself,shepaintsasurprisingpicture.She’syoung,maybeafewyearsolderthanus,withlong,curlybrownhair.Herskinisdamnnearporeless,cheekboneshigh,withthemostarrestinggreeneyesI’veeverseen.She’swearingfunkypatchworkjeans,acroppedlavendersweater,andpinkplatformsneakers.ShelookslikesomeoneSadieandIwouldseeatabarandstrategizeaboutmakingourfriend.
“Hey,folks,supersorry,butI—”Shestops,takingusin,andputsahandtoherchest,stunned.“Wow,okay,IwasgoingtosayI’mbyappointmentonlyandI’mbookedthreemonthsout,but…”Hereyesdriftoverus,sharpandfarawaysimultaneously.Shelaughs.“Yeah.Wow,comeonin.”
Theoletsoutaquietsnort,thenagruntwhenIdigmyelbowintohisside.“Idon’twanttointerruptyouifyou’rereallynotavailable.Wewerehavingdinneracrosstheway,andIsawyoursign.”
“Igotdistractedandforgottoturnitoff,butnowI’mfeelinglikethatwastheuniversedoingitsthing.”Shewavesherhand,thethickgoldcuffonherwristwobblingwithenthusiasm.“Seriously,comein,comein.I’mFlor,bytheway.”
“I’mNoelleandthisisTheo.”
“Hi.”Histonebroadcaststhiswasn’thisidea,buthepushesatmyhips,followingmeintotheroom.Wesit,andhescootscloserimmediately,closingthethreefeetofspacebetweenus.Whenhecatchesmewatchinghim,heraiseshiseyebrowslikewhat?
“Closeenough?”Imurmur.
“Betterviewfromhere,”hesays,tappingthedesk,buthiseyesstaylockedonmine,andhisdimpleflashes.
Ashufflingsoundsnapsmeoutofmytrance.IlookovertofindFlorseatedinthegreenvelvetchair,adeckoftarotcardsinherhandsandawidegrinonherface.“Ilovethisforme.CanIgetyourbirthdays,placeofbirth,andtimeofbirth,ifyouhaveit?”
Irattleoffmyinformation,andshewritesitdown,nodding.“Bornat12:12a.m.,gotit.Amidnightbaby,cool.”
“That’stheonlyreasonIremember,honestly.”
“Whataboutyou,myskepticalfriend?”Florasks,appraisingTheo.
Hetellsher,thenwinksatme.“AndIwasbornatmidnight,onthedot.”
Irollmyeyes.“Ofcourseyouwere.”
TheoreachesovertotakemyhandwhileFlorworksonhercomputer.Shehums,herattentiondriftingtowardussometimes,othertimesoffintospace.
Finally,shesays,“Okay.Intheinterestoftransparency,Ihaveplansinabit,soIcan’tgiveyouanintensereading,butI’dlovetodoaquicksessionforbothofyou.Youdown?”
“Howmuchisthisgoingtocost?”Theoasks.
Shespreadsherhandsinfrontofher.“I’mdoingthisformyowncuriosity,friend.Youcantipifitresonates,butthisreadingisselfish.”
Ileanforward.“Selfishhow?”
“Theenergybetweenyoutwoisprettyintense.Itfeelsold.”
“Old?”Theoechoes,insulted.
Florlaughs.“Old,likemultigenerational.Likelotsofforcesandpeopleworkedtogetyoutogether.You’revery,veryconnected,andthat’srad.”
Theocatchesmyeye.It’sobvioushe’sstrugglingtobelievethis,thoughafaintblushspreadsacrosshischeeks.
Butherphrasingticklesmycuriosity.I’mdeterminedtoleavemyselfopentohermessage,whateveritis.Whenshesaysmultigenerational,doesshemeanGramandPaul?
I’mnotsohighonmyselfthatIpresumetoknoweverythingabouthowtheworldworks.It’struethatIdon’tknowwhatafterdeathlookslike,butIdofeelGramsometimes,inthestarsabovemeatnight.Rightnowinthisroom.WhatifFlorcanfeelthat,too?Whatifshefeelsallofthethingsthathadtohappentogetushere?
“Yougofirst,”Theosaystome,hisfingerslacingtighterthroughmine.
IturntoFlor,myheartbeatingheavily.“Okay.”
Sheshufflesthetarotdeck.Acardfallsoutalmostimmediately,andshepicksitup,hummingagain.Asmorecardsjointhefirstonthetable,varyingemotionscrossoverherfacelikeapassingstorm.
“Mmm.”Shenods,asifsomeone’sjustwhisperedinherear.“Gotit.”
Theo’sgazeishotonmycheek,butIfocusonFlor.There’sanenergybuildingbetweenus,avibrationinmychest.Fingertipsagainstmyneck.
Hereyesmeetmine,andit’slikealightningstrikeintothecenterofme.“It’sbeenalot,huh?”
MythroattightenssoquicklyIcanonlyletoutachokednoise.Besideme,Theoangleshisbodytowardmine,hiskneepressingupagainstmyleg.
“You’vehadthesemassiveexpectationsforaverylongtime,andtheyhaven’tbeenmet.It’swornyoudowntothepointthatyouswungthependulumallthewaytotheotherside.Youwentfromalltheexpectationstonone.”Florlooksdownatthecards,tappingone,andIleanin.Thecardisabeautifulswirlofgreen,white,black,andyellow,withaskeletonthathangsoverthewordDEATH.Myheartdrops.“Youhadguidance,though,someoneinyourlifewhoshowedupforyouwhenyoucouldn’tshowupforyourself,andthatkeptyouafloatinaspacethatwouldn’thavebeensustainableotherwise.”
Inod,barely,playingwithTheo’sfingersanxiously.
Florleansforward.“Thatguidanceisn’twithyouanymore,right?”
“Right,”Iwhisperasgoosebumpsbloomonmyskin.That’snotacoincidence,itcan’tbe.“Itwasmygrandma.Shediedsixmonthsago.”
“Yeah,so,mosttimesthedeathcardmeanstransformation,butsometimesitcanmeanearthlydeath,”shesays.“Inyourcase,andespeciallywiththeothercardsIpulled,Ithinkit’sboth.Yourgrandma’sdeathcrackedyourworlddownthemiddle.Itputyouintheshadowsthatwerelurkingaroundthecorneranyway.Asoulmatedoesn’thavetoberomanticandcanserveaveryspecificneedinyourlife.Youcanhaveoneyourwholelifeormany.”Atthis,hereyesflickertoTheo,likeshe’smakingsurehe’slistening,beforelandingbackonme.“Shewasoneofyours.Shewasrootedineveryaspectofyourlife,sowhenshedied,thoserootspulledupandlefteverythingafuckingmess.Idon’tblameyouforretreating,friend.It’sheavy.”
Ibrushatmysuddenlywetcheeks,flushingwithembarrassment.
“Maybe—”Theostartstosay,butIshakemyhead,myeyeslockedwithFlor’s
“Keepgoing.”
“Here’swhereitgetsalittlemagical,”Florsayswithawink.“LikeIsaid,thedeathcardalsomeanstransformation,andIpulledthewheeloffortunecard,too.You’reinthemiddleofallthis.It’sanintensetimeofchangeforyou.Everythingfeelsupsidedown,butthat’sjustyourperspectiveshifting.You’reseeingglimpsesofthewaythingscouldbe,aren’tyou?”
Itcomesinsnapshots:Thebeginningofthistriptonow,mycamerainmyhands,Gram’sletters.Paulandhiscardigans,hiskindsmileandevenkinderwords.TheoandhisX-rayeyes.ThemomentsI’vecapturedonfilmandvideo.ThatemailfromtheTahoeresort.Home.Theo’shouseandthespacesIcouldfill—hiskitchenfordinner,hisbedsomenights.
Thatlastvisualsinksitsclawsin.“Ido.ButIquestionifit’sreal.”
Florplacesherhandsoverthecards,asifabsorbingtheirenergy.“That’snormal.You’reinbuildmode,andthatfeelsscary.Butgiveyourselfcreditforyourbravery.That’swhat’sgoingtocarryyouthrough.Youthinkyou’vegivenup,butyouhaven’t.You’rejustrestingbeforeyoubuildtherest.”
Sometimeshopehurtswhenitgrowstooquickly.Rightnow,it’ssobiginsidemybodyIwanttoscream.Instead,Iletoutabreath.“Thankyou.”
Florgivesmeawarm,guilelesssmile,likeshedidn’tjuststripmedowntomybonesinfrontofthemanwho’sstrippedmenearlythatfar.
“Allright,nowit’sSternandSilent’sturn.”Florsweepsmycardsupandstartshershuffleoveragain.
Theoleansover,whispering,“Youokay?”
Inod.“It’sjustintense.You’llsee.”
Hemakesasoundinhisthroat,fullofdoubt,butthenFlormurmurs,“Wow,”andhispenetratinggazedartstoher.
“What?”heasks,edgy.
Florinspectsthespread,hereyebrowsarchedhigh.“Well,itlookslikeyourworldiscrashingdownaroundyou.”Shepinshimwithneoneyes,placingherfingersovertwocards.“Doesthatresonate?”
Shesaysitlikeshealreadyknowsitdoes.It’stellingwhenTheodoesn’trespond.
Herappraisalisbriefbutkeen,andsheholdsupthecard.It’sastonetower,aflame,withpeoplefallingoutofit.“Thiscardmeanscrisisandtransformation.Something’shappeningorhappenedthat’sshakenthefoundationofeverythingyouknow.Ialsopulledthetenofswords—”Shepushesitacrossthetable,thecornercatchinginawoodgrain.ThepopitmakessoundslikethunderagainstTheo’ssilence.“Theseswordshavefoundtheirtarget.Couldbeyou,couldbearelationship.There’sasenseofbetrayal,right?”
“DidIgetthetwoworstcardsbecauseIdon’tbelieveinthisorwhat?”Theoasks,buthisvoiceisunsteady.
“They’renottheworstcards,”Florargues.“Imean,listen,doesanyonewantthesecards,especiallytogether?Knee-jerkresponsewouldbeno.Butthisisdestroyingwhatnolongerservesyousoyoucancomebackstronger,inadifferentway.You’repreparingforatransformation.”
Theoreleasesmyhand,pointingbetweenthetwoofus.“Howcanwebothbetransforming?”
Florliftsashoulder.“We’reallconstantlytransforming,sometimesinlittlewaysandsometimesinbigones.It’spossibletheuniversewantedyoutogetherwhileyouwentthroughthis.Ican’tsayforsure.”
Mygazedriftsovertothemural,tothepaintedeyethat’sbeenwatchingusfromthestart,andashiverworksdownmyspine.IturnbacktoTheo,whosehandsarenowlacedbetweenhisspreadknees.Hisbrowsaredrawntight,butotherwiseIcan’treadhisexpression,andIwonderifanyofthismakessensetohim.Isitabouthisrelationshipwithhisdad?Abouthisjob?ArethecardssayingheshouldgiveintowhatAntonandMatiaswant?WhereToNext’suncertainfutureclearlyhurtshim,butmaybethetransformationisliteral—thecompanywillshift,andhisgrowthwillbetiedtothat.
Itsoundslikeagoodthing,butTheo’sfrowndeepens.
“Mypointis,thisisgoingtohappennomatterwhat.It’shappening.”Florleansforwardonherelbows,thetowercardfallingtotheground,andpressesalongfuchsianailonthetableinfrontofhim.“Thecardsareinvitingyoutoletitgoandletsomethingnewandbettergrow.You’vebeenplacedwithresourcesinyourlifethatwillhelpyoumoveon,butyouhavetoallowthatresourcetohelpyou.”
There’salong,drawn-outsilence.Finally,Theoclearshisthroat.“Gotit.”
Iplacemyhandonhisthigh,palmup,buthedoesn’ttakeit,soIcurlmyhandoverhisleginstead,wantingtocomforthimsomehowevenifhewon’tgrabholdofithimself.There’saninvisiblewallbetweenus.Whateverthismeanstohim,he’sprocessingit.Alone.
Florcrossesherarms,herexpressionkind.“Ihopethishelped.”
“Somuch.”PartofmewishesIhadn’tpushedsohard,though.Thelight,sexymoodTheoandIbuiltoverdinnerisgone,andIdon’tknowifIcangetitback.“Thankyoufortakingthetimetodothis.”
“Totallyselfishonmypart.Thatconnection,whew.”Florfansherface.“Nearlyblewmeoverwhenyouwalkedin.”
Ilaughuncomfortably,digginginmypurseforcashsoIdon’thavetolookatTheo.It’sonethingtofeeltheintenseconnection.It’sanotherthingforatotalstrangertofeelitandmakeitathing.
WhenIfindwhatI’mlookingfor,IstandandextendthemoneytowardFlor.“Wewon’tkeepyou;Iknowyousaidyouhadplans.”
Theopushesmyhandaway,placingtwohundred-dollarbillsonthetable.“Thanksforyourtime,”hesayswoodenly,hiseyeslingeringonthetarotcardsbeforedriftingdowntotheoneonthefloor.
Heturnsandleaves,hisshoulderscoiled.
IturntoFlor,hesitating.“I’msorry,he’sjust—”
There’snogoodwaytoendthatsentence.Idon’tknowwhatheis.Skeptical,sohewantstogetoutofthere?Shaken,sohehastoleave?
Shewavesmeoff.“Igetitallthetime.It’shardforpeopletohearwhatneedstobedone,especiallywhenithurts.”
MyhandisonthedoorknobwhenFlorsays,“Bytheway,whenIsaidhehadaresourcetohelphimmoveon?”Oureyesmeetandshesmiles.“Imeantyou.”Twenty-Six
TheoiswaitingonthecurbwhenIstepoutside,hischintippeduptowardthesky.
“Areyouokay?”
Heblinksoutofwhatevertrancehewasin,blowingoutabreath.“Can’tsayI’veeverhadadateendthatway.”
“Areyouokay,though?”Ipress,inspectinghimforsignsofdistress.
Hisexpressionblanksout.“I’mfine.I’mnotgettingtwistedupaboutafewcardsrandomlypulledoutofadeck.”Hestepscloser,takingmyhand.“Yougood?Itgotheavyinthereforyou.”
Ishiftfromfoottofoot,feelingsillysuddenly.Insidethatroom,everythingwasintenselyreal.Now,withconversationfromnearbyrestaurantsfloatinginthestillair,withTheolookingatmelikeeverything’sfine,IwonderifIoverreacted.MaybeIassignedtoomuchmeaning,notjusttohisreading,butmyown
Mycheeksflush.Ituckastrandofhairbehindmyears,lookingpasthisshoulder.“I’mgood.Let’sgetback?”
Theo’seyesnarrow,buthenods.WhenIstarttowalk,hepullsmebackuntilI’mpressedupagainsthim.“Hey.”
“What?”Myheartispounding.Idon’tknowwhy.
Hisvoicedipslow.“Idon’tbelieveinthatstuff,butifyou’reupsetaboutanythingshesaid,youcantalktome.Youknowthat,right?”
Istareupathim,themoonshootingsilverthroughhishair,teasingmewithhowhe’lllookyearsfromnow.
Amillionwordssitinmythroat,andthesearetheheaviest:youcantalktome,too.Buthewon’t,andbecauseofthat,Ican’tgivehimanythingmorethanashaky“Yeah.”
Theridehomeismostlyquiet,andwestepintoanequallysilenthousetenminuteslater.Theoheadsforthekitchen.“Wantadrink?”
Ikickoffmyshoesbythedoor.“Sure.I’llberightback.”
Hegrabsabottleofwine,openingadrawerforthebottleopener.“I’lltakethisouttothepatio.Meetmethere.”
WhenIslipintothebathroom,Ileanagainstthedoorwithasigh.Thesmallwindowabovetheshowerletsinasliceofmoonlight,andIbreatheinthedarkness,rememberingtheenergyIfeltearlier.ThewordsFlorgaveme.
AmIsodesperateforchangethatIwanttobelievewhatshesaid?IsitpathetictolaysomuchhopeatthefeetoftheprogressI’vemadethesepasttwoweeks,withmyphotographyandhowI’mprocessingGram’sdeath,andevenTheo?SomanytimesnowI’vethoughtofthebubbleI’vebeenlivinginhere.It’sexpandingeveryday,andmaybethere’sachanceit’llsurvivewhenallthisisover.ButI’mstartingtoworryI’mheadedforapainfulrealitycheckwhenIgethome.
Frustrated,Iflickonthelight—andyelpwhenIseemyreflection.
There’smascaraallovermyface.
“Oh,forChrist’ssake.”Iwetawashclothandwipeatmycheeksuntilthestreaksaregone.Theskinunderneathturnspink,thenred.NowIlookpissed.
ButIam,alittle.Theobrushedoffthatwholething,andIdowanttobelieveit,whetherit’sridiculousornot.IwanttobelievethatI’mcapableofbeingbraveenoughtokeeptrying.IevenwanttobelieveI’mthepersonhemightturntowhenheneedshelp.Isn’tthatwhatpeoplewhocareabouteachotherdo?
AndIdocareabouthim,deeply.Hasthistripintensifiedafeelingthatwouldneversurviveoutsideofthis,orisitreal?
SuddenlyI’mquestioningeverything.
Imakemywaybacktothekitchen,slippingoutthedoortothepatio,whichTheoleftajar.He’ssittingonasleekL-shapedcouch,facingouttowardthedarkhorizon.Whenhehearsthecreakofmyfootstepsonthedeck,helooksoverhisshoulder.
“Igaveyouabig-asspour,”hesays,holdingtheglassabovehisheadasIcomeupbehindhim.
Irelievehimoftheglass,takingsuchadeepgulpthatI’mbreathlesswhenI’mdone.TheoraisesaneyebrowasIskirtthecouchandplopdown,keepingafewinchesofspacebetweenus.“ThanksfortellingmeIhadmascaraallovermyface.”
Hedoubletakesatthetoneofmyvoice.“Itwasn’tthatbad,Shepard,andwewereheadedhomeanyway.Youlookedlikeabeautifulraccoon.”
God,thisasshole.Hemakesmychesthurt.“Ilookedridiculous.”
“Allright,pointtaken,”hesays,hismouthpullingup.“I’llbesuretoalertyounexttime.”
Inod,swiggingagain.
“Noelle.”WhenIlookoverathim,he’swatchingmecarefully,hisexpressionmorphingfromamusementtoconcern.
“Theo,”Ivolleyback.
“What’swrong?”
“Nothing.”
Forabeat,theonlysoundbetweenusiscricketschirping.Finally,hesays,“Tellmethetruth.”
Thosewordshitmesomewheredeep.It’samoreintenseversionofTellMeaSecret;thestakesaresomuchhigher.
I’mafraidthebubbleisgoingtopopwhenIleastexpectit,andI’vebeenthroughthatbefore.Ineverwanttofeelthatlossofcontrolagain,soIputmyfingertoit,andIpopitmyself.Thisismylife,andifit’suglyandhehatesit,hewasgoingtowalkawayeventuallyanyway.
“Youdon’tbelievewhatFlorsaid,butmyreadingwasspot-on.Thebigexpectationsthatturnedintonone,GrambeingmyguidancewhenIwasfloundering,andhowIjust…feltuprootedwhenshedied.”
ItakehiminasIsetmywineglassdown—thesternsetofhiseyebrows,theconcernglowinginhiseyesjustbelow,thewayhe’sleaningintowardme,readytocatcheveryword.Andthere,writtenallacrosshisface,howhecaresforme.
“Idon’thaveajob,”Isay.“IliedtoyouwhenIsaidIdid.Igotlaidofffivemonthsago,andI’mprettypositiveitwasjustamorehumanewaytofireme.Imean,itwasn’tmydreamjobbyanystretchoftheimagination,butI’veneverhadthat.Thatphotographyassistantjobdecimatedmyself-esteem,andtherestofmyprofessionalcareerhasbeenunderwhelming.ThenIcan’tholdontosomemediocrejobIdidn’tevenlike?”
Hiseyebrowsflyuptohishairline,andhesitsback,hismouthparting.
Icontinue,gainingsteam.“Icouldn’ttellyou,soIletyoubelievethiswasavacationinstead.Ididn’thaveachoiceatthetime.Allweeverdidwasbattleagainsteachothertobethebest,andthankfullywedidn’tseeeachotherforyears,soyouhadnoideahoweasilyyouleapfroggedme.Butthenyoucaughtmeatmylowestmomentwhileyouwereatyourhighest.Imean,god.Forbes?Really?”
Hurtflashesacrosshisface,butheschoolsitimmediately.“That’swhyyoudidn’ttellme?BecauseyouthoughtI’dlookdownonyoufornotbeingsuccessful?Whenwhothefuckknowswhatthatreallymeans,anyway?Youlookatmeandthinkthat’stheonlywaysuccesslooks,butIpromiseyouit’snot.”
“Youcofoundedanentirecompany,Theo.”
“It’snotthatstraightforward,”heargues.
Ican’thelpthinkingofFlor’swordsearlier:yourworldiscrashingdownaroundyou.Butifhedoesn’tbelievethat,itcan’tbetrue.
“I’vebeenlivinginmychildhoodbedroomturnedPelotonstudiosinceJanuary,ifyouwanttotalkstraightforward.Forbetterorworse,Iwantedtosavefaceinfrontofyou.It’snotlikeIknewwhenwemetupthatfirsttimethateventuallywe’dbe…”Igesturebetweenus.“Whateverthisis.”
“Whateverthisis,”herepeatsblankly,runningahandoverhisjaw.“Right.”
“I’vebeenjobhunting,butit’ssobleak,andI’mstillscaredofpursuingphotography.Itfeelssafehere,butwhathappenswhenIgohome?”Iletoutabreath.“WhatifIfailagain?”
“You’realreadynotfailing,”Theosays.“ThatthingwiththeTahoeresort—”
“Whatifthat’sit?”
