I. barely meet anyone’s eyes the next morning when I join Paul and Theo for breakfast. Theo curls two fingers through the handle of his coffee mug at one point, and my imagination sets off down a long, dark, dirty road. When we load up the car to drive to our Airbnb outside Zion National Park,
he catches my eye and smirks. Infuriating.
I do my best to ignore the vibes as we make our way into southern Utah. Paul hands over a letter, which is really a bullet point list of Gram’s ideas to make their family dinner less horrible. It reminds me of her grocery lists, except instead of milk, it’s don’t bring up war. I laugh, missing her so much it hurts. I soothe it by telling Paul and Theo about the time I ran into a towering display of macaroni and cheese at Safeway and got buried under the boxes, and how hard Gram laughed as she was digging me out.
Theo’s laughter sounds like hers did, incredulous and amused, and it’s almost like she’s here.
The landscape flies by as we drive through St. George, Hurricane, and a funny little town called La Verkin. We wind toward Springdale, the location of our Airbnb. On each side of us, massive rocks of brilliant red, rusty orange, and fawny brown rise up against the brilliant blue sky. It looks like someone took a paintbrush to every part of the earth and saturated it with beautiful, vibrant color.
It’s going to be my favorite place this whole trip; I can feel it. Peace settles in my chest. I roll down my window so I can inhale it, too.
After we get everything unloaded, I’ll work on editing my Yosemite photos. Tomorrow we’ll go into Zion for the first of our three full days here, and Paul promised he’d let me have some time with his Hasselblad, which is generous considering I’ll probably just ruin his film.
The cautious optimism blooming in my chest feels new. In reality, it’s simply something I haven’t had for months.
When we roll up to the Airbnb thirty minutes later and I catch my first glimpse of the home we’re temporarily calling ours, the cautious part of my optimism flies out the window.
I jump out of the van, my hands clasped in front of me. The house is smaller than it looked in pictures, but the front porch is wide, with three pine rocking chairs lined up, colorful throw pillows sitting sweetly on each. “Great, right?” I say as Theo and Paul climb out of the van, appraising it with varying levels of enthusiasm. Theo, of course, is largely unmoved, but
Paul’s face lights up.
“It’s fantastic. What a find.”
“And not too expensive, either.” When I found it, I was so taken aback by the price that my fingers tripped over themselves to fill out the booking information.
We bring our bags into the house and spread out to explore. The main room is open concept, with the living room, kitchen, and dining room in one brightly lit space, decorated in a southwestern style. The dining room table is made of roughly hewn, pale wood, big enough for me to spread my equipment out over later so I can get to work on my editing—and maybe finish my next TikTok. Out the large picture window, pink and red rocks sweep toward the sky. I press my fingers against the glass, gazing out at the incredible colors I’ll get to capture tomorrow. I can’t wait to wake up to that.
There’s a long hallway that goes back to the bedrooms and, I assume, the bathroom. Theo heads that way, my and Paul’s suitcases trailing behind him.
Paul putters around in the kitchen, pointing to a French press. “Oh, this’ll be handy for our early mornings.”
“Yeah, I brought a bag of Blue Bottle coffee, we can use it—”
“Hey, Shepard?” Theo yells from the back of the house. His footsteps rattle the floor like an earthquake, and I brace myself for the problem. There’s a raccoon family living in one of the bedrooms. The air conditioning is broken. A—
He strides around the corner, his eyebrows arched in surprise. “Want to tell me why there’s only one bed?”
 |
, , ,
hips.
“The listing said it was two bedrooms,” I say for the fourth time.
Theo follows the script to a tee. “Are you sure? Because there’s definitely only one bedroom. And only one bed.”
With a sigh, I pull my phone from its haphazard tuck in the waistband of my leggings. I go to the app, clicking on the reservation. “Right here. It says: sleeps four, one bedro . . .”
I trail off, my blood turning cold.
“What was that?” Theo takes my hand in his, pulling the phone up so he can read the listing details. The disorienting heat of his body and the reality of my mistake make me jerk against his grasp, but he won’t let me go. “One bedroom, Shep. It says it right here. The other bed is a pullout in the living room.”