“Whatifit’snot?”heshootsback.“You’retalented.Youknowyouare.Andholyshit,fine,soyouhadtotakeabreatherafteroneofthemostimportantpeopleinyourlifedied.Soyougotlaidofffromajobyouhatedanyway,andyouhaven’tquitefoundyourplace.Youtriedtomakeagoatphotographyyearsagoanditdidn’tworkthattime.Doyouthinkthat’sanindictmentonwhoyouareasaperson,thatyou’restruggling?DoyouthinkthatI’dlookatyounowandthinkshe’sgoingthrougharoughtime,sonah,she’snotforme?”
Ishrughelplessly.“Historicaldatagoesagainstme.YoudatedawomanwhoworkedforNASA.”
“Andyoumeanmoretomeintwoweeksthanshedidinnearlyayear,youlittleGooglestalker,”hesnapsout,genuinelyaffronted.
Myhearttakesoffasthatsettlesbetweenus.Heseesmyeyesgosaucer-wideandletsoutafrustratedgrunt.
“IsaiditearliertodayandI’llsayitagain—youhavenoideahowamazingyouare.I’llgiveituptothatpsychic,becauseshehadonethingright:you’vebeenthroughhelllosingyourgrandma.MaybeIdidn’tknowherpersonallyorseeyourrelationshipplayout,butIknowwhatyouhadwithher.Irecognizeitinmyownrelationshipwithmygranddad.”Hisvoicewobbles,andheclearshisthroatoverit.“Thewayyoutalkabouther,thewayyou’rehonoringherbytakingthistrip.Hell,thewayyoumadethedecisiontojustgoandallowedmeandGranddadtotagalong.We’regettingtocreatememoriestogetherwhileyou’restillgrievingthefactthatyoudon’thaveanymemorieslefttomake.Youdon’tfuckingknow,Noelle,thescopeofwhatyou’vedone.”
Justlikethat,myeyesareleakingagain,andthistimehereachesovertowipethetearsaway.
“Haveyoubeenreadingthecommentsonyourvideos?”heasks,hiseyeslockedwithmine.“Theoneswherepeoplesaythey’vecalledtheirgrandparents,theirparents,theirpeopletotellthemtheylovethembecausethey’verealizedhowluckytheyare?Theoneswherepeoplesaythisstoryyou’retellingishelpingthemwiththeirowngrief?”
“Yes,”Iwhisper.Thosearetheonesthathealmethemost.
“Youthinkthat’snotsuccess?YouthinkIdon’tlookatyouandwonderwhatyouseeinme?”Histhumbmovesdowntomycheek,andhefollowsitwithhiseyes.“YouthinkIdon’twatchyoutakingpicturesoreditingthemonyourcomputerwiththatscrunchylittlefaceyoumake”—hegrinswhenIletoutachokedlaugh—“andsitinaweoftheworkyoudo?Howpeopleconnectwithit?BecauseIpromiseyou,Ido.Ifyoucouldseeyourselfthroughmyeyes,yourheadwouldn’tfitthroughthedoor.”
It’snotmyheadthat’sgrown,it’smyheart,suddenlytoobigformychest.Itpressespainfullyatmyribs,strugglingtogetoutsoitcanplopitselfinTheo’shands.
“Don’tputyourselfupagainstme,”hesays.“I’mgoingtobetheonewhodoesn’tmeasureup.”
“That’snottrue,”Isay,insultedonhisbehalf.
“Itis.”There’ssomethingsearchinginhisvoice,inthewayhelooksatme.Heinhales,asifhe’sgoingtosaymore.
Butinsteadheletsoutapained,frustratedsigh,thengrazeshislipsoverthecornerofmymouth,movingtotheotherside.Iclosemyeyes,partingmylipstolethiminifhewantsit.
“Ihatethatyoufeltlikeyouhadtolietome,”hemurmurs.“Butjustsowe’reclear,Iwantyou,Noelle.Don’tthinkthatthereareconditionstothewayIfeelaboutyou.”
Ipullback,asbreathlessasifhe’dbeenkissingmeforminutesorhours,insteadofjustteasingmewithhismouth.“Ifeelthesameway.”
Hisgazeturnsintent.“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Hesighs,dragginghismouthalongmycheek,untilitgetstomyear.“Tellmeasecret.”
“Idon’twanttobedonewiththisintwodays.”Assoonasthatlastconfessionisout,thereliefpoursthroughmelikeadrenaline.“Tellmeyours.”
Hepullsback.“Idon’twanttobedonewiththisatall.”
Firecrackersinmyblood.It’stheonlywaytodescribethefeeling,andIsuddenlyhavetobeclosertohim,soIcrawlintohislap.Icradlehisfaceandbringhimtome,laughingagainsthissurprisedinhale,thenlickinguphisgroan.Headjuststothechangeinmoodflawlessly,cuppingmyasstopullmecloser.
Theo’skissturnsintenseimmediately,andItakeit,becauseIcan.Becausewebattle,butattheendofthedaywe’redoingitsidebyside.
“Ineedyou,”hesaysagainstmymouth.
“Canwego—”
Hehasmeinhisarms,stridingtowardthedoor,beforeIcansayinside.Heclosesandlocksthepatiodoorbehindus,thencarriesmetohisroom,tossingmeontothebed.
“Iknewyouwantedtothrowmearound,”Isayashecrawlsoverme,bitingsoftlyatmyneck,suckingatmyskin.Hemovesuptomyjaw,thecornerofmymouth,beforenippingatmybottomlip.
Hepropshimselfupononeelbow,tanglinghisfreehandintomyhair.Foramoment,hejustlooksdownatme.IwishIhadmycamerasoIcouldcapturethismoment,eventhoughIknowI’llneverforget—it’sthebeginningofsomethingIdon’tseetheendof.
“Imeantallofthat,”hesays.“Iwanttokeepseeingyouwhenwegethome.”
Irunmyfingersthroughhishair,meltingwhenhiseyesfallclosed,hismouthpullingup.“Ido,too.AndI’msorryIlied.”
“Iunderstand,”hesayshoarsely,thenkissesmesodeeply,withanurgencyI’mnotsureIunderstand,thoughmybodyrunswildwithit.
Ourclothesaregoneinminutes,andIgriphishairwhilehesettlesbetweenmylegs,lickingatmeuntilI’mbeggingforhimtomakemecome.Hepushesmeovertheedgewithbrutalcare,sohardIhavetomufflemysoundswiththebackofmywrist.Andwhenhecrawlsbackoverme,pantingfromallhistirelesswork,Itakethecondomhepulledfromthepocketofhisjeansandputitonhim,watchasheleansbackandtakeshimselfinhand,strokingupanddownthroughthewetnesshecreated.
“Fuck,”hewhispers,mesmerized.
“Reallywishyouwould.”Ipushmyhipsup,tryingtopullhimintotheclaspofmybody.TheneedIhaveissobigitaches.Iwantittohurtwhenhefillsme.
HegrinsandIreachup,pressingmythumbintothecreviceofhisdimple.Hecurvesoverme,stillpressingrightwhereIneedhim,butnotslidingin.Histongueslipspastmylips,tanglingwithmineasherockshiships.Icupmyhandsaroundthemtofeelthewayhisbodyworks,musclesplayingunderhotskin.ThenIdigmynailsin,smilingintriumphwhenhegroansagainstmymouth.
“Youcantakeme,can’tyou,”hepantsout,andit’snotaquestion.Hejustwantstohearmesayit.
“Yes,”Iwhisper.
Thegive-and-takewehaveissogood.HeknowsIcanhandlewhathegivesmeandthrowitrightback,anditstokesmycraving,thathewantsallofme,eventhepartsthatarestillbrokenorhealing.
Ahungrylookcurlsintohisexpressionashelineshimselfup,hischestrumblingoutanmmm.Hedoesn’tseethereliefonhisfacewhenhesinksallthewayinsideme,butIdo.It’sasecrethedoesn’tevenknowhe’stoldme.
ButIknow,ashecurlshishandsaroundmyshouldersandfucksmeuntilI’mcryingoutquietlyagainsthisskin,it’salsothetruth,simplysetfree.Twenty-Seven
Jeez,Shepard,Ithoughtyouweregoingtopulloutashivandstabmeintheheartasyourgrandfinale.”
Ilaugh,windingmyarmthroughTheo’sasweleavethehotel’son-sitetenniscourt,wherewejustplayedthreesets.“Would’vebeenunnecessarybloodshed.IprovedmypointwhenIwipedthecourtwithyou.”
Helooksoverhisshouldertomakesurenoone’saround,thengivesmyassapunishingsqueeze.“Youbarelybeatmeinthelasttwosets,andIkickedyourassinthefirst.”
“Stillbeatyou,”Igloat.
“I’mnevergoingtoheartheendofthis,amI?”hegroans,squintingagainsttheearly-morningsun.
“Unlikely.Butyoucanchallengemetoarematchwhenwegethome.”Myheartbeatshard,andnotjustfrommyvictory;it’sthefirsttimeeitherofushavetalkedaboutspecificpost-vacationplans.
It’stimetostartmakingthem,though.AfterspendingthenightinPalmSprings,we’redrivinghomeinjustacouplehours,thoughI’mtryingnottothinkaboutit.Iwon’tbewrappingmyselfaroundTheotonight,listeningtohisheartbeatasIfallasleep,orwakinguptohimtomorrowmorning,gettingthesleepy,vulnerableversionofhim.
“Youwereonyourphoneearlythismorning.Everythinggood?”heasksasweapproachtheelevator.
Ishakemymelancholythoughtsaway.“Ohyeah,IgotareplybackfromThePeaksResort.TheywantmeinTahoeassoonaspossible,andIsaidIcouldcomeupanytimenextweek.TheyconfirmedThursdaywasperfect.”
Theo’seyeswiden.“Really?That’squick.”
“Ihaveabsolutelynothingelsegoingon,andIgettostaythereforfreeforanight—ortwo,ifIwanted.”
Westepintotheelevator,andhebacksmeintothewall,grippingthehandrailoneithersideofmyhips.Hisneckisdampwithsweat,cheeksflushed,eyesbrightastheymoveovermyface.
“Wanttocomewithme?”Itease.
Stormcloudsenterhiseyes,chasingawaythelight.“Uh,Idon’tthinkthat’spossible.I’llbedeepinshitnextweek.”
ItugonthehemofhisT-shirt.“Nokidding.I’mjustdaydreaming.IknowIcan’taskyoutoescapereallifesosoonaftergettingbacktoit.They’reprobablygoingtosuperglueyoutoyourdesk.”
“I—”Amuscleticsinhisjawastheelevatordings;we’vearrivedatourfloor.Helooksoverhisshoulder,andsays,faintly,“Yeah.”
ThechangeinhismoodissoabruptthatIgrabhiswristasweexittheelevator.“Hey,wait.”
“I’mgood,”hesays,anticipatingmynextquestion.“Ijust…”Herunsanagitatedhandthroughhishair,lookingatme.“IguessI’mnotquitereadytothinkaboutbeingdonehere.”
Mychestgoestight.“I’mfeelingit,too.”
“We’vegotclosetoaneight-hourdrive,though,andIdon’twantyougettinghometoolate.Let’sgetpackedupandgo.”
“Okay,”Isay,buthe’salreadywalkingaway.
Paulgivesusaletteraswesettleintothevan.
“Remember,”hesays.“Thestory’snotover.Wehavetime.”
Theohasn’tfullyreboundedfromourweirdelevatorconversationearlier.Still,Igetasmallgrinasheleansonhisarmrest,readytoreadtheletterwithme.
ButI’mnotsureI’mready.ThedateofthisletterwasjustdaysbeforetheonePaulgaveuswhenwestartedthistriptwoweeksago.Isensetheendapproaching,andIdon’twantitto,assurelyasIdon’twanttodrivehometoday.
Theo’shandcoversmine,histhumbtracingalineovermyknuckles.Atouchofreassurance.
Withanexhale,Iread.
May6,1957
DearPaul,
Idon’twanttoworryyou,butIspokewithmyfathertodayandhewantsmetomeetafriendofRobert’swholiveshere.Theexpectationwasclear:hewantsmetogoonadatewithhim.Itseemsthey’retiredofwaitingformetofindsomeonemyself.Itoldhimitwasn’tpossible,thatI’mtoobusywithschoolandI’llfindsomeonewhenthetimeisright.Myfatherdidn’thavemuchtosayafterthat,butmybrotheraskedallsortsofquestionsaboutwhoI’vemetsincelastwinter.Sinceyou.
Ithinkthey’resuspicious.
Ihaveawildidea.I’vebeenthinkingaboutitforquiteawhile,butI’vebeentooscaredtosayitoutloud.Ihavenoideawhatyou’llthink,orifyou’llevenwantit.
Whatifweelope?
Wecouldgetmarriedwhenschoolends,keepitasecretuntilit’sdone.Maybemyparentswillacceptyouonceyou’remyhusband.Andiftheydon’t,there’snothingthey’llbeabletodoanyway.
It’sarisk.Theywouldbeveryangry.ButIthinkeventuallythey’dforgiveme.
Iwish
Iloveyou.
Kat
Itracethecrossed-outIwish,rubbingattheacheinmychest.TheanxietyinGram’slettertransferstomyalreadyunsettledstomach.Shecutherselfoffbeforeshecouldcompletethethought,butsheletPaulseeherworry,herhopeanddespairinthosecrossed-outwords.
“Theelopementwasheridea?”Iask.
Behindme,Paulsays,“Itwas,butI’dthoughtaboutit,too.Whenshebroughtmetheletter,Iwasrelieved.Itseemedwehadtheperfectsolutiontoanimperfectsituation.”
Atangleofemotionswraparoundme.IlookoveratTheo,hisfacereflectingwhatI’mfeeling:curiosity,concern,ahintofsadness.IknowonlysomeofitisrelatedtoGramandPaul’sstory.
IfIheartherestnow,it’llbemylastgameofTellMeaSecretwithGram.Itmakesmewanttobendoverinmyseatandcry.ButIalsowanttoknow.IneedthatclosurebeforeIgettheclosurefromthistrip.
AndmaybeIneedthereassurancethatafterthingsend,lifegoeson.Sometimesevenbeautifully.
IturnbacktoPaul.Hiseyebrowsraise,hisage-wornhandsfoldedinhislap.
“Canyoutellmetherest?”
Paul’sexpressionsoftens.“Ofcourse.”
TheosqueezesmyhandandstartsthecarwhilePaulbegins.
WewindthroughPalmSpringsashetellsushesuspectsRobert’sfriendtippedGram’sparentsoffabouttheirrelationship.
“There’slittleotherexplanationforwhyherparentsrusheddowntoLAandpulledherfromschool,”Paulsays,settlingintohisseataswemergeontothefreeway.“Ihavetoassumeshesoundeddifferentaftertheircall.I’doverheardenoughconversationswiththemtoknowitwasapossibility.Shethoughtshekeptoursecretwell,butIworriedthey’dhearitinhervoice—theanxiety,theextendedpausesbeforesheansweredquestions.Secretsgetharderthelongeryoukeepthem.”
Inmyperiphery,Theoshiftsinhisseat.Ilookoverathim,questioning,butheonlyshakeshishead.
“Robert’sfriendwaslocal,andherbrotherwasterriblyoverprotectiveofher.RobertneveradmittedittoKat,butIbelievehehadhisfriendfollowusafterthatcall,”Paulsays.“Unfortunately,Ibelievethedayhechosewasthedaywegotourmarriagelicense.”
ThevanjerksasTheorepeats,incredulous,“Marriagelicense?”
Myjawdropstothefloor.“Whenyousaidyou’dmadeplans,youreallymadeplans.”
Paullaughswryly.“Wedid.Eventhoughitwasallveryfast,weweredetermined.Toodetermined.Inhindsight,wewantedtomakeitworksobadlythatwedidn’tseetheholesinourplan.”Hesighs.“Kathadneversteppedoutofline,andshelovedherfamilydearly,despitehowheavy-handedtheycouldbe.Iknewshehatedkeepingthatsecret,butIunderestimatedherfearofhowitwouldaltertheirrelationship.IwassodistractedbyallthelogisticsthatIdidn’tseethatshewasstrugglingwiththedecisionitself.”
Iimaginehertryingtofigureoutwhichwayherlifewouldgo.Whichwaywasright,andhowmuchitwasgoingtohurteitherway.“Sowhathappened?”
“LikeIsaid,wewenttogetourmarriagelicense.Itwasjustbeforefinals.Katwasanervouswreck,lookingoverhershouldereverymoment,butwhenwegotthatlicenseinhand,sheseemedrelieved.
“Twodayslater,therewasaknockatourfraternityhouseinthemiddleofthenight.ItwasKat’sfriend,Gail.”
“Damn,”Theomurmurs.
“ShetoldmethatKat’sfamilyandRobert’sfriendhadshownupatherdorm,sayingtheyknewabouttheelopement.Herparentsmadeherpackupherthings,”Paulsays.“Thetimingwastoocoincidental,andRobert’sfriendbeingtherewhentheygotherstillmakesmethinkhewastheculprit.”
“Screwthatguy,”Imutter.PaulandTheochuckleintandem.
“GailescortedKattothebathroom,andKattoldherwhereallofourlettersandpictureswere.Shewasabletowritemeaquicknotetellingmewhathappened.Shetoldmenottoworry,we’dfigureitout,butofcourseIwasworriedsick.”
“Howcouldyounotbe?”Isay,feelingsickmyself.“Wasthatit?Younevergottoseeeachotheragain?”
“Ohno.Iwasfuriousanddeterminedtofigureitout.Myparentsurgedmetolethergo,butthat,ofcourse,mademedigmyheelsinevenfurther.”Helooksathisgrandson,asoft,sadsmileonhisface.“Stubbornpriderunsinthefamily.”
“Granddad,”Theosays,awarninginhisvoice.Ilookbetweenthetwomenastheyseemtohaveasilentconversation.
Finally,Paullooksbackatme.“Kat’sfriendinGlenlakewasabletoactasanintermediaryforus.Wesentletters,hadacoupleofcalls.Iheldontoourmarriagelicense,justincase,butshegotmorehopeless,evenassheinsistedshe’dfiguresomethingout.Herparentswereverygoodatpersuadingher,tellinghershe’dfindsomeonenew,thatthey’dneveracceptme.She’dhadawonderfulrelationshipwiththemuptothatpoint,sotheiropinionmattered.”
“Sodidyours,”Isay.
“Yes,”hesays.“Butsodidhers.Iofferedtotalktoherparents,toassurethem,butitwastoolate.Toomuchtimehadpassed,toomanyliesandsecretsinourrelationship.Ineverwouldhavegainedtheirtrust.”
“Wasn’tthereachancethey’dcomearound?”
“Maybetheywould’vetriedintheirway,butwhatifKat’srelationshipwithherparentseventuallydeterioratedbeyondrepair?WhatifKatlostthem?”Paulshakeshishead.“Icouldn’thavelivedwiththat.Ilovedher,butIdidn’twanthertosacrifice,eventhoughshewaswillingto.Wewould’vefallenapartunderthatpressure.Hell,wealreadyhad.Ittookmeyearstorecognizethattruth,butonceIdid,Icouldseeitfromthestart.”
“Shewasastrongwoman.”WhyamIarguing?Iknowhowitends.IfPaulandGramhadendeduptogether,TheoandIwouldn’tevenexist.
“Shewas,”hesays,equallykindandfirm,“butshewasalsotwentyatthetime,whenwomenwereeitherdependentupontheirfamilyortheirhusband.IlovedyourgrandmotherandIalwayswill,butthatrelationshipwasn’ttobe.IttaughtmethelessonIneededthen,andformyfirstmarriage,too.”
Theo’seyescatchPaul’sintherearview.“Whatlesson?”
“Whenit’srighttofightforlove,andwhenit’srighttoletitgo.KatandIwerebuiltonanalreadycrumblingfoundation.Pushingforthatrelationshipwouldhaveendedindisaster,andintheend,webothknewit.”
“So,didyoubreakupforgoodinthatletterIfound?”Iask.
“No,IdroveuptoGlenlake,”Paulsays.“Itwasmidsummerbythattime.Wemetataparknearherhouseandtalkedaboutwhatweshoulddo,thoughweknewbythattime.Wejusthadtosayitoutloud.Itwashardandveryemotional.ForawhileIwasn’tokay,andIsuspectshewasn’teither.Isenthertheletteryoufoundinhopesthatwe’dbothheal.Andwedid.”
Mythroatgoestight;evenifshefeltlikeshefailed,sheultimatelyfoundherhappiness.Shedoesn’tneedtobewithmenowtotellmethat.IthinkofherandGrandpaJoedancinginthekitchen.Mydadandhisbrothers.OurraucousChristmasesandGram’swide,happysmile.
I’mgoingthroughallthestagesofgriefatonce.ListeningtoPaulandGram’sstoryhurts.Butknowinghowitplayedoutsoothesthestingoftheirheartache.
“Ittooktime,”Isayfinally.
“Healingalwaysdoes,”Paulsays.“Remember,nothinglastsforever.Youhavetoholdontothegoodthings,knowingyoumaybeonborrowedtimewiththem.Andwiththebad,recognizethateventuallyitwillpass.”
“Anyregrets?”Theoasks,histonesearching.
Paulshakeshishead,gazingathisgrandson.“None.AnyfailureIfeltatthetimeturnedintoopportunitydowntheroad.Thepainledmetomyfirstwifeandourboys,toyou,andultimatelytoVera.”
Weallsinkintothesilencetogether,consideringthat.
Iletoutabreath.“Thisisgoingtotakesomeprocessing.”
“Undoubtedly,”Paulreplies.“Ittookmeyears.Giveyourselftime.”
Milespassbeforewespeakagain.MymindisspinningwiththoughtsofGram,ofthistrip,ofthemeninthecarwithme.Theo’szonedoutwithhisRadiohead,andPaul’sreadinginthebackseat,hummingquietly,whenIrealizesomething.
IturntoPaul,raisinganeyebrow.“Yousaidwecouldtakeourtimewiththestory,butyoufinishedwithtimetospare.”