His tone is mild, but all I hear is you fucked up. It’s in my voice, not his, an unfair projection, but it curdles my stomach all the same.
I twist out of his hold, my cheeks heating. “I sent you this link before I booked it. You didn’t say anything.”
“I assumed it was fine,” he says. “All I cared about was enough—”
“Rooms and beds for all, yeah, I got that. Would’ve been nice if you’d double-checked my work, is all.” I press my hand to my hot forehead. I get flushed when I fail.
Enzo’s voice blasts into my mind, screaming at me for missing the shot. Telling me I’m useless. Then I’m sitting in the cold acrylic chair in the HR director’s office at work, my boss seated next to me while they told me they appreciated my contributions, but unfortunately—
It sounded so hollow. We all knew my contributions were few, especially the previous month when I was living in a fugue state. The flush on my face and the cold rush of adrenaline when they told me I was being laid off was the first emotion I’d felt other than numb grief since Gram died. What a way to break the ice.
This isn’t the same. It’s silly and small. But I wish I could rub the feeling off my cheeks so I don’t have to think about the real mistakes I’ve made.
Paul wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s all right, Noelle. It’s just for a few days. Why don’t you take this room, and Theo and I can sleep on the pullout?”
“No,” Theo and I say in unison.
“That’s going to destroy your back,” Theo continues. His gaze winds over to where Paul’s arm is still encircling me, before settling on my face. He sighs, scratching at his jaw as he looks back at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You can’t sleep on the floor. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He turns his stern eyebrows on me. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
I cross my arms over my chest, trying not to sound combative and mostly failing. Very thematic. “This is my mess.”
“I could’ve checked the link when you sent it to me, and I didn’t. We’ll share this one.”
“You don’t need to make me feel bett—”
“I’m not doing anything.” His tone is businesslike, very get your head out of your ass. I bet he’s a badass in the boardroom. I bet no one pushes him around.
My throat goes tight. He’s always been ultra competent, and in high school it was annoying but motivating. We spent years going head-to-head
on everything—tennis, grades, endless verbal sparring matches—and I
always kept up, even if he edged me out on occasion.
But this time I can’t keep up. I have nothing to volley back, and that detonates whatever is left of my dignity. I’m raw from this fresh mess, small though it is. There have been six months of loss and stumbling, years of failure before that, and now I’m staring down the barrel of thirty and I still haven’t found my place. Theo’s willingness to own part of the mix-up is his own subtle brand of pity. It feels like a premonition.
What if I told him everything? That I’m jobless, directionless, so afraid to fail that I’ll never have a chance at succeeding? Not the way he has, anyway. Would he react the same way he is now, with a conciliatory pat on the head? The thought makes me want to cry; it would be him giving up on me, and I don’t know why it would matter so much if he did.
The room we’re standing in is too small, too hot, too much, an unwelcome feeling that I thought I shook off when we started this trip, at least temporarily.
The thick silence is broken by a trilling phone. Theo pulls his out of the pocket of his joggers, checking the screen. From here I can see the name: Dad.
His expression pinches.
I’m already backing out of the room. “We’ll figure it out later. I’ll be out front if you need me.”
But both men are in their own world already. Paul only nods, and Theo stares down at his phone as I ease the door closed behind me.
I can’t help pausing when Paul’s voice drifts out. “You don’t have to take that. You know what he’s going to say.”
“Maybe he—”
“Your father’s opinion isn’t going to change. He wants you to do something that you know isn’t possible.” Paul’s voice is as firm as Theo’s was a minute ago. “What’s most important is that you come to terms with what’s happening. Leave him out of it. He doesn’t have a say.”
“You know that’s not how it works with us,” Theo says, voice low. “Teddy.” Paul sighs. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but now I’m invested.
That’s not true. I’ve been invested. I remember our game of Tell Me a Secret last night, when I confessed that his life seemed perfect. I know now, even if he won’t tell me, that it’s not. But regardless of the messiness on the inside, he’s built something amazing with Where To Next. Maybe there’s something to it, that even if I feel messy and tied up and lost, it doesn’t preclude me from eventually getting it right.