“Well,Igotthefeelingyouwantedanexcusetokeepseeingme.”Hewinks,andit’ssomuchlikeTheo’smischievousonethatIcan’thelplaughing.“Buttruly,Iwantedanexcuseforyoutwotokeepseeingeachother.”
“Youaresuchapainintheass,”Theomutters.
Heraisesaneyebrow.“Butyouworkedthatout,didn’tyou?”
IcatchTheo’seye,myfaceflushing.Iguesswedid.
Therestofthedrivepassestooquickly.ItrytoholdontothelasthoursIhavebeforeIstepbackintoreallife,butitslipsthroughmyfingerslikesand,andsuddenlywe’repullinguptoPaul’shouse.Minewillbenext.Myparentstextedtoletmeknowthey’reouttodinnerwithfriendsandwon’tbehomewhenIarrive,buttheycan’twaittocatchup.IhatethatI’mcomingbacktoanemptyhouse;I’vebecomesousedtonotbeingalone.
Idon’twanttoletthesetwoweeksgo.Ihavenoideawhattoexpectnow,eventhoughtherearethingstolookforwardto:thatTahoetrip,themomentumI’vegainedwithmyphotography,Theo.ThechangesI’vededicatedmyselftomaking.I’mnotthesameNoelleIwaswhenIleft.
Theounbuckleshisseatbelt,raisingaquestioningeyebrowatme.“Youwanttostayoveratmyplacetonight?”
“YouhavenoideahowmuchIwishIcould,butIshouldprobablybetherewhenmyparentsgethome.”
“Ofcourse,”hesays,thoughhedoesn’ttrytohidehisdisappointment.
IhangbackwhileTheoandPaulembrace.Neitherofthemletgoforalongtime,andwhenPaulclapsTheo’sbackandwhisperssomethinginhisear,Theosqueezeshiseyesshut.
“Besttripofmylife,”Pauldeclares.Theolookstowardthehouse,wipingathiseyes.Isteptowardhim,butPaulinterceptsme,hisexpressionsoft.“Thankyouforthisopportunity,sweetheart.Ican’ttellyouwhatit’smeanttome.”
Iswallowhard,pushingdowntheemotionthat’smovingupfrommychest.“Thankyoufortellingmeyourstory.I’msorryitwaspainful,butIguessIcan’tbesorryforhowitturnedout.”
Hissmileiswide.“It’sexactlyasintended,Noelle.Ipromise.Oh!ThereisonemoreletterI’dliketoshowyou.Let’smakeadate.”
IcatchTheo’seyeasPaulpullsmeintoatighthug.Theaffectiononhisfaceflattensme.“Yeah,adatesoundsperfect.”
Theopullsmysuitcasefromthevanwithagrunt.“Youfreethisweekend?”
Iblinkoutofmyblankstareatmyparents’house.“Allyours,Spencer.”
Theosetsthebagasideandpullsmeintohisarms.Isinkagainsthimwithasigh.
“I’mgoingtomissyouinmybed,”hesays.“Kickingmeinthemiddleofthenight,makingyourannoyingsnufflingsounds.”
Igivehimaderisivelook.“Firstofall,you’vebeeninmybed.Secondofall,youtalkinyoursleep,soyoudon’thaveroomtotalk.”
“Idonottalkinmysleep,”heinsists,cheeksturningpink.
“Yousuredo.”Sometimeshesighsoutanonsensephrase;othertimesit’sawholeconversationfromanotherdimension.I’llneveradmitit,butIhavearecordingonmyphone.
Theo’seyesnarrow.“WhatdoIsay?”
“Oh,didn’tItellyou?Iknowallofyoursecretsnow.”Helaughs,alittleuncomfortably,soItakepityonhim.“I’mjoking.It’sgibberish.”
“Right.”Hisshouldersdropandhetightenshisholdonme.Againstmyhair,hemurmurs,“I’llbearoundalldaytomorrow,sojustcomeoverwhenever,okay?”
“YougonnaletmetakeBettyforajoyride?”AsIsayit,I’mimaginingthat:thewindinmyhairandTheo’s,myhandsalloverthesteeringwheel.Hishandhighuponmythigh,watchingmebecausethesightofmedrivinghisBroncomakeshim—
“Absolutelyfuckingnot.”TheoextinguishesthefantasybeforeIcanfinishit,pullingback.“ButI’lldriveyou.We’llgosomewhereprivate,andyoucanmeetmeinthebackseat.”
“ZerochanceofthatifIdon’tgetmyhandsonherstickshift.”
Thatdimplepopissounfair,asisthesmugsmileitbrackets.“Youcangetyourhandsonmystickshift.”
“Somehownotascompelling.”
Hisgrinturnswicked,butitdriftsawayashecupsmyjaw,runninghisthumbovermybottomlip.
“Ihadagoodtimewithyou,Shepard,”hesays.
Whatawildunderstatement.Thishasbeenthebesttwoweeksofmylife.“Itwasokay.”
Helaughs,awarethatI’mfullofshit.“I’llexpecttoseeaTikTokdetailingallyourfavoritethingsaboutmebeforebedtimetonight.”
“Noproblem,it’llbelikefivesecondslon—gah!”Hegrabsmearoundthewaistwithagrowl,liftingme,andIletoutashriekthatsendsbirdsflyingfromtheirtreeperches.“Fine!It’llbeaten-parter,okay?”
“Twopartsdedicatedjusttomymassive—”
“Ego,yes.”Iwindmyarmsaroundhisneck,diggingmyfingersintohishair.
“Gonnabeamenacetotheend,huh?”Theosayssoftly,eyeswarmandhappy.
Iliftaneyebrow,myheartsuddenlypounding.“Whatend?”
Somethingflashesinhiseyes—Iswearitlookslikefear—butthenit’sgone,quickasacameraflash.Headjustsmypositionsoournosesgraze,thenbrusheshismouthovermine,keepingitsoftandendingitjustlikethat.Apromiseofsomethingmore.
“Bye,Noelle,”hewhispers.
“Seeyou,Theo,”Iwhisperback.
Iwatchhimdriveaway,standingnexttomysuitcase.There’snothinglefttodobuttogoinside.Stepbackintomyoldlife.
Ican’twaittomakeitbrand-new.Twenty-Eight
Almostimmediately,thetripfeelslikeitwasalifetimeago.TheonlytangiblereminderIhaveisintensetanlines.
AndTheo.
IshowupathisdoorstepearlySaturdaymorning,bothbecauseIspentthenightbeforetossingandturninginanotherwiseemptybedandbecauseI’mtryingtoformulatehowtotellmyparentswhatI’vespentthelasttwoweeksdoinginawaythatdoesn’tsoundcompletelyunhinged.
I’mworriedabouttellingDad.Worriedabouthowhe’lltakeGramandPaul’sstory,howhe’lltakethatItraveledwithPaulandliedaboutit.I’mlessworriedabouthowhe’lltakemyactualrelationshipwithTheo,buthe’ssuchanintegralpartoftheentiretangledweb.Willhethinklessofhim?
Therewasn’tanopportunitytotalktomyparentswhentheygothomeFridaynight,atleastnotaboutanythingserious.ImetthemoutfrontastheypouredoutofanUber.Theyshoweredmewithenthusiasticgreetings,andIrecappedeachofthestopsI’dmade,showedthemasmallselectionofphotosIsetasideasproofI’dbeenworking,andmentionedtheonlineshopI’dgottenupandrunningwhileIwasaway,aswellasmyupcomingtriptoTahoe.Mom’sexcitementratcheteduptoatwelveatthatnews.Dadinsistedhewantedtotalkmorewhenitwasn’tsolate.Isentthemtobed,reliefandguiltwarringinmymind.
Iwanttotellthemeverything.Ineedto.ButIneedtimetofigureouthowtomakeitsoundlesslikeasecret.
WhenTheoopenshisfrontdoorSaturday,though,hishairdampfromashower,hebanisheseverythoughtIhavebutone:I’mabsolutelyheadoverassoverheadagainfallingforthisman.It’sterrifyingandthrilling.Allmyemotionshavechasers.
Hepullsmeintohisarms,hishandsnakingdowntocupmyass,andpressesaquiet“Imissedyou”intomyneck.Thedoorclosesbehindme,andhepushesmeagainstit,kissingmehard,withanedgeofurgencyI’vefeltsinceIlefthim.Wedon’tevenmakeitupstairs.
Wespendallweekendtogether,fallingbackonthesamehabitswepickedupduringourtrip—middle-of-the-nightmoviesthatareinterruptedbyeithersleeporsex,dancingaroundhisbackpatiowhiledinnersizzlesonthegrill,and,ofcourse,mycovertrecordingofhissleeptalk.He’ssurprisinglyrestless,hiswordsgibberishbutemphatic,andseveraltimesIwakehimupwithsoftkissesonhisneck,ahandmovingupanddownhisbacktobringhimoutofwhateverstrangethingshe’sdreaming.Hesighs,pullingmeclose,andIdon’tsleepagainuntilthetensionleaveshisbody.
Wedoothernormallifestuff,too,andthat’salmostmoreexcitingthananythingelse.Idraghimtothefarmers’marketonSaturday.HegrumblesaboutitbutbuysmeabouquetofwildflowerswhenI’mnotlookingandindulgesmestoppingbyeveryvendorforfreesamples.Wegoouttodinner,andhefinallytakesmeforarideinhisBronco.Hedoesn’tletmedriveit,butit’sonlyamatteroftime.EventhoughIdon’tgetmyhandsonBetty’sstickshift,TheomakesituptomewhenweparkinanemptylotnearOceanBeachandIstraddlehislapinthebackseat.
Maybeallofthisshouldfeelmundaneaftertheadventureswehad,butitdoesn’t.Itfeelslikelife,oneIcouldhaveandbeproudof.OneI’mactuallyhaving.
Sunday,ItakeTheoonahikeinTennesseeValley,myfavoritewithGram.IcantellitmeanssomethingtohimthatIbroughthimhere,andItalkaboutherallthewaytoourfinaldestination—acovedbeachattheendofthetrail.Wesetupablankettoeatlunch,andafterwardIlaymyheadinhislap,lookingoutatthewaterwhileheabsentlyrunshisfingersthroughmyhair.
“IpromisedThomasandSadieI’dhavedinnerwiththemtonight,”Isay,watchingacloudshapedlikeaflatheartdriftby.“Wanttocome?”
Heeyesthewater,histhumbmovingovermytemple.“WishIcould.Ineedtogetreadyfortomorrow.”
“Lotsofemailstocatchupon?”
“Yeah,”hesaysabsently.
Ireachup,runningmynailslightlyoverhischeekuntilhisattentionreturnstome.“Youwanttodoadoubledatethingwiththemsometime?”
Theomusthearthehesitationinmyvoice;hiseyesgetsharper,thensoften.“Ofcourse.Whenthingssettledown.”
Inodandclosemyeyes,andifhisthightensesundermycheek,Itrynottonotice.
WhenIleavethatnight,hecradlesmyfaceinhishandsandkissesmewithsurprisingintensitygivenhowlaid-backourdayhasbeen.
“Youokay?”Iask.
“Yeah.I…ThisweekImightnotbearoundmuch.I’mnotsure.SoifIdon’tansweryourightaway,it’sjustbecauseI’mdealingwiththings.”
Icanonlyimaginehowstressfulhisweekwillbe,andIpressmyselfcloser.“Ifyouneedtotalktomorrow,takeabreakandcallme,okay?Ifthingsgetweirdatworkorwhatever.I’mhere.”
Foryou,Iaddsilently.
Theoclearshisthroat,pressingafinalkisstothecornerofmymouth.Iexpectsomeacknowledgmentofmyoffer,buthesimplysays,“Thanksforagreatweekend.”
Ibrushitoff,grinningasIslipoutofhisholdandoutthedoor.“You’reonlysayingthatbecauseyougotlaidaboutfortytimes.”
“Sayingit’causeit’syou,”heshootsbackwithabeautifulsmile.IwatchitfadeinmyrearviewasIdriveaway,untilIturnthecornerandhe’sgone.
Myheartdoesn’tstopracing,evenasIpullintoameteredspotnearThomasandSadie’sapartment.Ihavetolaymyforeheadonthesteeringwheelandtakeseveraldeepbreathssoitwon’tbewrittenallovermyface.
Unfortunately,mybrotherknowsmelikethebackofhisownhand,sowhenhethrowsopenthedoortohisapartmentandtakesagoodlookatme,heburstsintolaughter.
“Shutup,”Igrumble,steppinginside.
“Whatiswrongwithyou,Mas?”Sadieasks,pushinghimasidetofoldmeintoatighthug.“Hey,darlinggirl.Howwaseverything?”
“Reallyamazing.”
AndthenIburstintotears.
I’vejustspilledmygutstoThomasandSadie—everydetailofthetrip,everygrief-riddenandhealingthoughtI’vehadaboutGram,thatintensepsychicreading,myfearoftellingMomandDadwhatI’vebeenupto,and,sanssexdetails,what’shappenedwithTheo.
“Thereallyquestionablethingis,”Thomassays,leaningforwardtouncorktheemergencywinehegrabbedforusassoonasIstartedcrying,“IknewyouweregoingtofallforTheoandIstillmadethatbet.Ihavetobuyacouch,dammit.”
“Thereallyquestionablethingisbettingagainstme,period.”Iletoutabreath,thengroan.“God,IhavenoideawhyIcriedlikethat.I’mactuallyfine.”
Sadierubsmyleg.“Permissiontopsychoanalyze?”
“Granted.”Isniff,acceptingtheglassThomashandsme.HesnakeshisarmbehindSadie’sshoulders,hisfingersjustlongenoughtosqueezemyshoulder,too
“Iknowyou’refine,butyou’vealsohadareallyemotionalcoupleofweeks,”Sadiesays.“Doyoufeellikeyouevergotachancetoprocessyourgram’sdeath?”
Igobacktothatfirstmonth,whereIessentiallyshuttledmyselfbetweenworkandmyapartment.HowIcouldn’tlookatpicturesofherorhearhervoiceinvoicemails.HowIstoppedgoingoutwithmyfriendsbecausethey’daskhowIwasdoinginthatspecific“you’regrievingandI’muncomfortablebuthavetoaskorI’lllooklikeadick”toneofvoice.ThosemonthsIspentstaringatmycamera,atthewallsofmychildhoodbedroom,attheviewsfromthehikesGramandItooktogether.
“No.”ForthefirsttimeIrealizeit’strue.
Thomasstandsandmovesaroundthecouch,settlinginnexttomeandrufflingmyhair.
Sadiecontinues,“Awhileback,Iranacrossanarticleaboutthisthingcalledgrieftrips.Whenyoulosesomeone,youtravel—maybetotheirfavoriteplaceoraplacethatbringsyoupeaceorsomewherebrand-newtoshakeyourselfoutofyourroutine—andyougettoprocessthatway.”Sheleansforward,catchingmyeye.“That’swhatthiswasforyou,Ithink.YouhadthisstoryunravelingwithPaul,theseemotionalletters,anditwasawayforyoutofocusonyourgriefinacontrolledway.Andatthesametime,youhadsomejoyinyourlifewithTheo.”
“Thatdoesn’texplainmyoutburst.”
Thomassmacksmyleg.“We’reyoursafespace.”
“We’reaplaceforyoutounload,”Sadieadds.“Yourparentsdon’tknowwhathappened,soyouhavetowearamaskwiththem.WithTheo,it’sthisnew,bright,excitingthing,andyoujustspentaweekendtogetherafterareallyemotionallyheavytrip,soyouwantittobemagical.It’sanormalresponse.You’repurgingsomeofthestuffyou’vehadtocompartmentalize.”
Iletoutabreath,gulpingdownamouthfulofwine.“Iguessthatmakessense.It’sbeenalot.AndItrulyhavenoideaifDadisgoingtobeupsetaboutwhereI’vebeenandwhy,orifhe’llunderstand.Thistripwasmine,butthelossisallofours,youknow?AllofthedetailsIgotare.He’sinabetterplacenowthanhewassixmonthsago,buthowdoIknowthathisgriefcanhandleit?”
“Youwon’tknowuntilyoutellhim,andthesooneryoutellhim,thebetter,”Thomassays.“Youknowhowheis.HeidolizedGramandGrandpaJoe’srelationship,sothethoughtofyoupallingaroundwithsomeguyGramalmostmarriedrightbeforeGrandpamaybeweird.ButhealsoknowshowspecialyourrelationshipwithGramwas,andthefactthatyou’regettingbackintoyourphotographyissendinghimtothemoon.Whileyouweregone,hewouldn’tshutupabouthowproudhewasofyouforstartingupagain.”
Myeyesstarttofill.Heflicksmycheeklightlytostopit,likehedidwhenwewerekidsandI’dgetallwounduptocry.Ismackhishandaway,likeIalwaysdid.Buthisdistractionworks.
Hiseyesdrifttowardtheclockmeaningfully.It’seight.BythetimeIgethome,ourparentswillbeinbed,andthat’sbydesign.“Forreal,Noelle.Youshouldtalktohimtomorrow.Dadlovesyouandhe’llsupportyou,evenifhedoesn’tunderstandatfirst.”
“Idon’twanttohurthim.Withthestory,Imean.”
Heappraisesme.“You’retheonewho’sthemostinvested.Attheendoftheday,GramhadahappylifewithGrandpaJoe,andthat’swhat’llmattertoDad.”
“Ugh,you’reright.I’lltalktohimtomorrow,”Isay.Thomasliftshiseyebrows.“Iwill.Ipromise.Nomoredelaying.”
“Let’smoveontothenextitemofbusiness,”Sadiesays.“ArethingsseriouswithTheo?”
Evenhearinghisnamemakesmystomachswoop.
“It’searly,but…”Iliftmyshouldershelplessly.“Itkindoffeelslikeit’sheadedinthatdirection.Imean,don’tgoorderingthatcouch,Mas,but—”
Thomasscoffs.“You’rejustsayingthatbecauseyoudon’twanttoadmitit.”
“I’msayingthatbecauseyoucan’tbeinlovewithapersonafteramatterofweeks,”Iargue.AndevenifIfeelit,it’snotsomethingIcansayoutloudrightnow.
IsTheogettingthere,too?Doeshewantthat?Insomanywaysnow,IfeellikeIknowhim.Likewegeteachother,andtheconnectionwe’rebuildingisheadedforsomethingthatcanreallyonlybelove.
“Youjustspentacumulative…”Sadietrailsoff,countinginherhead,herlipsmovingsilently.“Threehundredandthirty-sixhours,giveortakesometimeforsleeping—”
“Whenyouweredoingthatseparately,”Thomasadds.“Plusyou’veknownthisguyforyears.”
“Greatpoint,”Sadiesays,beamingatmybrother.“That’salotofqualitytime.It’sreasonableyou’dcatchintensefeelings.”
Thomasnods,elbowingmeintheribs.“Yeah,andit’spossibleanyway.IfellinlovewithSadierightaway.”
Hercheekspinkup,evenassherollshereyes.“No,youdidn’t.”
“Uh,yeah,Idid.”
Theystarttoleanaroundmeforakiss,butIpushatboththeirshoulders.“No,no,no.Kissonyourowntime.Andnotrightnow,either.I’mhangry.”
“It’syourownfaultforwantingtocomeoversolate,”Thomasmutters,butheleapsup,headingforthekitchen.
SadieandIstandtogether.Shewrapsherarmsaroundmywaist,squeezingmetight.“I’msoexcitedforyou.You’vegotalotofexcitingthingscomingaroundthebend.”
Irestmycheekagainsthertemple.“Yeah.IthinkIdo.”
IspendmostofthedayMondayeditingpictures,updatingmyonlineshopwithnewprints,andorganizingordersthathavebeenplaced.I’mnowherenearapointwhereIcanmakealivingdoingthis,butit’sagoalworthdrivingtoward.
Istillhavetocreatemyend-of-tripTikTok,butI’mnotinthatemotionalspaceyet,soIanswercommentsandDMsinstead,focusingontheoneswherepeopletellstoriesoftheirowngrandparents,theirmomsanddads,siblings,orfoundfamilymemberswho’veimpactedtheirlivesthewayGramdidmine.ThewayTheoandPaulhave,too.
AswellofpridesitsontopofthemoreobviousemotionsasIrespondtothemessages—grief,always,andnostalgia—knowingthatmyworkhasstartedtheseconversations,thatpeopleconnectwithit.Thattheyseethemselvesinit.It’swhat’salwaysdrawnmetoart;thatitcanbesimultaneouslysopersonalandsointenselyuniversal.
Thehouseisquietwithmyparentsatwork,butitdoesn’tfeellonelylikeitdidbefore.I’mfocused,barelystoppingforlunch.BeforeIknowit,thesunisslicingthroughmywindow,glintingagainstthemetalbackofmycomputer.
Aftergrabbingasnack,Isettlebackatmydesk,pickingupmyphonetocheckifIhaveatextfromTheo.IFaceTimedhimearlythismorningtowishhimluck.Hewasquiet,maybealittledistracted,butwhocouldblamehim?Walkingbackintoashitstormaftertwoweeksoffcouldfelleventhemoststoicperson.
“Youokay?”Iasked,suddenlyfeelinglikeI’daskedhimthatalotlately.
Henodded,runningahandoverhisbarechest.“Yeah,I’mgood.I—I’llcheckin.”
Buthehasn’t,andnowasitcreepsclosertofour,IfeelasenseofforebodingIcan’texplain.
Maybeit’sthatItextedDadearlier,tellinghimIwantedtomakesurewehaddinnertogethertonight.HepromisedtopickupIn-N-Outontheway,ourfavoritemeal.Istaredatthattextmessageforminutes,guiltshadowingmyproductiveday.
Idrummyfingernailsonmypalewooddesk,thentextTheo:How’sitgoing?I’mhavingdinnerwithmyparentstonight,butIcancomeoverlate.
IhavenoideawhatTheo’sdaylookslikeorifhe’llbeupforit.Surelyhe’stalkedtoAntonandMatias.Didhistwoweeksawaygivethemthedistancetoseethattheywanttoworktogethertofindahappymedium?OrisTheoconcedingtoitall?
IwishIknew.IwanttobethatresourceFlorclaimedIwasduringhisreading.Asafespace,anopenear.Ifhe’shavingabadday,Iwanttopourhimaglassofwineandlethimunload.Andifhe’shadagoodone,Iwanttocelebrateit.
Myphonedings,andIgrabiteagerly,assumingit’sTheo’sresponse.
Instead,it’saLinkedInnotification:TheoSpencer,whoyoufollow,isinthenews.
Ifrown,hittingthebanner,andanarticlefromawell-knowntechsitepopsup.
TRAVELAPPWHERETONEXT’SCOFOUNDERANDCFOEXITSBUSINESS
Adrenalinecrashesthroughme,thewordsswimminginfrontofmyeyes.IttakesseveralfranticmomentsforwhatI’mreadingtosinkin.
Inasurprisemovetoday,populartravelappWhereToNextannouncedthatcofounderandCFO,TheoSpencer,hasexitedthebusiness.
“WearesoappreciativeofTheo’sinvaluablecontributionsovertheyears,”cofounderandCEOAntonPopovsaidinapressreleasebythecompany.“Wewishhimthebest.NathanMata,currentSVPofFinance,willbesteppingintohisrole.Weexpectaseamlesstransitionsowecancontinueprovidingourvaluedcustomerswithunforgettableexperiences,andareexcitedaboutthefuturegrowthofWTN.”
Thenextcoupleparagraphsgoontotalkaboutthehistoryofthebusiness—whichisTheo,Iwanttoscream—andthecurrentstateofthebusiness.
Attheendisthis:Spencercouldnotbereachedforcomment.
“Fuck,fuck,fuck,”Iwhisper,dreadpullingatme,makingmeclumsyandsluggish.DidtheyblindsideTheowiththis,too?Thethoughtmakesmewanttothrowup.Icanonlyimaginehowhe’sfeeling.
Therearefootstepsdownthehall,heavyandpurposeful,andmybrainspitsoutTHEO,thoughitcan’tbe.Hemustbeathome.
Thedoorswingsopen—noknock—andmydadstandsthereinstead.Heholdsuphisphone,myTikTokaccountonthescreen.Hisexpressionistight,cheekspale.
“Noelle,”hesays,inavoiceIrarelyhearfromhim.“Whatthehellisthis?”Twenty-Nine
IstareatthephoneinDad’shand.
“Icanexplain,”Imanagetogetout.Myheartisonfire,andmymindhastakenoffinaboutfivedifferentdirections,tryingtofigureoutwhatthehell’shappening.
Hestepsintomyroom.“Startexplaining,then.”
AnotherwaveofadrenalinehitsasIpushbackfrommydesk.IneedtogoseeTheo.“Ican’t.”
“Noelle.”Dadliftshishands,exasperated.
“Imean,Ican’trightnow.I’mgoingto.Iwasgoingtoexplaineverythingtonight,actually.”AsIsaythis,I’mpullingasweaterovermyhead,marvelingatthespectacularlyshitty,ironictimingofeverything.“ButI—somethinghappenedandIneedtogo.”
Likethat,hisexpressionchangesfromirritationtoconcern.“What’sgoingon?Areyouokay?”
“Ihonestlydon’tknow,”Isigh.
Astrickenlookcrosseshisfeatures,andIrecognizeitimmediately:theknee-jerkcatastrophizingwe’vestarteddoingsinceGramdied.It’shardtoconceptualizethatsuddenbadnewscouldberightaroundthecorneruntilyougetityourself.Then,therealitythatlifecanchangeinaninstantneverleavesyourmind.
Iholdupmyhand.“It’snotme.There’sanemergencywith…afriend.”
Thefearisreplacedwithunderstanding—andcuriosity.Oneblondeyebrowraises.“Isityourfriendfromthisweekend?”
Friend.Thewordfeltlikealiecomingoutofmymouth,anditsoundslikeonecomingoutofDad’s.Heneedsthetruth,andIwanttosayitoutloud.“Youknowwhat,no,he’snotmyfriend.It’sTheo,whoI”—Igesturetohisphone—“well,I’lltellyoumorelater.TheshortstoryisthatI’mdatinghimandI’mprettysureI’minlovewithhimandsomethinghappenedandIneedtogoseehiminthecity.”
Dadblinksatmyoutburst,thenwipesahandoverhismouth.Thefrustrationisstillthere,tighteningthecornersofhiseyes,butIseethatever-presentkindness,too.“Wow,Beans,okay.That’salottoprocess.”
“Iknow.”Iletoutabreath.“IswearwhenIgetback,we’lltalk.I’lllayoutexactlywhathappenedandansweranyquestionyouhave.ButTheoneedsme,soIreallyhavetogo.”
“Takeadeepbreath,”Dadsays.“Don’tstartyourcaruntilyou’recalm.”
“I’mcalm.”Istuffmyshakinghandsinmypockets,headingtowardthedoor.
Hestepsasidebuttouchesmyarmtostopme.“Iloveyou.Okay?”
“Okay.”MyeyesfillandIleanintohim,placingmycheekonhischest.Hisheartthumpsbeneathhischambraybutton-up.“Iloveyou.I’msorry.”
Hedropsakissontopofmyhead,thenpushesmegently.“Goon.I’vegottowatchallthesevideosanyway.Ionlygotthroughthefirstfew.”
Ohgod.Icompartmentalizethatandruntomycar,backingoutofthedrivewayataspeedmyparents’next-doorneighborwillprobablypostaboutontheneighborhoodonlinemessageboard.Doesn’tmattertome.Theo’salone,processingthisnews,andhedoesn’thavetobe.
Igettothecityinrecordtime.WhenIparkathishouse,Isquintupatthelivingroomwindows.There’snomovement.
MyheartpoundsagainstmyribsasIclimboutofmycar.Iheadtowardthefrontdoor,butthenIhearit—sadboymusic,driftingoutonthelightbreezefromthebackyard.
“Shit,”Imutter.
There’saslenderalleywaybetweenhishouseandthenextone,soImakemywaydownit.ThemusicgetslouderthecloserIget;it’sareallysadsong,whichissayingalotconsideringit’sRadiohead.WhenIgettohisgate,Ireachoverandunlatchit,swingingitopen.
Theoisslouchedinachairatthepatiotable.Hislefthandiscircledaroundadrinkrestingonhisknee,andhischeekisproppedonhisrighthand.He’sstaringoutatnothing.Ifhehearsme,hedoesn’tacknowledgeit.
It’sanachinglysolitarypicture.
“Hey,”Icallquietly,closingthegatebehindme.
Helooksoverandmyheartfallsallthewaytomyfeet.Hishairismussed,eyessubtlyrimmedred.Hisexpressionisblankashewatchesmeslideintotheseatnexttohim.
“Yousaw,”hesays.
“Yeah,Idid.”Iswallowagainstmyhelplessnessseeinghimlikethis.Soleachedofemotion,notraceofthatdimple.
“I’msurprisedyou’rehere.”
Ifrown,confused.“Whywouldn’tIbe?Youjustgothorriblenews.”Hisgazebouncesaway,buthedoesn’tsayanything,soIpresson.“Youmustbeinshock.”
Ahumorlesshuffburstsfromhismouth.“Shockisn’tthewordforit.”
“Whatistheword?”
Foramoment,hedoesn’tsayanything.Thenheinhalessharplyandstartstalking,blastingpastmyquestion.“It’slikeeverytimeIthinkI’vedonesomethingworthwhile,everytimeIthinkI’vegottentoaplacewhereit’ssafetosay,okay,thisissuccess,I’vefinallydoneenough,it’sstillnotfuckingenough.”
“Enoughforwh—”
Hesetshisdrinkonthetableandleansforward,scrubbingbothofhishandsoverhisfacewithafrustratedgrunt.“AndIcan’tevendealwiththefactthatI’vebeenpushedoutofmyowncompanybymyself.Theyhadtoputthatfuckingstatementoutrightaway,andmydad’sbeencallingmeallafternoon.I’mnevergoingtoheartheendofhowIwastedthatfirstfiftyKhegaveus,eventhoughwe’vegrownitsoexponentiallyIcan’tdothemathoffthetopofmyhead.”Hislaughishumorless.“Iguessit’snotweanymore.Ineedtostopsayingthat.”
Iscootcloser,layingahandonhisarm.Ourkneespresstogether,andmybodywantstotakeitfurther,curluponhislap.NomatterhowcloseIget,though,there’sadistancebetweenus,shapedlikehisprofileashelooksaway.
“Talktome,”Isay.“Tellmewhathappened.Aretheyevenallowedtoambushyoulikethis?Justtellyouit’sover?Can’tyoufightthat,like,legally?”
Theo’ssilenceextends,longandtight.Finally,hesays,“Theydidn’tambushme,Noelle.”
“Whatdoyoumean?ThearticleIreadsaiditwasasurprise.”
“Sure,tothegeneralpublic.Nottome.”
Uneasedripsintomyveins.“I’mnotreallyfollowing.”
Hestaresoffintothedistance.“Thisexithasbeenintheworksforweeks,andourargumentsoverthedirectionofthebusinessformonthslongerthanthat.LikeItoldyou,theywanttotakethecompanyinanewdirection.Ourinvestorswantit,AntonandMatiaswantit,everyonewantsitbutmebecauseIcan’tletgooftheideathatit’salreadywhatitshouldbe.AndIpushedsofuckinghard—”Again,hewipesathisfacewithhishand.“Theinvestorswantedmegone,andAntonandMatiasultimatelyagreed.WhenIdecidedtocomeonthetrip,they’djustgivenmepaperworktobuymeoutofmyequity.IknewwhatIwascomingbackto.Itwasn’tasurprise.Imean,Jesus,eventhepsychicknew.”
AfingersnapsinmymindandI’mbackinthatroom.SittingnexttoTheowiththatpaintedeyegazingdownatus.RememberingwhatFlorsaid:Thisisgoingtohappennomatterwhat.It’shappening
Irememberhimcallingitbullshitafter,thenholdingmewhenIcriedoverhowrealitfelttome.
IrememberthewayIconfessedeverything.
“Wait,didyouknowwhatyouwerewalkingintotoday?”Isayquietly,asahurtIcan’tproperlyidentifywindsitselfaroundme.
“Iwasn’tpositiveitwouldbetoday,but…”Hetrailsoff,shakinghishead.“No.Yeah.Iknewitwasover.”
Memoriesfromtheprevioustwodaysstretchbetweenusintheensuingsilence—meathisdoorSaturdaymorning,thewayhishandsgrippedmewhilehewhisperedthathe’dmissedmeafterlessthantwenty-fourhoursapart.Theebbandflowofourconversations,andthequietweshared,wherethisinformationwouldhavefitperfectly.HowItalkedhisearoffaboutmyanxietyovermyTahoetripthisweek.Thewayhelistenedandreassuredme,allwhileholdingontohisownanxietywithtightfists.
IthinkbacktowhatFlortoldTheo,myheartstartingtobeatfast:You’vebeenplacedwithresourcesinyourlifethatwillhelpyoumoveon,butyouhavetoallowthatresourcetohelpyou.
Iwasthere,notjustontheroadwithhim—whenhewassittingonallofthis,too—butinhishouse,hisbed,hislife.Hisreallife,andhedidn’ttellme.
Somethinginmyheartfractures.Forhim,andmyself.
“Theo,”Ibreatheout.“Whydidn’tyousaysomething?”
Helooksdownatmyhand,stillcurledaroundhisarm.“Ididn’tknowwhattosaytoyou.IthoughtmaybeI’dfigureouthowtobreakittoyoubeforethestatementwentout,butthatdidn’thappen,obviously.”
Howtobreakittome?Ishakemyhead,lost.“Imeanbefore.AllthosetimesIaskedifyouwereokay,allthosetimeswetalkedaboutyourworkandwhatitmeanttoyou?Wespenttheentireweekendtogether—”
Heavertshiseyes,settinghisjawstubbornly.“Ididn’twanttomessitupwiththis.”
Istareathim,longenoughthathefinallylooksatme.“Itwouldn’thavemessedanythingup.Iwanttoknowthings,includingthethingsthathurt.”
“EventhethingsthatshowyouI’mnottheguyyouthinkIam?”hesays,achallengingglintinhiseyes.They’resodarkIcan’tmakeouttheemotionslurkingthere.Itmakeshimseemlikeastranger.
Ifrown.“Whatdoesthatmean?WhodoIthinkyouare?”
“Nottheguywhogotfiredfromhisowncompany,that’sforfuckingsure.”
There’sabeatofsilencewhileIprocessexactlywhathe’ssaying.“Holdon.YouthinkIwouldjudgeyouforthat?”Theosimplyappraisesme,andhissilencesoundslikeaYESscreamedbetweenus.Mybloodheats.“Idon’tknowifyouremember,butIairedallofmydirtylaundrytoyou.Nowitfeelslikeyouwerejustpattingmeonthehead—”
“Ididn’tpatyouonthehead,”hesnaps,straightening.
“Well,yousuredidn’tshareanyofthisinreturn,apparentlybecauseyouthoughtI’dthinkyouwereafailure.So,notsurewhatthatsaysaboutme,”Ishootback,mythroattightening.Heopenshismouth,hisbrowsflatteningintothatsternline,butIpresson,avertingmyeyes.“Imean,clearlythere’snocomparisonbetweenus.IlostamenialjobIcouldn’tstand,andyoulostthecompanyyoufoundedandledtomultimillion-dollarsuccess,but—”
“That’swhyIdidn’ttellyou,”Theoburstsout,andwhenoureyeslock,somethingcracksinsidemychest.“Thatrightthere.God,Noelle,canyoublamemefornotwantingtoadmitthistoyou?Youholdmeupassomeparagonofsuccess.YouspentourentiretriptalkingabouttheForbesshit,aboutthegreatworkI’ddoneandhowyoulookeduptoit.HowwouldyouhavefeltifI’dbeenlike,‘Hey,bytheway,myentirelifeisblowingupandI’mabouttobeunemployed’?”
“I’dsay,‘Yeah,metoo!’I’dfeellikeyouweretellingmesomethingreal.”Idropmyhandfromhisarm.ThisconversationhasshiftedsoquicklythatI’mdizzy.“Areyoukidding?Youdidn’twanttotellmebecauseyouthinkI’msomefangirlwhocouldn’thandleyounotbeingperfect?”
“Ourentirerelationship,fromthetimewewerefourteen,wasaboutyouthinkingIwasgoodenoughbasedonwhatI’dachieved.”Theostandsup,pacingawayfromme.“Doyouknowwhatitwasliketogrowupwithadadwho,everytimeyoudidsomethingyouthoughtwouldmakehimproud,decidedthatactually,hewantedmorethanthat?Whomovedthegoalposteveryfuckingtime?Hemademefeellikeafailure,always.”
“Idon’tknowwhatthat’slike,andI’msorry,”Isay,tearsspringingtomyeyes.Mydadiswaitingathomeforme,confusedandangry,buteventhroughhisdisappointmenthesupportsmeunconditionally.IhatethatTheodoesn’thavethat.
Hismouthtwists.“Thentherewasyou,whogotpissedeverytimeIdidsomething,anditmademefeelitwasenough.Likeitwasactuallytoomuch.Youhadnothingtogainfromactingthatway,andthat’showIknewitwasreal.Ifedoffthat,Noelle.Ihadyourvoiceinmyheadlongafterhighschoolended.”
I’msoshockedthathethoughtaboutmeatall,nevermindcarriedmyvoicewithhim,thatIcanonlymouthwordsinreturn.
Herunshishandsthroughhishair,blowingoutabreath.“Whenwestartedonthistrip,though,andyoukepttalkingaboutallofmyachievements,whatIwasdoing,thatdamnprofile—IwasabouttoloseeverythingI’veworkedforthesepastsixyears.CanyouunderstandwhyIwouldn’twanttotellyou?”
“No,”Ichokeout,standing,too.“Ican’tunderstand.Yes,Iadmireallofthethingsyou’vedone,andyes,itpissedmeoffasmuchasitmademeproud.Butgivenoursituations,whywouldI,ofallpeople,judgeyouforthat?Ihavenorightto,andevenifIdid,Iwouldn’t.”
Hisjawlocks.“Oursituationsaren’tthesame.”
Hiswords,saidsostonily,hittheirmark.“Right.Becausemyjobwasshittyandyourswasimportant.”
Surpriseflashesinhiseyes—andpanic.“That’snotwhatImeant.”
“Whatdidyoumean,then?”
Forabeat,hedoesn’tsayaword.Thenhelooksaway,thepanicrecedingintowhatlookslikedefeat.“Youknowwhat?Itdoesn’tmatter.”
Thefrustrationofhimslammingdownthewallagainmakesmewanttoscream.
“Ofcourseitmatters,Theo.Whatyousayordon’tsaymatterstome,andyou’restandinghereholdingbackagain.Whyaren’tyougivingmeachancetoseeallofyou?Toprovethat’senoughforme?”Itakeasteptowardhimbutkeepthespacebetweenus.IfIstepanycloser,I’llwanttotouchhim.“Ilaidouteverythingwithmyjob—andmore.Itrustedyouwiththat,andyougavemeallthesesweetwordsbackabouthowstumblingwasn’tanindictmentonmycharacter.Sowasthatbullshit?”
Hehastheaudacitytolookinsulted.“No.”
“Areyousittingtherelaughingatme?ThinkingthatI’mnotworthyourtimebecauseI’minaroughspot?”
“No.”
“Thenwhyisitsopatheticforyoutostumble?Whycan’tyoutrustthatIl—likeyouthewayyouare?”Myemotionsarerunningfasterthanmymouthcankeepupwith,andmystomachfree-fallsatwhatInearlyjustadmitted.“Whydoyouthinkyou’resuchaspecialcase,thatwhensomethingbadhappenstoyouI’llwalkaway,whenyousatthereandtoldmeyouwouldn’tdothattome?DoyouthinkI’mthatbigofanasshole?”
“No,Noelle,Ijust—”
Hetakesasteptowardme.Iholdupmyhand,backingintoachair.Ican’tthinkclearlywhenhe’snear,andsuddenlyI’mdesperatefortheboundary.Aswekeptgettingcloser,Islowlystoppedprotectingmyself,whileTheowasdoingitthewholetime.
Therealizationhurts.
“Youkeptmeatarm’slengthbecauseyoudidn’ttrustme,andyoudiditwithintentioneverytimeIaskedyouifyouwereokay,everytimeIinvitedyoutoberealwithmeorwhenIwasfullytransparentwithyou.”Mymindflashestothetimeshestoppedhimselfmid-sentence,howhecircledaroundthefulltruth,thoseflashesofanxietyandfearhe’dshutdown.“Iletyouknowme,andyoudidn’tdothesame.”
Heswallowshard,hispulsemovingrapidlyinhisthroat.I’vekissedthatexactspotsomanytimes,whenhisheartracedforotherreasons.Butnoweverythingfeelslikealie.
“Don’tsaythat,”hesays.“Youknowme.”
“HowcanI,ifyouonlywantmetoseetheTheoSpencerwhohasallhisshittogether?Youkeptthisasecretfromme,thinkingI’dwalkawayifIknewthetruth.”
Helaughshumorlessly.“God,youaresoobsessedwithsecrets.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Thatwholetripwasaboutthat,wasn’tit?”heasks,eyesflashing.“Aboutuncoveringyourgram’ssecretlovelife,wheninrealityitwasprobablysomethingshedealtwithandmovedonfromanddidn’tthinkwasnecessarytodragupwithyou.Thenyoustartedpokingatmine,wantingtoplaythatgame—”
“It’snotagame.It’smewantingtoknowyou.Sharewithyou,bevulnerable.Youpokedatme,too,don’tactlikeIwastheonlyonetryingtouncoversecrets.WhenIdidthesame,youdownplayeditorshutdowncompletely.So,whyisthat?”
Hesighsimpatiently.“Noteverythingisaconspiracytolie.Whycan’tthisjustbemetryingtogetthroughmylifebeforeItalkaboutit?”
“BecauseI’minyourlife!”Iexclaim.“Youcan’tfeedmeonestory,thentellmethesamestorydoesn’tapplytoyou.Youcan’tsayyouwanttobewithme,bethereforme,andnotletmedothesame.That’snotwhatIwantinarelationship.”
Paniccrosseshisfeaturesagain,butlikeclockwork,heshutsitdown,crossinghisarms.
Itakeseveralcalmingbreathsbeforetryingagain.“I’mnotyourdad,Theo.I’mnotanyoneelseinyourlifewhoexpectsyoutobeacertainway,thentellsyouyou’renotenoughwhentheythinkyoucan’tdeliver.”
“That’swhatyou’redoingrightnow,”hesaysflatly.
“It’snot.I’monlyaskingyoutoletmebethereforyou.Tobeopenwithme.TotrustthatI’lllikeyou,notWhereToNextTheoor30Under30TheoorGoldStarSonTheo.You’vegivenmesomeofthatthepastfewweeks,butIwantitallI’mgreedy,okay?Ijustwantyou,andallofthegoodandbadstuffthatcomeswithit.”
Evennow,asI’mpracticallybeggingforit,he’snotgivingit.Hejustwatchesme,theonlysignoflifethatheartbeattickinginhisneck.
“Thesepastfewweekshavebeeneverythingtome,andsomuchofthatisyou.”Myvoicebreaksontheyou,andhelooksaway,eyesshininginthewaninglight.“Idon’tknowhowtotellyouanyotherwaythatIwanttodothis.ButIshowedyoueverything,andyouwerehidingthingsfromme,andnowyou’reshuttingdown.Idon’twanttofightabrickwalloverandoveragain.”
Nothingforabeat,thenheexhalesmyname,lookingdown.