I just don’t know how to get there.
The phone’s ring cuts off. Theo lets out a sigh. “Okay, well, now I missed the call.”
“Good. He’s going to upset you for nothing. Let yourself be happy for a second, my god.”
The silence behind the door is deafening, and Theo says in a broken voice, “Don’t say it.”
“All right,” comes Paul’s quiet reply. “Just tell me what you need.” “Alcohol. A metric ton of it.”
|
“ , . . . ”
Paul steps across the threshold of the bar behind me, his eyebrows pulling up high. “Oh my.”
Theo’s the last to come inside. He looks around the Stardust Cocktail Lounge, glancing at Paul. “This was really our best option?”
“Noelle helped me search for bar on the internet, and this is what it told me.” Paul lifts a shoulder, which is cardigan-clad now that the sun’s gone down. “It ticked all your boxes, kid.”
“I had one box.”
“Then it ticked your box.”
The parquet floor stretching between us and the wall of liquor bottles is dull and uninviting. I can already tell my shoes will stick to it as I make my way across.
Theo rubs the back of his neck, sighing as he surveys the odd décor: several taxidermied animals mounted on the walls, including a tabby cat poised on what looks like foam core, stalking a mallard duck mid-flight.
Framed photos of ‘80s celebrities mingle with family portraits on the wood-paneled walls. A jukebox stands in the corner, playing an old Dirty Dancing tune, while an overhead fan turns lazily.
Despite the strange ambiance, the crowd is lively and seems genuinely happy, which is a welcome sight.
Paul leans in with a conspiratorial grin. “Good enough, right?”
“It’s awesome,” I reply as we head toward an empty table.
Sure enough, the floor tries to claim my sandals. I almost lose my left one but manage to win the battle and take my seat. Theo sits beside me, while Paul settles across from us and picks up the sticky, handwritten menu.
We place our food and drink orders with the waitress. Once she’s gone, Theo turns to me.
“Have you recovered from this afternoon?” he asks, his tone teasing but laced with genuine concern. I may see his cracks, but his wellness check makes it clear he sees mine too.
“I should be asking you that,” I deflect.
Theo’s eyebrows jump in surprise. “Eavesdropping again?” “It’s a small house.”
“Sure is,” he murmurs, his mouth pulling up slightly. “Too soon,” I say with a glare, but it lacks heat.
Across the table, Paul’s eyebrows raise slowly, and he pulls out his phone, tapping at the screen to show he’s minding his business.
“Is your dad causing waves?” I venture. Theo confided in me the other night; maybe he needs it now, too.
He leans back, eyeing me. “You really were listening.”
My cheeks heat as our waitress returns, setting down our beers. “Small house, I told you. Is he trying to get involved in your work issue?”
“He was our first investor and is still . . . enthusiastic.” Theo’s choosing his words carefully. He takes a sip of beer, and his mouth comes back glossy, a speck of foam clinging to the peak of his top lip. “Just wanted to give me advice, you know. Real caring shit.”
“Advice on your work issue?”
He looks down at the table, his mouth flattening. “Yeah, Anton likes to give him all the insider info, even though he’s not technically involved. They’ve got a cozy father-son vibe.”
My heart drops.
Theo must see my concern, because he frowns. “Wipe the pity off your face, Shepard. It’s not a big deal. He has opinions. Sometimes I have to hear them. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Teddy,” Paul says quietly.
“I don’t pity you,” I insist. “They’re shitty, your dad and especially Anton. It’s your business, no matter how much your dad invested early on. He should stay out of it, and Anton should respect your place in the company.”
The grief in his eyes is there and gone, but I see it because I’m close enough to. Because I’ve felt it, too.
I just don’t know why it’s there.
The arrival of dinner breaks up our conversation. Paul and I exchange a look and we make the same wordless decision simultaneously. The rest of this night is going to be lighter. We’re going to recapture our peace. I’m going to make Theo forget. Maybe even smile.
And I’m not going to think about why I want to be the one to put it there.