“Ithinkyou’rescared,andwhenyou’rescared,you’refrozen.”Isearchhisface,willinghimtomeetmyeyes.“AskmehowIknow.”
There’ssuchreliefinadmittingthatIwasrightwhereheis,andthatI’mcomingoutofit.Forasecond,itwashesawaytheacheinmychest.IfTheocouldjustbreakthrough,ifIcouldhelphimgettheresomehow,thenIcouldreachoutandtouchhim.
Buthehastobewillingtoletmein,andhe’snotthereyet.SuddenlyI’mscaredhe’llneverbe.Thatwe’lllosethis.
Mythroatclosesatthethought,butIpushpastit.“MaybeIdocaretoomuchaboutsecrets,butit’sjustbecauseitmakesmefeelclosetothepeopleI…careabout.”Shit.Ikeepgettingsoclosetotheedge,andTheoisn’tgoingtobetheretopullmebackthistime.It’snotjustabustedkneeI’llwalkawaywith.“Iwantthatwithyou,butI’mscaredtogiveyoumoreuntilIknowyou’rereadytogivemeanequalamountinreturn.”
“Yeah,Igotthat,”hesaysshortly,runningahandoverhisjawwithasigh.“I’mnotusedto—Ican’tdothatrightnow.You’repushingtoohard,okay?I’mdealingwithallthisothershit,andthisistoomuch.”
Iliftmyhandshelplessly,myeyesandthroatcrowdingwithtears.“So,shouldIgo?”
Heopenshismouth,thenclosesit,hislipstwistingintoatightpurse.Finally,hesays,“It’sbetterifI’malone.”
Thosewordsarelikepressingadetonatorconnectedtomyheart.Ipickmyphoneupfromthetablewithashakinghand.“Right.Ofcourse.Ifyouchangeyourmind,youknowwheretofindme.”
I’mhalfwayacrosstheyardwhenIhearhissoft,emphatic“fuck”Myfootstepsstutter,buthedoesn’tfollowme,soIkeepgoing.Ipushthroughthegate,bitingmyliphardsoIwon’tburstintotearsuntilI’minmycaranddrivingaway.
Tellmeasecret.Awhisperfromsomewhere,butit’sataunt,notarequest.
I’msotiredofplayingthisgame.AndnowIhavetofacethesecretsI’vetoldwithallofTheo’ssittingonmychest.Thirty
Itdoesn’tmatterhowoldIam—seeingmyparentssittingtogetheronthecouchtriggersmyfight-or-flightresponse.
Theywatchmewalkintothelivingroom,Momwithherbadassvelvetblazeronandaneutralexpression.Dadisseatedontheedge,handsclaspedandhangingbetweenhisknees,aslightfrownmarringhisaffablefeatures.
Itakemyseatinoneofthecreamlinenwingbackchairsacrossfromthem,mirroringmydad’sposture.“Hey.”
“He—”Momtakesinthestateofmyface,eyeswidening.“Honey,what’swrong?”
Apparently,IdidaterriblejoboftouchingupthesobfestIindulgedinfromtheendofTheo’sstreetallthewayacrosstheGoldenGateBridge.
“Didthatkidhurtyou?”Dad’seyebrowscrashtogether,andhe’shalfwayoffthecouchbeforeIraisemyhand,tryingtoholdbacklaughterdespitehowwreckedIfeel.What’shegoingtodo,gotoTheo’shouseandhughimtodeath?
Actually,god,that’sprobablywhatheneeds.Butyoucan’thugabrickwall.
“I’mokay.”Iclearmythroatwhenmyvoicecatches.“Itjustwasn’ttheconversationIexpected.”
Momdoesn’tlookconvinced.“Wecanwait—”
Ishakemyhead,pressingmypalmstogetherandcatchingthembetweenmyknees.“No,Ioweyouanexplanation,andI’mreadytogiveit.”
“Allright,”Dadsaysslowly.“Well,asyouknow,IfoundyourTikTok.”
“Ididn’tevenknowyouknewwhatTikTokwas.”
“Ididn’t,”hesays.“Iwasinthekitchenatworkearlierandoverheardtheseyoungdudestalkingaboutsomeseriesthey’dbeenfollowing.Isthatwhatyoucallit?Aseries?”Hedoesn’twaitformyanswer,justwaveshishand.Dadprefersmoretactileentertainment—thecrisppagesofabook,inktransferredontohisthumbandfingerfromanewspaper.Socialmediaholdsnoappealforhim.“Theystartedtalkingaboutatrip,andnamedoffafewlocations,whichwereyourlocations.SoIsaid,‘Hey,mydaughter’stravelingasimilarroute,letmeseethatvideo,’youknow,thinkingmaybeitwassomeoneinyourphotographygroup.”
Myheartsimultaneouslyexpandswithloveandshrinkswithshame.
“Itwasyou,though,”hesays,hisgazesearching.
“I’msorry,”Iwhisper.
“Well,holdthatthought.Afteryouleft,MomandIwatchedallthevideos.Andthenspentsometimereadingthecommentsand…”Hetrailsoff,clearinghisthroatthewayIdidmomentsbefore.Forthefirsttime,Inoticethathiseyesarealittleglassy.Momlooksathim,asoftsmileonherface.
“Wereyoucrying?”Iexclaim,startingtostand.
Heholdsupahand,hiseyesreddeningfurther.“Whatyoudidwiththisispowerfulstuff.Allofthecommentsaboutpeople’sfamilies,aboutyourtalent.Iwanttosayrightoffthebatthatwe’resoproudofthisworkyoudid.”
“It’sincredible,”Momagrees.“Butwe’retryingtowrapourheadsaroundwhyyousaidthetripwassomethingitwasn’t.Whydidn’tyoujusttelluswhatyouweredoing?”
“It’salongstory,”Iwarn.
“You’reclearlygoodattellingthem,”mydadsays.“Whydon’tyoustartfromthebeginning?”
Withadeepbreath,Ido.IstartwithhowIfoundthephotosandletter.ItellthemhowafraidIwastobreakthefragileskinofDad’shealingbybringingupalovestorythatwasn’thisparents’.IadmitIwantedtohaveonelastsecretwithGram,andtalkatlengthabouttheconnectionIfelttoherwhileIwasthere.Itellthem—haltingly—howattachedIgrewtoPaul.ToTheo.
WhenI’mdone,mythroatisrawfromtalkingsomuch,fromcryingearlier,andIswallowhard.IwishIhadadrink.Water,orbetteryet,vodka.
Dadletsoutaheavysigh.“Thankyouforputtingallthatincontext.Idon’tlovethatyoulied,buthonestly—”Hecracksasmile,andallofasuddenhe’slaughing.Mom’sgrinning,too,andIsplitmygazebetweenthetwoofthem.
Didtheyhavevodka?“Um,areyouokay?”
Dadwipesathiseyes.“Yeah,it’sjust—it’skindoffunny,becauseIknewaboutPaul.”
Alloftheairleavestheroom.Forasecond,Ican’thearanythingbuttheheartbeatinmyears.“I’msorry.What?”
“It’snotasecret,honey.Mommentioneditinpassingatimeortwowhenuskidswereolder,inanostalgiclookhowitturnedoutkindofway.”Hesobersup,leaningforward.“Givenyourrelationshipandthatlittlesecretgameyoutwohad,Iunderstandthatthismayhavefeltlikeshewashidingitfromyou,butIdon’tthinkthat’severwhatitwas.Itwasjustachapterofherlifethathadclosed.”
“Butdidn’tthat—foryou—”Iletoutabreath,frustratedwithmyscrambledbrain.“HerandGrandpa’srelationshipmeantsomuchtoyou.Ithoughtifyouknew,itmightbotheryou.”
“Notatall.Partofwhat’ssoepicabouttheirlovestoryisthattheychoseeachother,Noelle.Theymadethedecisiontomakeitwork.”Heliftsashoulder,lookingoveratMom,whohesharesaprivatesmilewith.“Everyrelationshipcomeswithatippingpoint,whereyoudecideifyou’regoingtoletitgoorholdontight.Sometimesyouhavemultiple—”
“Speakingfromexperience,”Mompipesup,diggingherelbowintoDad’sside.
Hegrinsatherbeforecontinuing.“There’snothingwrongwitheitherscenario.Infact,bothdecisionsareincrediblybrave.ButIthinkit’smiraculouswhentwopeopledecidetogetherthatthey’regoingtoholdon.GramandGrandpadidthatforsixty-someyears,andtheylovedeachotherdeeplythrougheveryminuteofit.”
Theo’swordsdriftthroughmybrain.You’resoobsessedwithsecrets.IcreatedanentireseparatepathbecauseIthoughtGramandPaul’srelationshipwasone.Iwentontheirabortedhoneymoon,forgod’ssake.
“SoImadethiswholethingup?”I’maskingmyselfasmuchasIammyparents.“Icould’vejustaskedyou,‘Hey,doyouknowaboutaguynamedPaul?’andyou’dhavesaid,‘Yeah,asamatteroffactIdo’andallofmyquestionswouldhavebeenanswered?”
“Well,no.Icouldn’thavegivenyouthestoryPauldid.Ifyou’daskedme,Iwould’vegivenyoutheinformationIhad,whichwasn’tallthatmuch,andyou’dhavemovedon.Lookatwherethisotherpathtookyou.”
TwoweeksofreadingGram’swordsandhearingaboutherfirst-handfromPaul,feelingthatconnectionbetweenusstrengthen.Twoweeksofrediscoveringmyloveforphotography,andfindingTheo.
Noneofthatwould’vehappenedifIhadn’tdugdeeperonmyown.
Myparentsscootapart,andDadpatsthespacebetweenthem.Istumbleover,lettingmyselfbepulledintothecircleofhisarms.
Histoneissoftandsoothing,hisbedtimestoryvoice.“Allourgriefisdifferent,andyoufacedyoursinawaythatyouneededto,whichwaskeepingoneofthemaintenetsofyourrelationshipwithGramalive.Thatgriefnevergoesaway,butitcangrowintosomethingthatyoucanhandle,orevengrowfrom.Lookwhatyoucreatedfromit—yourownstorywoveninwithhers.That’ssomethingshewouldlove.Shewouldbesoproudofyou.”
“Dad,”Igroan,myeyesflooding.Myheartisbreakingandhealingallatonce,inwaves.Shewouldbeproud.She’dprobablyframeallthecomplimentarycommentsaboutmyphotos.Andtheonesthatcalledherababe,too.
Heshakesmegently,andIlookuptoseehiseyesarewetlikemine.“MomandIareproudofyou,too.Whateveryouneededtodotocomehomewiththatsmileonyourface,itwasworthit.Ican’tbeallthatmadthatyouliedtousanymore,becauselookatwhatitbroughtyou.”
IclosemyeyesandIswearIseeitplayoutlikeamoviebehindmyeyes,usingalloftheimagesI’vecaptured.It’sbeautiful,eventhepainfulparts.
It’snotamistakeImade.It’smylife.
MyminddriftsbacktoTheo.Himinthatbackyard,alone.Me,walkingaway.
“Hey,andthinkaboutit—youhavethatjobinTahoethisweek,”Momsays,interruptingmythought.“Thatwouldn’thavehappenedifyoudidn’tgo,andI’msurethere’llbemorewherethatcomesfrom.”
“Ofcourseyou’dmentionthejob,”Isaywithoutheat.
“Iloveyou,butI’dalsolovemyPelotonroomback.”
Ilaugh,wipingatmyface.“I’mworkingonit.”
“Loveyou,Beans,”Dadsays,andtheybothleanintohugmetight.Itmendssomethingtorninsideofme.
“Thankyou,”Iwhisper,kissingtheircheeksinturn.
Theirsupportisendless,andsomehowitjustmakesmeachethatmuchharderforTheo.Iwanthimtohavethis,too,fromme.Ijustdon’tknowhowtogetthroughtohim.
Idon’thearfromTheoonTuesday,andbyWednesdayI’mrestless.IleaveforTahoetomorrow,butI’mafraidifIsitaround,I’llendupathisdoor,begginghimtoopenup.Literallyandfiguratively.
Somehow,IwindupatPaul’sdoorinstead.
Hiseyebrowsshootupinsurprise,thenrelaxashesmiles.“Noelle,comein.”
Forthethirddayinarow,Istartcrying,andhissmilecrumbles.Heletsoutasofttutofconcern,gatheringmeintoahug.
“Imissedyou,”Isaybywayofexplanation,restingmychinagainsthiscardigan-coveredshoulder.
That’sonlypartofit.ImissTheo.Imissbeinginourbubble,listeningtoPaul’svoicetellingstories.Imissthemagicofthatlife,evenasIrecognizeI’mbuildingsomethingspecialinthisone,too.
Hepetsmyhair,leaningasoftcheekagainstmytemple.“Imissedyou,too,sweetheart.Pleasecomein,allright?Let’ssit.”
Heleadsmetothelivingroom,andItrynottolookanywherethat’llremindmeofTheo.Notatthegallerywallwithallthepicturesofhim,youngerwithasmilemoreeasilyhandedover;notatthebackdeckwhereIwalkedoutonhimplayinggardener,displayingthatbeautifulbackmyfingershavesincetracedeverycurveanddipof.It’sevenhardtolookatPaulrightnow—it’sTheo’sfaceinsixtyyears.
“I’msorryIjustshowedup.Ishould’vecalledorsomething.”
OratleastmadesureTheowasn’there,thoughpartofmedesperatelywantshimtobe.OtherthanabaseballgameplayingquietlyontheTV,thehouseisstill
Paulsitsattheendofthecouch,anglingtobetterfacemeasIplopdown.
“It’sabsolutelyfine.Idohavemypokerbuddiescomingoverlater,butwehavetime.”
Inodandrunmyhandsovermythighs.“Idon’tknowifyou’vetalkedtoTheo…”
“Yes,ofcourse,”hesays,hisexpressionturningsomber.
“Ididn’tcomeheretopumpyouforinformation,oreventalkabouthim.”IsweardisappointmentflashesinPaul’seyesashenods.“I…actually,IwashopingIcouldreadthelastletteryoumentioned.”
Hisfacebrightens.“Ah,Iwaswaitingforthis.”
Hereachesunderhiscoffeetable,whereastackofphotographybookslie.HepullsthetoponeoutandopensittoapagethathasagorgeouslandscapephotoofZion.AngelsLandingtobeexact,whereIwassohighupIfeltlikeIcouldreachGram.Ashiverrunsdownmyspine;ontopofthatliesaletter,thoughitdoesn’tlooknearlyastimewornastheothers.
Paulnodshisheadtowardit,andItakeit,unfoldingthethreepagescarefully
“I’mnotsureifyouremembermetellingyouKathleensentVeraandmeaweddinggiftandanote?”
Ittakesmeasecondtopluckthememoryoutofmymind.“Youmentioneditthefirstdayofourtrip.”
“Yes,exactly.Now,someofthiswon’tberelevantbecauseit’shergossipingaboutouroldcollegefriends.ButIwouldloveitifyou’dreadthepartwhereshetalksaboutyou.”
Mybreathcatchesinmychest.“Shetalksaboutme?”
“Allhergrandkids,”heconfirms,hiseyestwinkling.“Thatpartlastsforanentirepage.There’saparagraphdevotedjusttoyou.”
ImakeamentalnotetotakeapictureofThomas’sparagraphandtextittohim.Butfirst,withPaul’shandonmyshoulder,Ireadmine:
Thenthere’sNoelle.Now,I’mgoingtotellyouasecret:Iknowwe’renotsupposedtohavefavorites,andit’seasyforyousinceyouhaveonegrandchild.ButifIdidhaveafavorite,itwouldbemysweetgirl.Ilookatherandmyheartfeelslikeit’llburst.She’smyshadow,alwaysfollowingmefromroomtoroom.IfI’msittingdown,she’sinmylap.Peoplesaywe’realike,butshe’ssomuchbraverthanme.She’ssocurious.Getsineverything!Andwhenshereallywantssomething,shenever,evergivesup.Ifeelthiswithallmygrandchildren,andIdon’twanttowishawaytheyears—everyminuteiswonderful—butIcan’twaittoseewhatshedoeswhenshegrowsup.Iknowwhateveritis,it’llbespectacular.
ThewordsareblurredbythetimeIfinish,andIbendovertheletter,holdingittomychest.Overmyheart.I’mbeingstitchedtogether,butdamn,ithurts.
PaulsweepshishandovermybackwhileIcry,notjustforthelossofGram,butfortheloveshegavemeinthefirstplace.Forthebeliefshealwayshadinme,evenwhenIdidn’thaveanyinmyself,andfortherealizationthatI’mfindingitagain.Toseeitinherownwords,likeit’sasecretbeingwhispereddirectlytomefromher,isasperfectasitispainful.It’sexactlywhatIneeded,andsomehowsheknewthat.
Ifthere’sanythingIcanlearnfromPaulandGram’sstory,it’sthatIcanfallandgetbackup,Icanletgoanditstillwon’tbetoolatetoholdontosomethingelse,aslongasIkeeptrying.Thateventuallythepeacewillcomeexactlywhenit’smeantto.
IhatethatGramisgone;I’llnevergetoverit.ButIdon’thavetodigupanymoresecretstokeephernear,becauseshe’severywhere.SheguidesmewhenIguidemyself.
Paul’svoicecutsgentlyintomythoughts.“Iwroteheraletter,too,asathank-youforthegift,butalsosoIcouldgushaboutmyownfavoritegrandchild.”
Iwipeatmyface,lettingmyhaircurtainbetweenussoIcanpullmyselftogether.ThoughIsaidIdidn’twanttotalkaboutTheo,thetruthisI’mhungryforanycrumb.
Hetakesmysilenceforwhatitis:arequesttokeeptalking.“Idon’tremembertheexactwordingbecauseitwasawhileagoandmymindisn’twhatitusedtobe.”
“Yeah,right,”Iscoff,laughingsoggily.
Theamusementinhisvoiceisclearashecontinues.“ItoldherallaboutTeddy—howsmarthewas,howfocusedevenatfive.Butmoreimportantthanthat,howmuchhesmiled.Howlovinghewas.”
Ipushbackmyhair,lookingathim.He’swatchingmeclosely.
“I’veseenthatfive-year-oldboyforthepastseveralweeks,evenwithhisunfortunateworksituation,”hesays.“Iwatchedyoutwogrowclosereverydayandbuildsomethingthatisveryspecial.Iknowitfeelshardwhenhetriestopushaway,butwhatyouhaveisworthholdingonto.”
It’ssuchanechoofwhatmydadsaidthatitstunsme.Letgoorholdon
“Hedoesn’ttrustme,”Iwhisper.
“Hetrustsyou.Hedoesn’ttrustthatwhatyouhavewon’tbetakenawayfromhim.”Heshakeshishead.“Ifthisisworthittoyou,Noelle,thenbepatientwithourboy.Ittakeshimthreetimesaslongtoadmittohisownhappinessbecauseheneverknewhewasallowedtohaveit.”
Thewordssinkbetweenus,wrappingaroundmyheart,whichhasn’tstoppedachingindays.
“Okay,”Isayfinally.It’sapromiseIdon’tknowifIcankeep.It’sworthittome,butisitworthittoTheo?Istilldon’thavethatanswer.
Paulmovesusontoother,lesswroughtsubjects,plyingmewithcoffeeandcookies.BythetimeIstandtoleave,thesunishanginglowinthesky.
“Ididn’tmeantostaysolate,”Isayaswewalktothefrontdoor.“I’mleavingforTahoetomorrowtoworkwiththatresort,soIneedtopack.”Igivehimawrygrin.“Again.”
“Willyouletmeknowhowitgoes?”
Ipauseatthethreshold.“Isthatokay?Evenifthingsdon’tworkoutwithTheo?”
Hegivesmealook,pullingmeinforafinalhug.“Youwerehers,”hewhispers.“So,nowyou’remine,too.”
I’msobusycryingasIdrivedownthestreetthatInearlymisstheflashofredturningthecorner.ButthenIsee—it’sTheobehindthewheelofBetty,headedtowardPaul’s.Oureyesmeetthroughourwindshields,andelectricityarcsbetweenus.I’msoflusteredthatmyfootstompsthegas,andIlurchpasthim.Idon’tslowdown,butwatchinmyrearviewmirrortoseeifhe’llstop.Hedoesn’t,soIdon’teither.Itfeelslikemyheartisattachedtohisbumper;itpullsandpullsashistaillightsmovefurtheraway.
ThenIturnthecornerandhe’sgone.
WhenIpullintomyparents’driveway,there’satextwaitingforme.It’sfromTheo.
Iwanttobethepersonyousaidyouneed.
Iwipeatmycheeks,searchingforwhattosay.Intheend,it’ssimple:Youalreadyare,Spencer.Ijustneedyoutotrustthat.Andme.
Iwaitforhisresponse,butitdoesn’tcome.Thirty-One
Thankyousomuchforeverything,Noelle,”Eunice,theresort’smarketingdirector,saysassheushersmebackintothelobby.“Ican’twaittoseethefinalproduct.Theshotsyoujustsharedarebeautiful.”
“It’snothardtodowhenyou’reworkingwithaviewlikethis.”Igestureoutthefloor-to-ceilingwindow,whichlooksouttoamassivedeck,asparklingpool,andbeyondthat,thetoweringtreesandcraggymountainsthatmakeLakeTahoesopicturesque.
“Seriously,though.”Shepushesherblackbangsoutofhereyes.“WhenItellyoumyboyfriendandIstayedgluedtoourphoneswhileyouweretraveling,I’mnotexaggerating.Wefellinlovewithyourstory,andyourphotographyissocaptivating.Nottomentionyoursocialengagementisphenomenal,soyouwereaneasyselltomyboss.”
I’vereadcommentssayingsimilarthings,buttohearitinpersoniswild.I’llhavetopinchmyselflaterwhennoone’saround.Thisdayhasbeensurreal.
IwishIcouldshareitwithTheo.Yesterdayhetextedme:goodluckinTahoe,Shep.You’regoingtoblowthemawayIsenthimashotofthesunsetfallingbehindathickcopseoftrees,butonlygotaheartedpictureinreturn.
Blinkingawayfromthememory,Isay,“That’sreallynice,thankyou.Ihadsuchagreatdaywithyou.”
“Rightbackatyou.You’vebeenarockstar.”Glancingdownatherwatch,Eunicefrowns.“Ihavetogetgoing,butIwantedtocheckwithyouaboutsomething.It’shalfbusiness,halfpersonal.”
“Ofcourse.”
“IhaveafriendinSanFranciscowho’sopeningupacoffeeshop.He’slookingforsomeonetoshoothisspaceandmenuforallhissocialplatforms,”shesays.“I’mnotsurewhatyourscheduleislike,butwoulditbeokayifIpassedyourinformationovertohim?”
Iworkhardtokeepmycool,gettingouta“Yes,that’dbegreat.”
Meanwhile,insidemybodytherearefirecrackersgoingoffandcaralarmsblaring.ThatIcouldhaveapotentialjobasI’mfinishingthisoneis…
It’severythingIwastooafraidtoreachforbefore.Theo’svoiceechoesinmyhead,smugandproud:Itoldyouso.I’dgiveanythingtohearitinperson.
“Amazing!”Eunicechirps.“Well,then,I’llletyougettotherestofyournight.Thanksagainforeverything.You’llbeintouchwiththefinalimages?Andlet’srereviewyoursponsoredcontentscheduleonMonday.”
“Thatsoundsperfect.”
Weexchangeourgoodbyes,andIwalktotheelevator,restlessnessgrowinginmychest.
ItmeanssomethingthatTheoisthefirstpersonIwanttocallrightnow,doesn’tit?It’shissupportIwant.He’sgivenmesomuchinresponsetoeverythingI’vetoldhim,andIknowthat’sreal.Ihatethathedidn’ttellmewhathewasgoingthrough,buthedidn’tholdhimselfbackfrommecompletely.Isawenoughofhimtofallinlove.That’sreal,too.
PaultoldmeittakesTheothreetimesaslongtoadmittohishappiness,becausehedidn’tknowhewasallowedtohaveit.Now,Irealizeitmusttakehimhalfaslongtoadmittohisperceivedfailures,becausethat’sallheheardabout
IthinkofalltheyearsIhadEnzo’svoiceinmyhead,tellingmethatIwasn’tgoodenoughtobeaphotographer.Thatwasafteronlyayearofworkingwithhim,andtheresultwasdevastatingandlasting.Theo’sdadhasbeentellingTheoheisn’tenoughhisentirelife.HowdeepmusthisvoicebeinTheo’smind?Inhisheart?Didhehearthatinmyvoice,too?
Ithinkofmyownfamily,whoacceptallmyfailures,perceivedorreal,withloveandsupport.Whodon’tjudgemeforit.WhenIwenttoTheoonMonday,Ifailedtorecognizethat,asidefromPaul,he’sneverhadsomeonewhoacceptshimforwhoheis.Wholoveseverycornerofhim,bothbrightandshadowed.
AndthenIthinkofhistextfromtheotherday:Iwanttobethepersonyousaidyouneed.Itoldhimhealreadywas,totrustthat.Butthere’ssolittlehe’sbeenabletotrust,andnow,nottellinghimwhyheshouldtrustthatfeelslikeagraveerror.
Iexittheelevator,myheartthumping.I’msupposedtoleavetomorrowmorning,butthere’ssomuchIneedtotellhimandnoneofitcanwait.
MycamerabagbouncesagainstmyhipasIspeedwalkdownthehall,burstingintomyroom.Imakeabeelineformyphone,ignoringthetextsfrommyparents,Sadie,andThomasfornow.
Instead,IpullupthetextthreadbetweenTheoandmeandstarttotype.
ImeantitwhenIsaidyou’realreadythepersonIneed,butIdidn’ttellyouwhyandIwantyoutohearhowamazingIthinkYOUare.
Ipause,embarrassinglyoutofbreathfrommydashdownthehallandfromfearandexhilaration,waitingtoseeifanytextbubbleswillpopup.There’snothing,soIcontinue.
Somuchhappenedtoday.Itookkickassphotos.Themarketingdirectorlovedme.She’sgivingmeareferraltosomeoneinthecitywhomayhireme.Itwasapinch-memoment,aperfectoneexceptforonething—you’renothereformetoshareitwith.YouwerethefirstpersonIthoughtofcalling.You’retheoneIwanttotelleverythingto.Idon’tregretsharingwhatIdidwithyou,evenifitseemedlikeitonMonday.Youmakemefeelsafe.Ijustwantthatfeelingforyou.
Mykneesareshakingalongwithmyhands.Isitontheedgeofthebed,chewingatmylip.Stillnothing.Itakeadeepbreathanddivebackin.God,thisissolong.It’sturningintoa—
Aletter.Aloveletter.ButI’mgoingtosaythemostimportantthingsrighttohisface.
Iwassupposedtocomehometomorrow,butI’mdrivinghomerightnowandI’mgoingtoshowupatyourdoor.IknowIsaidIwasscaredtogiveyouanymoreofmysecretsuntilyougavemesomethingback,butthesearen’tsecrets.It’sjustthetruth.Youhave3.5hourstodecideifyouwanttoopenthedoorwhenIknock.
Hestilldoesn’trespond.Nobubblestoindicatehe’sevenseenit,eitherrollinghiseyesorwithheartsinthem.Ineedtoseehisfacetodeterminewhichwaythisisgoingtogo.
Mybagispackedinminutes,fueledbythefranticpaceofmyheart,andItowmysuitcasebehindmeasIthrowopenthedoor.
“Fuckinghell!”Ishriekatthetallbodyinthedoorway,reelingback.MyheelcatchesontheedgeofthesuitcaseandI’mtippingoverbackwards—
ButTheoreachesout.Hegrabsmebythearm,holdsontight,andpullsmeuntilI’msteadyonmyfeet.
“NotthereactionIwashopingfor,”hemurmurs.
“Areyoukiddingme?”Ipantout,droppingmypurseandloweringmycamerabagsomyhandsarefreetocheckifhe’sreal.Ipressmypalmstohischest,feelingtheheavy,fastbeatofhisheartbehindhisribs.“Iwasabouttodrivebacktoyou!”
Hesmiles,butthere’sanxietybehindit,thecornersofhiseyestightening.“Beatyoutoit.”
“That’ssoyou,”Icroakoutaroundmythickthroat.
“Youinvitedmeuphere,remember?”heasks,steppingcloser.“Orhasthatinvitationexpired?”
“N-no.Notexpired.”Evenwithmyhandsonhim,it’shardtobelievehe’shere.“Howdidyoufindme?”
“ThomasandSadie.”
Ohgod.Thomasisgoingtobesmugaboutthisforever.
Theo’sexpressionturnssolemn.“Ihavesomuchtosay.”
“Ido,too.”Myfingerscurlintohissoftgrayshirt,encouraginghimtocomecloser.Hedoes,themovementastentativeasthehopeonhisface.“Itextedyouanovel,basically.”
“IsawitrightafterIparked.”
“Theo,I—”
“Mefirst,”heinterrupts,butit’ssogentlethatmyeyesflood.“SinceIcameallthisway.”
“Typicalofyoutotrytotakefirst,but—”Ibreakoffwithasmilewhenhelaughs.“Goahead.”
Theosobersimmediately.“I’msorryforwhatIsaidonMondayandhowIshutdown.I’msorryfornotexplainingmyselfbetterwhenIsaidoursituationsweren’tthesame.Ididn’tmeanourjoblosses,Noelle.Imeantwhathappenedafterthem.”
Inodsilently,soheknowsI’mreallylistening.
Hemakesafrustratednoisefromthebackofhisthroat.“Youhaveastrongsupportsystem,andI’musedtobeingalone.It’s…it’sbeenbetterforme,historically,tobethatwayandnowmydefaultisprocessingbadthingsbymyself.It’shardformetotrustthatitwon’tbeusedagainstme.Ididn’tthinkyou’dwantmeifyouknewwhathadhappened,soIthoughtIwasdelayingtheinevitablebynottellingyou.”
“Idowantyou.Nomatterwhat.”
“Iknow.Ittookmeawhiletogetthere.Ihadtoprocesswhatyousaidandrealizethatyouwanttobewithme,evenwiththeshitI’mgoingthrough.”Heletsoutasoftbreaththatstirsthehairatmytemple.Hiswordsmoveovermyheartthesameway—acoolwhisperthatbringsrelief.“I’msorryIkeptyouwaiting.”
“I’msorry,too,”Isay.“Fornotrecognizingthatitmighttakeyoulongertotrustmewithsomethingthissignificantandpushingyoutosharebeforeyouwereready.Imadeanalreadyshittysituationworse.”
“Youwerehurt.”
“Sowereyou.Mypaindoesn’tsupersedeyours.”Emotionswellsinmythroatatthelookinhiseyes—apowerfulaffectionIrecognizebutwanthimtoname.Theowaits,aspatientasIshouldhavebeenwithhim,hishandssweepingupmyarms.“Clearlywestillhavealottolearnabouteachotherandhowwerespondtothings,butIwanttolearnyour—”Ishakemyhead.“I’mnotgoingtocallthemsecretsanymore.Yourtruths,Iguess,whenyou’rereadytogivethemtome.”
“Funnyyoumentionthat.”Hiseyesdartpastme,furtherintotheroom.“CanIcomein?”
Ipushbackagainsthimashestepsforward,tiltingmychinback.“Canyougivemeaproperhellofirst?”
Heraisesaneyebrow.“Isthatthepriceofadmission,Shepard?”
“Yes,”Isayimpatiently,smilingwhenhelaughsquietly.
Butouramusementisshort-lived.Hecupsmyjaw,hisfingersfanningovermycheektobringmetohim.Histouchignitesme,andthisclose,hecanseeit.Hismouthcurlsuprightbeforeitbrushesagainstmine.
Iletoutaquiet,needysound,fistinghisshirtinmyhands.Hesighsoutmyname,kissesmesoftlyonceandthenagain.Ipushincloser,buthekeepsitlight.Patient.
“Hi,”hemurmursagainstmymouth.
“Hi,”Imanagetogetout.
“Todaywentwell?”
Myeyesfill.Ofcoursehe’daskaboutthat.“Yes,itwasamazing.”
Igethisdimple,abrilliant,proudsmile.“Iknewitwouldbe.”
“ItmakesitmorerealnowthatI’vetoldyou.”Atearstartstofalldownmycheek,butTheo’stheretocatchit.
“I’mabouttoknowthefeeling,”hesayswithaprivatesmileIwonderat.Buthejustkissesmeagain,lingeringlikehewantstomakesurethisisreal.“Let’sgotalk.”
Leavingmyluggageatthedoor,heleadsustothecouch,settingdownabagIdidn’tnoticebefore.
“Howareyoufeelingaboutwork?”Iask.
Heslidesmealookandpullsoutafolder,thencirclesmywristtopullmedownontothecouch.
“It’salot,butI’llbefine,”hesays.“IhadanoddlyciviltalkwithAntonandMatiasandaroughonewithmydad.”
“Whathappened?”
“ItoldhimaboutthetripGranddadandItookwithyou.Hewasn’tthrilledaboutourfamilybusinessbeingsplashedallovertheinternet.”Igrimace,butTheojustshakeshishead,lookingsurprisinglyunruffledaboutit.“Iknewhe’dhateit.ButIdidn’t.Thosetwoweeksmeanteverythingtome—andtoGranddad—andthatmatters.”
Myheartsqueezesatthesteelinhisvoice.
“Anyway,hemovedonfromthattofocusonwhathappenedwithmyjob.He’shavingahardertimelettinggoofthedreamthanIdid,butItoldhimhehasto.I’mnotgoingtotalktohimuntilhedoes.Hisvoicecan’tbelouderthanmineinmyownhead,youknow?”Hisgazelockswithmine.“AndI’vegotpeopleinmycornerwho’llhelpdrownitout,anyway.”
Iscootclosertohim,mychesttight.It’samassivestep,andIcanseeinhiseyesthatheknowsit,thatsomeweighthasbeenliftedbyfinallyerectingthatboundary.“I’msoproudofyou.”
“Youdidn’tsaythatlikeyouwereabouttothrowuplikelasttime,”hesays,grinning.“Progress.”
Irollmywateryeyes,thenappraisehim,lettingmygazerunoverhisface.“You’rereallyokay?”
Hisvoiceispitchedequallylowwhenhesays,“Betternow.”
Wegetcaughtinanextendedmomentthatweavesbetweenus,athreadaddedtoalltheoneswe’vemadethesepastweeks.Invisible.Unbreakable.
There’ssomuchmoreIwanttohear,though,soInudgeusoutofthemoment,runningmyhanduphisthigh.Myfingersbrushagainstthefolderinhislap.“Tellmewhatyou’vebeendoingwithallyournewfoundfreedom.”
“I,ah,”hestarts,scrubbingahandoverhisjawwithreluctantamusement,“IactuallyspentyesterdaytryingtofigureouthowtomakeaTikTok.”
Myeyeswiden.“What?Why?”
“Iwantedtomakeoneforyou.”Hisexpressionturnsself-conscious.“It’sharderthanitlookstomakesomethingasgoodasyours,soIeventuallygaveupandmovedtoplanB.”
“What’splanB?Actually,I’mnotevensureIunderstandplanA.”
Helaughssoftly.“PlanAwasavideowhereIbasicallylaidmyheartontheline.PlanBisthesame,buthopefullywithlesstrollsinthecommentsection.”
Mythroatissotight,myheartsoimpossiblyfull.“Nopromises.”
Theogrins,ahopefulthingthatquicklydissolvesintoagentlecurl.“IwenttoseeGranddadonWednesday.Well,yousawme,soyouknow.”
“Yeah.”
“Wehadalongtalk.”Herunsahandthroughhishair,leavingitmussed.“Verylong.Solongthatheendedupcancelinghispokergame.Hehadalottosay,whichwon’tsurpriseyou.”
“Zeropercentsurprised.”
Hiseyesmoveovermyfacelikehe’stakingamentalsnapshot.“YouandGranddadbothgavemealottothinkabout.HowIviewmysuccess,howothersviewit,whatIthinkIdeserveandhowIsabotagemyselfbecauseofhowIgrewup.”Ireachovertotakehishand,andhelooksdownashisfingersweavethroughmine.“Butitwasn’tuntilGranddadtookmeintohisdarkroomandshowedmethepicturesIwanttoshowyouthatIreallyunderstoodwhatIwasatriskoflosingifIdidn’tgetmyshittogether.”
Myhandtightensaroundhis.“Youweren’tgoingtoloseme.”
“Icould’ve,”hesaysquietly.“Maybenotrightaway,buteventually.Iwanttobethatguyforyou,butIwanttobeitforme,too.Webothdeservetobewithsomeonewhowantsusexactlyasweare,don’tyouthink?”
“Yes,”Iwhisper,myeyesfilling.
“Didyouevernoticehowmygranddadtookpicturesofus?”heaskssuddenly.
Ifrown.“Vaguely.”
“Hetookalot,thestalker,becauseheknewwhathewascapturingbeforewedid.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Hissmileissotenderitlookslikeitcouldbreak,andIholdmybreath,notwantingtodisturbit.“Letmeshowyou.”Thirty-Two
MyeyesdroptothefolderinTheo’slap.Heputsahandoverit,hisveinsroad-mappedunderneathhisskin.I’vehadthathandallovermybody,andnowIfeellikeit’sholdingmyheart.
“TherewerethingsIheldback,”hesays.“Thestuffwithmyjob,butotherthings,too.Iwanttotellyounow,ifthat’sokay.”
“Okay,”Isayfaintly.
Heopensthefolderandmygazelocksinonthetoppicture.It’sTheoandmeatTunnelViewoverlook,thedayItookmyfirstphoto.I’minprofile,mycameracradledinmyhands.It’sclearI’vejustloweredit,andI’mgazingoutattheviewinwonder.Theo’sseveralfeetaway,watching.Hisexpressionmirrorsmine,buthe’slookingatme.
“Here,IwasthinkingabouthowproudIwasthatyoutookthatphotoeventhoughyouwerescared,”Theosays,hisvoicelowinmyear.“IthoughtabouthowscaredIwasthatIwalkedawayfromawreckI’dhavetofaceintwoweeks.IwishedIcouldbebravelikeyou,andIwishI’dtoldyouthat.”
“Theo—”Icroakout,butheshakeshishead,placingthefirstpicturedown.
“There’smore.”
ThenextoneisusinDeathValley.We’restandingclose,mirroringeachother.Ourshouldersarecurvedintowardeachother.I’mgazingupathim,eyeswide,totallyrapt.Theo’shandsareinhispockets,hisbodyleaningintomyspace.It’slikehewantstoreachforme,butwon’tlethimself.
“ThisiswhenyouaskedmeaboutWhereToNext’sname,”hesays.“Granddadsaidit,andIknewyou’daskmeaboutit.You’realwayspayingattention.Ididn’trealizehowmuchIneededtotalkaboutit,butsomehowyoudid.”
HisexpressiongotsosoftwhenhetoldmethathistripswithPaulwerewovenintothefoundationofthecompany.Itwasclearhowmuchitmeanttohim.
“I’llneverforgetwhenyousaidWhereToNextwasmypay-it-forwardmomentoverandoveragain,”Theosays.“Yousawmyintentthewaynooneelsedid,evenAntonandMatias,andithurttoknowthatwasgoingtogettakenawayfromme.YouunderstandingwhatIwantedtodointhefirstplacetooksomeofthataway,andIwishI’dtoldyouthatinthemoment.”
I’mfullycryingnow,butTheodoesn’tstop.It’slikethefloodgatesareopenandeverything’spouringoutatonce.It’sapurgingofsecrets.
Thenextpicture,we’reinZionattheswimminghole.We’vejustbreachedthewaterafteryelling,andwe’relookingupatPaul,socloseourshouldersaretouching.Underneaththewater,ourlegslooktangled.
Theo’sthumbsmoothsdownthecorner.“Thisday,IplayedaroundwithjusttellingyouwhatIwasgoingthrough.Icouldtellthatyouweregoingthroughsomething,too,andpartofmeknewyou’dunderstand.ButwhenIwastalkingaboutthecompanychanging,yousaidyou’dfollowedmycareerandthatyouwereproudofmeforfightingforthisthingIbelievedin…Icouldn’tsaythatIcouldn’tfightit.Itwasalreadydone.Ifeltlikealiar,butIdidn’twanttoletyoudown.”
“Youwouldn’thave.”
“Iknowthatnow.”Heleansovertopressakissagainstmyhair,brushingatmywetcheekswithaknuckle.“ButIwasscared.Ididn’twanttorunyouoff.Ididn’ttrustwhatwehadyet.”
WeshufflethroughmoreshotsPaultookofus,andtherealizationisalightningstriketomyheart.
Hedidholdhisbiggestsecretback,buthegavemesomanysmallerones.Thetruthislaidouthere.Therearequietmomentswherewe’rehikingnexttoeachotherondustyredtrails,Theo’shandhoveringatmyback.WetalkedaboutmundanedetailsofWhereToNext,myphotography,bickeredoverhighschoolshenanigans.There’sashotofTheolookingrightatthecamera,hisundilutedaffectionforPaulwrittenalloverhisface.Heletmeseeeverytenderpartoftheirrelationshipwhileputtinghisvulnerabilityondisplay.Heletmesharetheirlove,knowingitwouldhealme,too.
There’saphotoofthetwoofusdancingonthebackpatioinSedona,thenightbeforeIconfessedeverythingtohimandheconfessedrightback.Itwasn’tabouthissituation,butintellingmethewayhesawme,heexposedhisownwishes.Inhindsight,Icanseehowmuchhewantedtobelievethosewordsforhimself,andhowmuchheprobablyneededtohearthem.
Itracemyfingeroverourtangledbodies.“Itdidhurtthatyoudidn’ttellmeaboutlosingyourjob.Butyoudidn’tholdbackentirely,anditmeanseverythingthatyoutrustedmeenoughtodothat.”
“Idotrustyou,”hesaysquietly,thenpicksupthelastpicture.
It’stheoneTheotookofmeatthetopofAngelsLandinginZion.I’minmotion,turningtowardhim.Thephotoisalittleblurry.IteasedhimaboutitwhenIemailedittohimathisrequest,butIloveditthen.Mixedinwithalltheothersnow,Iloveitevenmore.Inthephoto,he’sjustcalledmyname,andmyeyesarelitupwitheverything.I’mtellingonmyselfsobadly.
Theosmiles,likeheknows.“Thisoneismyfavorite.”
“Tellmewhy.”
“Rememberhowdeterminedweweretogettothetop?”
Ilaugh.Icanstillfeelhowshakymykneeswerecrossingthechainlesssectionofthepath,andyethowoddlycalmIwaswithTheorightbehindme.
Oureyesmeet,andheletsoutabreath.“Rememberhowwedidthattogether?”
Inodsilently,nottrustingmyvoice.
“Yougotuptothetopfirst,andallIcouldthinkaboutwashowbeautifulyouwere.YouaskedmewhatI’ddoifIhadtime,andwhenIsaidI’dtravel,Ididn’taddthemostimportantpart.”Heshifts,curvinghishandaroundmyleg.Hiseyesareadeep,fathomlessbluebutsoclear.Icanseeeverythinginthem.“Ididn’tsaythatI’dspenditwithyou,butIwishIhad.ItwasthefirsttimeI’dthoughtaboutwhatIcoulddoonceI’dleftmycompanyinawaythatmademehappy,andthatwasbecauseofyou.Becauseofwhatwecoulddotogether.”
Theosetsthepictureonthetablewithalltheothers.Astrangercouldlookattheseandknowhowwefeel.Itwasrightthere,growingbetweenuseverysecond,whenweacknowledgeditandevenwhenwecouldn’t.
“Noelle.”
Hesaysmynamesoquietly,it’sbarelyasound.Thesameemotionthat’swellinginmychestisthreadedthroughhisvoicewhenhegesturestothephotosandsays,“ThisisthewayIfellinlovewithyou.”
Iknewthat’swherehewasheaded,buthearingitoutloudisstillstunning,soIfallapart.Justalittle.“It’sthewayIfellinlovewithyou,too.”
“Icouldseethat.”Aslow,almostshysmilespreadsacrosshisfacelikehoney.WhenIleanforwardtokisshim,Icantasteit.
“Iloveyou,”Isay,andhesaysitback,framingmyfaceinhishands.Hegivesmeeachwordsoakedinrelief.
“IwishI’dtoldyouallofthissooner,”hesays,pushingmyhairbackfrommyface.“Youmakeiteasiertotrytobebrave,butI’mnotalwaysgoingtogetitright.Ican’tbeperfect.”
“Haven’tyoubeenlisteningtome?Idon’twantyoutobeperfect.Afterallourbattles,Spencer,youshouldknowthatitactuallypissesmeoff.”
Helaughsagainstmyneck,kissingupmythroat,tomyear,alongmycheek,untilheplacesthemostcarefulkissonthetipofmynose.Hiseyesarewideopen.Mineare,too.
“CanItellyouwhyIloveyou?”Iwhisper.
Pullingback,henods.Theuneaseinhisexpressionbreaksmyheart.Butitfortifiesme,too.
“Firstofall,you’rethebestgrandsonever.You’lldoanythingforPaul,andit’sclearyou’reobsessedwitheachother.Andeventhoughhe’syours,yousteppedasideandletmehaveimportantmomentswithhimwithouthesitation.”Isayallthiswatchinghisanxietymeltaway,turningintosomethingsohopefulitmakesatearrundownmycheek.“You’resoselflessthatyou’regoingtoshareyourtitleoffavoritegrandchildwithme.”
Hissmileisluminous.“Slowyourroll.”
“YoucatchmewhenIfalldownhills,andyouonlyyellaboutitalittlebit.Youhavereallyterribletasteinmusic.”Iholdupmyhandashestartstoprotest.“That’snotaplus,butit’sworthmentioning.Iwantthebadpartswiththegood.”
Theolaughs,buthiseyesaresuspiciouslyglassy.
“Andlastbutnotleast,youheldmeupwhenIwasatmylowestuntilIcouldclimboutmyself.”IswallowreflexivelyafewtimeswhileTheogazesatmewiththesmallest,mostbeautifulsmile.I’mgladnoone’sheretotakeourpicture;wemustlookridiculous,soinlove.It’sthebestmomentofmylife.“Youdidn’ttrytofixme.YoujustsupportedmeuntilIbelievedit.Iwanttobethatforyou,Theo.Notbecauseit’satitfortatthingorbecauseIneedyoursecretstofeellikewe’reeven,butbecauseyourhappinessisimportanttome,nomatterwhatitlookslike.”
“Iwantthat,too,”hesayshoarsely.“Youhavenoideahowmuch.”
“Ido.It’showmuchIwantit.”
Witharelievedexhale,hepullsmeontohislapandtangleshisfingersinmyhair,bringingmymouthtohis.We’vegiveneachothersomanywordsthatnowthere’snothinglefttodobutthis.Thepressureofhiskissisimmediatelyintense,andIsagintohim,wrappingmyarmsaroundhisneck,feelinghisheartbeathardagainstmychest.Oneofhishandsmovesdownmyback,andhecinchesmyhipstightagainsthisuntilIcanfeelallofhisneed.
“Iloveyou.”Hegroanswhilehesaysit,tightensafistinmyhairtokeepmeexactlywherehewantsme—rightherewithhim.
Ilaughagainsthismouth.“Yeah,youdo.”
Hegrins,pullingback.He’scloseenoughthatIcouldcounteachofhiseyelashesindividuallyifIwantedtospendmytimedoinganythingbutgettingnaked.
Hegivesmehissterneyebrows,butnowIknowallofhissoftness.They’reaseffectiveasever,butinadifferentway.“Yourspeechwasbetterthanmine,Shepard.”
Iarchaneyebrowback.“It’snotacontest,Spencer.”
Ourgrinsaremirrorsofeachother—euphoriclovewithapinchofcompetition.That’sjustwhoweare.
Butshockingly,Theoconcedes.“Okay,fine.Thistimewebothwin.”
He’sright.Webothdo,fortherestofthenightandlongafterthat.Thirty-Three
AYearandaHalfLater
Ican’twaittofallfacedownonthebedandsleepforforty-eighthoursstraight,”IgroanasIlugmysuitcaseupthestairs,myarmsandlegsscreamingagainsttheweightofthreeweeks’worthofclothes,toiletries,andgiftspackedtothebrim.
“Thatsoundslessfunthanotherthingsyoucouldbedoingfacedownonthebed,”Theosaysfrombehindme.
Igivehimalookovermyshoulder,buthe’stoobusystaringatmyass.WhenIdon’trespond,thosedeepblueeyesmaketheirwaytomyface.Hegrinsunabashedlyatbeingcaught.
“We’vebeentravelingfornineteenhours,Spencer.Ifyou’replanningtodoanythingotherthansleep,Iinviteyoutostarttalkingsexytoyourhandnow.”
AfterflyinginfromMilanwithastopoveratJFK,carryingallofourstuffupstairsistheequivalentofclimbingMountEverest.Iheftmybagontothelandingwithanexhaustedhuff.
Theodropshissuitcasenexttomineandimmediatelypullsmeintohisarmsforalingeringkiss.
“Nooo.Ismelllikeairplaneandairportandstaleness.”Despitemyprotest,Imeltagainsthim,loopingmyarmslooselyaroundhiswaist.Hestepsincloser,deepeningourconnection.
Heletshishandsroam,strokingabsentlyoverthecurveofmylowerback,hisfingerssplayingwide,upalongthevalleyofmywaistuntilhefinallyreachesuptocradlemycheeks.I’msurprisedattheintensityofhistouch.We’vebeenstuffedonanairplanetogetherfornearlyaday,andtraveledalloverItalyforthreeweeksbeforethat.Buthe’skissingmelikehe’seithermemorizingmeorthismoment.
I’vehadalotoftimeoverthepastyearandahalftocataloghismoods.IwatchedthemelancholyhehadtoshakeoffwiththechangeofhisjobstatusandthedistanceitbroughttohisfriendshipwithAntonand,toalesserextent,Matias.Iintimatelyknowthesparkthatreturnedwhenhedecidedtotryagainninemonthsago,andnowIregularlyseeitwhenhe’sonacallwiththetravelnonprofitfocusedonlocalcommunityimpacthe’sbeenworkingwith.IrecognizethecalmaffectionhereservesforPaulwhenthey’rebantering,thedisgruntlementIhavetodistracthimfromafteraphonecallwithhisdad,andthewarmamusementheshowsmyfamily.
Sometimesit’sfrustrationwhenIpushhimtoohardtosharebeforehe’sready,andIhavetogivehimspace.IlovethequietprideinhiseyeswhenIcomehomefromajob.MyTikTokengagementgrewexponentiallyafterourtrip,andit’saffordedmeopportunitiesI’veonlydreamedabout.
ButthismoodofTheo’sismyfavorite:whenwe’reinthemiddleofamomentheclearlywantstoremember.He’llpullmeintohisarmsjustlikethis,kissmeforaminuteortwoorfive.HemakessureI’mbreathlessbeforehepullsback.Sometimeshe’lltellmehowhappyheis;othertimeshe’llsimplypressakisstomyforehead.
Hedoesthatnow,thensweepshisthumbsovermycheeksandsays,“Welcomehome.”
ThefirsttimehesaidthattomewhenImovedintohisplaceayearago,hegotthegoofiestsmileonhisface.It’sbecomehisthing—everytimeIwalkinthedoor,he’llcallitouttome,evenifIjustwalkeddowntothecornerstore.AndwhenIgetupthestairs,he’swearingthatsamesmile,dimpleshamelesslyondisplay.
Inevergettiredofhearingorseeingthat,andafterthreeweeksawayfromhomeandallthepeoplewelove,itfeelslikeamomentIwanttomemorize,too.
“Iloveyou,”Isay.MylifewithTheoislikefinallyslippingintoaspacethat’sshapedjustforme.Mypathtogetherewaslong,andoftendisorientingashell,butthepayoffwasworthit.
IwishGramwereheretosee.Butsomehow,Ithinksheknows.
“Iloveyou,Shepard,”Theomurmursagainstmylips.
Icheckmywatchoverhisshoulder—it’safternine,butI’mstarving.“DidyousayThomasandSadiedroppedoffgroceriesearlierordidIdreamthat?”
“Theywerehere,”hesayscryptically,hismouthcurlingupashisgazemovesbeyondme.Istarttoturn,expectingtoseethemstandingbehinduswithconfettipoppers,butTheopalmsmycheekandbringsmyattentionbacktohim.
Ileanback,stillinthecircleofhisarms.Underneathhissun-bronzedskin,hischeeksareflushed.Hiseyesarebright,alittlewild,whichIassumedwasfromovertiredness.Hebarelyslepttheentireridehome.Infact,hekeptmeupwithanearlyconstantbouncingkneethatIthreatenedtoputoutofcommissionpermanently.
“Arethey…stillhere?”Iventure.
Helaughs.“No.”
“Areyouworriedtheywentthroughourstufforsomething?Masisnosyashell,butSadieknowstokeephimawayfrombedroomsandvibratorstashes.”
“No,”herepeats.“Ijustdon’twantyoutolookbehindyouuntilItellyouthatIdidsomethingwhileweweregone.OrIhadGranddadandyourfamilydosomethingwhileweweregone,withmydirection.”
“What?”
“You’vebeenmeaningtoputupnewphotosonthewall,right?”Henodshischinovermyshoulder,andIstarttoturn.Again,hedirectsmebacktohim.
Ipushagainsthispalmwithmycheek,butheholdsfast.“Ohmygod,letmelook!”
Helaughs,hischestshakingagainstmine,pressingcloser.Icanfeelthebeatofhisheart.Howfastit’sgoing.“Holyshit,you’reimpatient.Letmesetitup.”
“I’mgoingtobeoldandgraybythetimeyoudo.”
Somethingshiftsinhisexpression,fromamusementtohopesorawitwrapsafistaroundmyheart.“Ican’twaittoseethat.”BeforeIcanrespond,hecontinues,“Youwantedtoputnewphotosintheframesonthewall,butyou’vebeensobusyIwantedtotakethatoffyourplate.Ithoughtit’dbecooltocomehometoitalreadydone.”
“Youchosethepicturesandeverything?Allonyourown?”
Henods,bitingathislip.“IpickedsomethatIknowareyourfavorites.Kindofamixtureoftripswe’vetaken,shotsofourfamilies,thatkindofthing.IevengotafewfromItaly.”
Everythinginsidememelts.“Youreallyarethebest,doyouknowthat?Ifitdidn’tbenefitmesomuch,itwouldbeannoying.”
Hedoesn’tevenreturnwithasmugquip.Insteadhegrins.“Okay.Nowyoucanlook.”
Iturn.Thewallisbigenoughthatitcanhandleclosetotwentyframesinvarioussizes.Istartfromthetopleftandworkmywayacross.TherearenewphotosfromourroadtripwithPaul,replacingsomeoftheonesthatweretherebefore.Photosfromweekendtripswe’vetaken,dinnersoutwithfriends,oneofPaulandmydad,whohaveturnedintohikingbuddies,myfavoritesnapshotofGramandme,and—
NestledinthemiddlearefourframedpicturesofTheoandme,onesIhaven’tseenbefore.IttakesmeasecondformybraintorealizewhatI’mlookingat,butmyheartcatchesonrightaway,beatingfuriously.
Inthefirstpicture,we’reonaprivateboattourinPositanoandI’mfacingawayfromthecamera,myhairflowingoutbehindme.Theoisintheforeground,facedtowardthecamera,asmallsmileonhisface.He’sholdingapieceofpaperthatsays:WILL.
Thenextpicture,we’reatdinnerinFlorenceandI’mgazingouttowardacobblestonedsquarewhereabandisplaying.Again,Theo’sholdingupapieceofpaper,alittlesmirkonhisface.Itsays:YOU.
“Ohmygod.”Tearsarealreadyfallingfrommyeyes.Imoveontothenextone
We’reatthebeachinTaorminaandI’mstaringoutattheocean,handshieldingmyeyes.Theo’safewfeetbehindme,wearingonlyswimtrunks,lookinggorgeous.Icanstillfeeltheheatofhisskinagainstmypalmswhenwecamebacktoourhotelandgottangledupinbed.Inthepicture,Theo’ssignsays:MARRY.
Inthelastpicture,we’reinfrontofacoffeeshopinanarrow,picturesquealleywayinRome.Theohasmewrappedupinhisarmsandmyfaceistuckedintohisneck.He’slookingatthecamera,hiseyesfilledwithsomuchloveIcan’thelplettingoutasobbinglaugh.Irememberthatmoment,whenhepulledmeintoahugsosweetlyaffectionate.Iclosedmyeyesandsoakeditinandthoughtgod,mylifeissogood.
There’saringpinchedbetweenTheo’sfingersinthepicture,andapieceofpaperisheldupagainstmyreddress.Itsays:ME?
Inthereflectionoftheframedglass,IseeTheobehindme,kneeling.
Iturnaround,myhandsovermymouth,andstumbletohim.He’sholdingtheringfromthepicturebetweenhisthumbandforefinger.
“Areyoukiddingme?”Icry,kneelingdownwithhim.Ifwe’redoingthis,it’sgoingtobetogether.
Hesmiles,hiseyescrinklingatthecorners.Ilovehim.Iwanttowatchthoselinesdeepenwithtime,untilhe’soldandgray,too.
“Iknowwedon’tusethewordperfect,butthepastyearandahalfhasbeenascloseasI’veeverhad,”hesays,hisvoicegoinghoarseashefightsagainsttheemotionwellinginhiseyes.“AndIknowwedon’tdosecrets,either,butit’snotasecretthatIwanttospendtherestofmylifewithyou,right?”
Iletoutawetlaugh.“No,you’vebeenprettyobvious.”
Hegrins,atearslippingdownhischeek.“Noonelovesmelikeyoudo,Noelle.Iwakeupeverymorningthinkingitcan’tgetbetter,andthenitdoes.It’snevergoingtobeperfect,butwecanspendthenextsixtyyearsorsomakingitreallydamngood,ifthat’swhatyouwant,too.”
“Sixtyyears,huh?”Eventwolifetimesdon’tfeellikeenough.
“Atleast.”Herunsafingerovermywetcheek,thenasksquietly,“Willyoumarryme?”
Ithrowmyarmsaroundhisneck,andheteeterswithalaugh,wrappinghisarmsaroundmywaisttokeepussteady.
“Iwillmarrythehelloutofyou,”Isay,pullinghimtomeforakissthat’sallhimlaughing,mecrying.
“Iloveyou,”hewhispersonce,thenagainasheslidesthebrilliantdiamondontomyfinger.Isayitback,againsthismouth,hischeek,rightupagainsthisearsoheneverforgetsthismomentandwhathe’sgivenme.
Afterafewminutesofdizzy,euphoricmakingout,Theopullsmetoastand.
Igazeatthepictures,imaginingsomeonefindingthemsomeday.Wantingtoknowourstory.“Howdidyoudoallthiswithoutmeknowing?”
Hishandmovesupanddownmybackinsoothingstrokesasheappraisesthem.“Iworkeditoutinadvancewithsomeone,dependingonwherewewere—sometimesitwasdaysinadvance,likewiththeboattour,andsometimesminutes,likethatpictureinRome.Igavethemmynumbersotheycouldtextmethepictureafterward.”
“Whoprintedthemout?Whoputthemup?Mywholefamilywasinvolved?”
Theonods.“ThomasandGranddadgotthemprinted.Everyone,includingyourparents,cameandswappedouttheoldpictureswiththese.”
ThatexplainstheFaceTimecallIgotfrommyfamilytwodaysago.Theywereallgiddytothepointofhystericallaughter.Ichalkedituptoaboozybrunch,butnowIknowtheywerejustbesidethemselveswithexcitement.
“Youareallsosneaky,ohmygod.”Ipressmyhandagainstmyforehead,feelingthecoolmetaloftheringagainstmyheatedskin.“HowamIevergoingtobeatthis?”
Theoturnstome,pullingmebackintohisarms.Hegazesdownatme,purehappinessandunabashedaffectionwrittenalloverhisface.“It’snotacontest,remember?”
Istaredownatmyring,mesmerized,beforeblinkingupathim.“Isthisreal?Thisismylife?”
“Shepard,”hesays,grazinghislipsagainstmine.“It’sours.”
Hisglancingtouchturnsintosearchingkisses,andIpushhimbacktowardourbedroom,yankingathisshirt.Heletsmepullitoverhishead,laughing,bringingmyhanduptohismouthsohecankissmyfingerrightabovetheringhejustgaveme.
We’vehadallkindsofsexmanytimesover—frantic,slow,intenseandrough,themakeupkindafterafight,thesneakytypeinplaceswecouldgetcaught—butengagedsexisgoingtobemyfavorite.Icanalreadytellbythewayhegripsmyhipstightinhishands,bytheneedinhiseyes.
Theobacksmeintothewallnexttothebedroom,dippinghismouthtomythroat.Hepressesitrightovermysteadilybeatingpulseandsmilesagainstmyskin.“Whereshouldwegoonourhoneymoon?”
Iconsiderit,butonlyforasecond.ThenIsmile,wrappingmyarmsaroundhisneck.“Howaboutaroadtrip?”Acknowledgments
WhenIwasateenager,mygrandmafoundastoryI’dleftuponmycomputer.Whenshetoldmeshe’dreadit,Iwantedtodissolveintoapuddleofangstandhumiliation.ButsheassuredmeshelovedwhatI’dwritten,andsaidsomethingthatstuckwithme:“Finishwritingit.Iwanttoseehowitends.”
Ineverfinishedthatstory,nordidIfinishthedozenthatfollowedit.ButIdidfinishthisonewithherencouragementechoinginmyhead.Ithinkthatifshe’dbeenabletoholdthisbookinherhands,she’dtellmejusthowmuchshelovedtheending.Butmorethanthat,she’dtellmehowexcitedshewasforthebeginningofthisthingI’vebeendreamingaboutforsolong.Iwanttothankherfirst,becausethesparkofthisstorybeganwithher.
Myendlessgratitudegoestomyincredibleagent,SamanthaFabien.ThewayyouunderstoodthisstoryandNoelle’sjourneyfromthebeginning,andyourunwaveringbeliefinme,stillfeelsalittleunreal.I’msogratefulforyou—andourgrandmasforconspiringtobringustogether!Manythanksalsotothelarger,equallywonderfulRootLitfamily.
Tomyamazingeditor,KerryDonovan,thankyouforlovingNoelleandTheoasmuchasIdoandfortakingachanceonallofus.Ifeelsoluckytohaveaccesstoyourguidance,skill,anddeepwellofknowledge.TotherestoftheBerkleyteamwho’vehelpedmakethisareal,actualbook—MaryBaker,MeganElmore,ChristineLegon,Dache’Rogers,FareedaBullert,andAnikaBates.ThankyoutoEmilyOsbornefortheincrediblecoverdirectionandAnnaKuptsovaforherstunningcoverartwork.I’msoappreciativeofallofyou!
Idraggedamillionpeoplealongthisjourneywithme,sopleasebearwithme.Firstly,toAnyaandKate,whosenicknamesIwon’tputherebecausesometimeswe’renotpubliclyembarrassing—whoamIwithoutyou?Ineverwanttofindout.Thankyouforholdingmyhand,forlaughingwithmeuntilIcryandcryingwithmeuntilIlaughagain.Ourfriendshipisthebestfriendshipintheworld.
ToSarahT.Dubb,RisaEdwards,andLivyHart,thisbookwouldquitesimplynotexistwithoutyou.Thankyouforyourencouragingwordsinthemarginsandforpushingmetobebettereveryday.ToAlexandraKiley,MaggieNorth,andSarahBurnard,thankyouforgivingmesuchthoughtful,encouragingfeedbackwhileIwrotethis,andtoJenDevonandIngridPierce,thankyouforbeingamazingcheerleadersalongtheway.Youareallincrediblehumanswithfiercetalent.Whatacombo!
Ongoinggratitudetothosewhoread,reassured,andhyped:MaeB,KateRobb,AuroraPalit,SofiaArellano,RebeccaOsberg(#BTeamrepresent),AmbrielMcIntyre,NicolePoulsen,CarlaG.Garcia,TashaBerlin,CaitlinHighland,Jenn,andAshton.MydeepappreciationalsogoestotheBerkletes,whoIonehundredpercentcouldnotsurvivewithout.Specialshout-outstoSarahAdlerforlendinganearintheearlywhirlwinddays,andAliciaThompson,whoisanexcellenthand-holderandanevenbetterfriend.ManythankstotheHopefullyWritingand#TeamSamanthaslackgroups,whohavebeensuchgreatsupportsystems.ToEsther,thefirstpersontohighlightthesefinishedwords:thankyouforhelpingmecheckoffabucketlistitem.I’msurroundedbysomanypeoplewhosegenerositysomehowexceedstheirimmensetalent,andIthinkaboutthejackpot-hittingluckofthateveryday.
ToMomandAuntTeri,who,alongwithmygram,introducedmetoromancebooks—thatturnedouttobeprettylife-changing!Thankyouboth(andMaddy!)forcelebratingwithmeeverystepoftheway.Youcanreadthis,butmaybelet’snottalkaboutitafter.ToDad,whowillonlyeverreadthispage,thankyouforbeingproudofmenomatterwhat.Tomyextendedfamily—theoneIwashonoredtobebornintoandtheoneIwasluckyenoughtomarryinto—Iloveyouall!
Tomyhusband,Steve,you’vegivenmethespaceandtimetomakethishappen,andhavesupportedmethroughitallintrue#1hypemanfashion.ThankyouforshowingmewhatalovestorylookslikesoIcouldturnaroundandwriteone(andalsofortellingeveryoneIwroteabookassoonaswestepfootinabookstore,everytime).Tomylittlehypeboy,Noah,thankyouforallowingmetoexperiencethemostrewarding,unconditionallove.Thankyouforwantingtohelpmewritemynextbook,too.Somedayyou’llfigureoutwhythatwould’vebeenawkward.Iloveyoubothmorethananything.
Andtoyou,readingthis:IneverthoughtI’dbeluckyenoughtohavepeopleholdmybookintheirhands,sothankyouformakingthisdreamcompletely,fantastically,finallyreal.You,withaView
JESSICAJOYCE
QuestionsforDiscussion
SecretsareamainthemeofYou,withaView:Noellewantingtodiscoverapieceofhergram’slifethatwasn’trevealedduringtheirgameofTellMeaSecret,theelementsofPaulandKathleen’srelationship,andNoelleandTheorevealingtheirownoverthecourseoftheroadtrip.Inwhatwaysdoyouthinksecretscanbringpeopletogether?Conversely,howdotheypullpeopleapart?
Noelleisgrievingbothhergramandacareerthathasn’tliveduptoherexpectations;Theoisgrievinghisjobandtheloftyplanshehadforhiscompany.Whatarethedifferentkindsofgriefapersoncanexperience?Whatdoyouthinkisthedifferencebetweengriefthatholdsyoubackandgriefthathelpsyougrow?HowdidyouseetheirgrievingplayoutinNoelle’sandTheo’slivesoverthecourseofthebook?
Throughoutthestory,Noellestruggleswithwhatsheviewsasherlackofsuccessinadulthood.Didyouthinkherviewofsuccess,bothherownandothers’,changesbytheend?Howdoyoudefinesuccessinyourownlife?
Noellehasaclose,supportiverelationshipwithherfamily—didyouhaveafavoritesecondarycharacterinYou,withaView?
WhatdoyouthinkofPaulandKathleen’sstory?Eventhoughtheydidn’thaveahappyendingwitheachother,doyouthinktheystillgottheirhappyeverafter?Haveyoulearnedanylessonsfromfailedrelationships(family,friends,love)inyourownlifethathavehelpedleadyoutostrongerfuturerelationships?
Atthebeginningofthebook,NoelleconnectswithPaulandTheowhenherTikTokgoesviral.Onceshestartsdocumentingtheirroadtrip,sheconnectswithstrangersviacommentsandDMsabouttheimpactofherwork,viewers’importantrelationshipsthatmirrorNoelle’sandGram’s,andevenPaulandKathleen’sstory.Howhassocialmediaconnectedyoutosomeoneorsomethingmeaningfulorimportant?
Describeyourperfectroadtrip:Whatplaceswouldyouvisit?Whatkindofmusicwouldyoulistentoontheway?Whowouldyouwanttobringwithyou?
HaveyouevervisitedanyoftheplacesNoelle,Theo,andPaultraveltoinYou,withaView?Didyouhaveafavoritesceneononeoftheirtrailhikes?
Noelle’spassionforphotographycomesoutinmanywaysinthisbook.WhatwasyourfavoritephotographtakenbyNoelleorsomeoneelseinthisstory?Doyouhaveanyhobbiesthatyou’vereturnedtoatdifferentpointsinyourlife?
NoellegrowsclosetoPaulastheytravelonKathleenandPaul’splannedhoneymoonroadtrip,andastheysharetheirmemoriesofherbelovedgrandmother.WasthereoneletterthatPaulsharedwithNoellethatyouthinkwasmostmeaningfultoher?KeepreadingforapreviewofJessicaJoyce’snextromance!
Prologue
Ihatethinkingaboutthewayitended,butsometimesIthinkaboutthewayitbegan:withmewalkingthroughthedoorofsomeoneelse’shousewithoutknocking
Thishasalwaysbeenatypicalmoveofmine,wanderinglatchkeykidthatIwasinmyearlyyears.Butineveryotherway,thebeginningisanatypicalday.
WhenIletmyselfgothere,Iwatchitinmyheadlikeamovie.Iletitfeellikeit’shappeningnowinsteadofthirteenyearsago,wheretherealmomentbelongs,wherefifteen-year-oldmeisturningthedoorknobonahouseI’veburstintohundredsoftimesbefore.Ifindnoresistance,becausebymysophomoreyearofhighschool—whenthismemorytakesplace—myopeninvitationintotheCooper-Kims’homeisimplied.
Mybestfriendoffiveyears,AdamKim,issomewhereinhere,probablystillsweatyandgrossfromtrackpractice.AtleastIwenthomeandshowered.
Onthedayitallbegins,IgreetAdam’sthreerescuedogs,Gravy,PopTart,andJim,myearsperkingupatthedulcettonesofavideogameplayedatfullvolume,twomalevoicesrumblingbelowit.Imakemywaytowardthedenwiththedogstrailingbehindme,thetagsontheircollarsjingling,asoundthat’sasfamiliarasmyownheartbeat.
Adam’shouseiswarmandsun-filled,oftennoisy,withalingering,faintvanillascentI’veneverbeenabletofigureoutthesourceof.ThefirsttimeIwalkedinhere,somethingunraveledinmychest:itfeltlikehome,notaplacewheretwopeoplelivedwithsometimes-intertwininglives.Myhouseisquietandoftenemptyatfifteen,justasitwaswhenIwastenandfiveandalltheyearsinbetween.ThetimesmydadandIdosyncuparegreat;heasksmetonsofquestionsandtellsmewhatagreatkidIam,howeasyI’vebeen,howproudheisofmygrades,andhelistenstoeverystorythattumblesoutofmymouth,hisphonefacedownonthediningroomtablewhileitbuzzesandbuzzesandbuzzes.Eventuallythephonewins,andI’mleftcravingmoretime.
It’swhyI’vemadeahabitofmakingotherpeople’shousesmyhome,andwhyIlovetheCooper-Kims’housebest.
Inthismemory,I’mturningthecornertotheden,wonderingwhoAdamhasover.Isincerelyhopeitisn’tBrent;IkeeptellingAdamwhatadoucheheis.
Withthepowerofhindsight,Iknowwhat’sgoingtohappensecondsbeforeitdoes,soIalwaysholdmybreathhere.
Ichargethroughthedoorandrunface-firstintoabroadchest.Ithassolittlepaddingitmakesmyteethrattle.
“Whoa,”avoicebreathesaboveme,stirringthehairsatmytemple.Warm,stronghandsgripmyarmstokeepmeupright.
Ilookup…andup,intoafacefifteen-year-oldmehasneverseenbefore
Whoeverthisis,he’sbeautiful.He’stall(obviously)andbroad-shouldered,withlimbshehasn’tgrowninto.Inthismoment,Idon’tknowthathe’llfilloutinapainfullyattractiveway—hischestwillbroadenandtightentobecometheperfectpillowformyhead.Histhighswillgrowjustshyofthick,mouth-wateringlycurvedwithmuscle,theperfectperchformewhenIsitinhislap.
ButtheeyesI’mlookingintowon’tchange.They’llstaythathypnoticmixofcaramelandgoldanddeepcoffee-brown,framedbysootylashesandinkyeyebrowsthatmatchthewavyhaironhishead.They’llcontinuetocatchminethewaytheydointhismoviemoment—likealatchhookingme,thenlockingusintoplace.
“Oh.Hello,”Isaybrilliantly.
Hismouthpullsup;it’swideandmeantforthetoothysmilesI’lldiscoverhedoesn’tgiveawayeasily.He’smorepronetoquietones,orshy,curlingones,liketheonehe’sgivingmenow.“Hey.”
Istepback,myheartflippingfromourcrashandthewarmthhishandshaveleftbehindonmyskin.“Sorry,Ididn’tknowAdamhadsomeoneover.”
“Neverstoppedyoubefore,Woodward,”Adamcallsdistractedly,hiseyesgluedtotheTVscreen.
Irollmine,turningbacktothisstranger.“I’mthatdoofus’sbestfriend,Georgia.”
“Likethepeach,”hesays,hisvoiceliftingattheend.It’snotaquestion,butatentativetease.Inmylife,I’veheardthatjokeamilliontimesandIhateit,butinthismoment,Ilikethewayhesaysit,asifheknowshowridiculousitisandisinonthejoke.
Igrin,andinmymindwhenI’mwatchingthis,Ithinkabouthowopenitis,howguilelessandfullofsunshine.“Goodone.Noone’seversaidthattomebefore.”
There’sabeatwherehiseyesnarrow,likehe’stryingtofiguremeout.Imakenoteofhowquicklyhedoes,atendrilofbelongingcurlingaroundmewhenhelaughs.“You’rejoking.”
“Yes,”Ilaughback.
Hepretendstolookdisappointed.“SoI’mnotthefirst?”
“Morelikeluckynumberninety-nine,”Ishootback,andhegrins.Atoothyone.“ShouldIcallyoubythenumber,ordoyouhaveaname,too?”
“That’sEli—motherfucker,”Adamshouts.
Mygazeslipsfromthestranger’s—EliJosephMora,I’llfindoutsoon—toAdam,whosetongueisstickingoutwhilehefuriouslypoundsonagamecontroller.Asecondoneliesnexttohim,adecimatedbagofDoritosnexttothat.
WhenIdirectmyattentionbacktoEli,oureyesclick.Ihearitinmyhead,feelitinmychest,bothinthememoryandforreal.WheneverIletmyselfthinkaboutthebeginning,IwanttogetoutofthismomentasmuchasIwanttowallowinit.
Fifteen-year-oldmesmilesupatfifteen-year-oldhim.“Hey,Eli.Ihopeyou’renotthemotherfucker.”
“NotthatI’mawareof,”hesayswithalaugh.Hiseyessparkwithamusementandotherthings,andthesparktransferstome,burrowingsomewheredeep.It’llwaitthereforyearswhilewegofromstrangerstofriendstobestfriends.Itwon’tcatchfireuntilourjunioryearofcollege,whenhejoinsmeatCalPolyafterhistwo-yearstintatcommunitycollege.
“Whoareyou,then?Otherthanastranger,until”—Ilookdownatmywatch,aFossiloneIboughtwiththecashmydadgavemeforChristmasbecausehedidn’twanttogetthewrongone—“threeminutesago.”
“Thenewguy,Iguess?”Inoticehisnoseissunburnedalongthebridgewhenhescrunchesit.“IjustmovedfromDenver,startedatGlenlaketwodaysago.”
Hedoesn’ttellmenow,buthewilllater—hisparentsmovedhimandhislittlesisterstoGlenlake,acityinMarinCountyjustnorthofSanFrancisco,tolivewithhisauntafterhisdadlosthisjobandtheylosttheirhouse.He’ssleepingonapulloutinhisaunt’srecroom.Ialwaysnoticethewayhisshoulderspulluptowardhisears,maybewonderingifI’mgoingtoaskquestions.Hedoesn’ttrustmewithallofhisheavystuffyet,buteventuallyhe’lltrustmewithalotofit.I’mtheonewho’llhidemyheavinessaway.
“AndAdam’salreadygotyouinhisclutches?”Iraisemyvoice.“Youworkfast,Kim.”
Adamgrins,butdoesn’tspareusaglance.
Elilooksoverhisshoulderathisnewfriend,thenbackatme,rubbingthenapeofhisneck.Hisexpressionisbashful,alittlebewildered.“Yeah,Ithinkhekindofadoptedme.”
“Hedoesthat,”Isay,rememberingthatfirstdayofsixthgradewhenAdamandImet.HowscaredandlonelyIwasatahugenewschool,wherenoneofthepseudofriendsIhadinelementaryschoolwereallthatinterestedincontinuingourjourneytogether.TheclosestfriendIhad,HeatherRusso,toldmewhenIgottoherlockerourfirstdaytowalktotheclassIwassoexcitedweshared,“God,wejuststartedhere,Georgia,wedon’thavetobetogetherallthetime.Stopbeingsoneedy.”
Adamsavedmefromnew-kidloneliness;itmakessensethathe’dsaveElifromit,thoughinthemomentIdon’tknowthathe’slonely,too,orthatAdam’shousewillbecomehishomeasmuchasitismine.
“Allright,Eli,”Isay,lookinghimupanddown.He’sgotonNikesthatarefrayingattheseams,gymshorts,andaT-shirtwithaholeneartheneck.Icanseeasliverofcollarbonepressingsharplyagainsthisgoldenskin.“IguessI’mkindofadoptingyou,too.”
Heletsoutabreath,hiseyesmovingovermyface.“Probablyagoodidea,sinceI’vealreadygotanicknamepickedoutforyouandeverything.”
“I’llletyougetawaywiththatone,Ninety-Nine,”Isay,andmychestwarmsatthewayhisgrinwidens.It’sanaddictingfeeling,knowingI’minthemiddleofmeetingapersonI’llgettohangonto.
AdamlooksatmeoverEli’sshoulder,hismouthpullingup,andIknowhefeelsit,too:thethreeofusaregoingtobefriends.Somethingspecial.
YearslaterEliwilltellmethathefellalittlebitinlovewithmerightthen,andinthismovie-likememoryIalwaysseeit—thedilationofhispupilswhenwecan’tquitebreakeyecontact,theflushalongthedelicateshellofhisearwhenIsitnexttohimonthecouchminuteslater,thewayhiseyeslingeronmewhenAdamandIbickerovercontroloftheTV,thesteadybounceofhisknee.Thebeautiful,shysmilehegivesmeoverthepizzawehavefordinnerlater.
He’llholdontoitforyears,buteventuallythatsparkwillbecomeawildfire
Andthenwe’llburnitalldown.One
Thirteenyearslater
Thisweddingiscursed
Oh,god,notagain,”Imutter.
Totheuntrainedeye,thistextmessageprobablylookslikeajoke.Aprank.Thebeginningofoneofthosechainemailsoureldersgetdupedintoforwardingtotwentyoftheirnearestanddearest,lesttheyinheritmultigenerationalbadluck.
Inactuality,it’sbeenAdam’smantraforthepastninemonths.
AdamisthebrotherIneverhadandI’mtrulyhonoredtobepartofhisweddingcelebration.Thatsaid,hadsixth-gradeGeorgiaanticipatedI’dbefieldingnofewerthanforty-seventextsperdayfrommymore-unhinged-by-the-daybestfriend,Iwould’vethoughttwiceaboutcomplimentinghisHannahMontanashirtourfirstdayofmiddleschool.
Thesilverlining:I’vetakenascreenshotofeachtextandfiledthemawaysoIcanpresentthemtohimviaaPowerPoint-presentedroastoncehisweddingisover.
MySpideysensestinglewiththistext,though.Ithasn’tbeendeliveredinaggressivecapslock,norisitaccompaniedbyachaoticmenagerieofGIFs(mykingdomforaMichaelScottalternative).Whateverhashappenednowmightactuallybeanemergency.
Thenagain,theweddingistendaysaway;atthispoint,anythingthatisn’tobjectivelyawesomeisadisaster.
Ipluckmyphoneoffmydeskandtypeoutanexploratorywhat’sthedamage?
Abubbleimmediatelypopsup,disappears,reappears,thenstopsagain.
“Greatsign.”
IwaitwhileAdammoldshispanicintothought,eyesonmyphoneinsteadofmycomputer.It’snearlyfourp.m.onWednesday,thedaybeforemyPTOfortheweddingstarts,andIstillhavehalfapageofuncheckedboxesonmyto-dolist,plusadetailedWhileI’mAwayemailtodraftformyboss.Ican’tleaveAdamhanginginhismomentofneed,though.WhatkindofbestwomanwouldIbe?
Nobetterthanthelargelyabsentbestman?comestheuncharitablepunchline.Islamthedooronthatthought.It’snotlikeI’vemindedexecutingmostofthebest-peopleactivities;actually,it’sbeenagodsendformultiplereasons.It’sjustthatit’ssotypicalofhimto—
Icatchmyowneyesinmycomputer’sreflection,deliveringasilentmessagewiththedownwardslashofmyeyebrows:Shut.Up.I’dratherthinkaboutcursesthananythingeventangentiallyrelatedtothesubjectofEli.
NotthatIbelieveincursesatall,butdeepdown,IdoworrythatAdam’sbeenfollowedbybadvibessinceheproposedtohisfiancée,GraceTan,onNewYear’sEve.Theirplanshaveinvolvedacomedyoferrorsthathaveescalatedfrombummertoohshit:thewrongweddingdressorderedbythebridalsalon;namesmisspelledontheirweddinginvitations,requiringaneleventh-hourreprint;andtheonethatnearlygotmetobelieve—theirweddingplannerquitthreemonthsagobecausehisgoldenretrieverhadamassedsuchafollowingonsocialmediathathewasmakingtriplehissalaryashermanager.
ForAdam,whosenaturaltemperamenthoverssomewherenearlivewire,it’sbeenaconstanttestofhissanity.EvenGrace,who’sbrutallychill,theperfectemotionalfoilforAdam,andanactualangel,hasbeenfrayinglately.
Thenagain,shewantedtoelope.EverynewdisasterprobablyonlyfurthersolidifiestheurgetobookittoVegas.
Adam’stextsshootrapid-fireontothescreen:
Georgia
OurfuckingDJ
BROKETHEIRHIP
LINEDANCINGATABACHELORETTEPARTY
INNASHVILLE
IseriouslyneedtoknowwhatI’vedoneinmy28yearsonthisdyingearththatiscausingthistohappen
Thepossibilitiesareendless.Istarttotype,buthebeatsmetoit.
Thatwasrhetorical,Woodward,DON’T
IcanseethatAdam’sshiftingoutofhispanicfugue,andIphysicallyfeelmyselfshiftingintofix-itmode.
Deepbreath,nothing’sburnedtotheground,right?Itextback.Thisisproblematicbutnotfatal.We’llcomeupwithanewlist.
ThebubblesofdoompopupagainandIwait.Again.
Outofeveryone,there’sareasonAdam’scometome:I’mtheonepeopleruntowhentheyneedashouldertocryon,abrainstormpartner,ahypewoman.Theonewhoknowswhattodowhenshithitsthefanorwhenabottleofchampagneneedstobepopped.Whentheirweddingplannerpeacedout,Adamcalledmebeggingforhelp.
Iwould’vesteppedupanyway,butmymotivesaren’tcompletelyaltruistic.Dedicatingmyselftoproblem-solvingAdam’sweddingwoeshasbeentheonlywaytoreliablystayinhisorbit.
I’malistgirl.Ilearnedthemagicofthemlongago—thewaytheycanstreamlinetasks,dosanddon’ts,expectations.Emotions.Howtheycantakeamessy,chaoticthingandmakeitmanageable.They’vebeenmycopingstrategysinceIwasakid,thebestwayIcantakecareofmyself.TheyquietmymindanduntanglemyemotionssothatIstaycool,calm,andcompartmentalized.SoI’mnotamessy,chaoticthing,becausethatwaylonelinesslies.
Needlesstosay,itaggrievesmethatthere’snowaytolistmywayoutofwhat’sbeenhappeninginmylife:thefriendsI’vebuiltmysociallifearound,whohavebeenmyfamily,areshiftingintophasesI’mnotin—fallinginlove,cohabitating,buildingsocialcircleswithothernauseatinglyhappycouples—puttingmeontheoutsidelookingin.
Really,though,it’sfine.Imean,sure,I’mconstantlykickingatloneliness,afeelingI’veworkedhardtoavoidsinceIwasoldenoughtoknowwhatthatfeelingwas.Yeah,Icanfeelitpeekingaroundcornersanyway,curlingupnexttomeatnightinthatemptyextraspaceinmybed.Absolutely,watchingmybestfriendfindthekindofloveIoncethoughtIhad,too,isalittlesoul-destroying,asisbeingknee-deepinmybestfriend’sweddingfestivities,knowingthatintendaysIhavetostandbeside—
Anyway.I’mgood.Onehundredandtenpercentokay.
Myphonebuzzes.Ijump,shakingoffthelastthought.ItcamewithininchesofbreakingaruleonalistIcreatedwhenIcrawledbackfromNewYorkfiveyearsago,draggingmyobliteratedheartwithme:neverthinkaboutthaterawithEli—
“Hey!”Iwhisper-yell,flickingmyselfontheforehead.“Getittogether.”
IturnmyattentiontoAdam’stext:CanyouhelpwithaDJlistthatisn’tshitty?
Thatdeservesavoicemessage.“CanIhelpwithalist?Seriously?”
LikealltheothertimesAdam’scalledmeinforsupport,it’stheserotoninhitIneedtochasethatlonelyfeelingaway.
Ijustwishitwouldlast.
Adam’stextcomesinasaTeamsnotificationdingspolitelyonmycomputer.Myheadswivelsoninstinct,ponytailsweepingacrossmycheek.
NiaOsman:hey,canIborrowyoufor5?
Adamandmybossneedingmeplaystug-of-waronmypeople-pleasingtendencies,butonlyoneofthemispayingme.Adam’sbrokenDJisgoingtohavetowait.
Nianeedstochat,Itext.Takeadeepbreath,listentoyourCalmapp.I’llcomebacktoyouASAP.
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JessicaJoycegrewupavoraciousreaderwhoquicklylearnedhowtowalkandreadsimultaneouslytomaximizeherreadingtime.Thankstoafamilyfullofromance-novel-adoringwomen,shediscoveredlovestoriesandneverlookedback.Whenshe’snotwriting,youcanfindherlisteningtooneofherchaoticallycuratedplaylists,cryingoverTikToks,eatingherwaythroughtheBayAreawithherhusbandandson,orwatchingthe2005versionofPride&PrejudiceWhat’snextonyourreadinglist?
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