A
,
ago. The only tangible reminder I have is intense tan lines.
And Theo.
I show up at his doorstep early Saturday morning, both because I spent the night before tossing and turning in an otherwise empty bed and because I’m trying to formulate how to tell my parents what I’ve spent the last two weeks doing in a way that doesn’t sound completely unhinged.
I’m worried about telling Dad. Worried about how he’ll take Gram and Paul’s story, how he’ll take that I traveled with Paul and lied about it. I’m less worried about how he’ll take my actual relationship with Theo, but he’s such an integral part of the entire tangled web. Will he think less of him?
There wasn’t an opportunity to talk to my parents when they got home Friday night, at least not about anything serious. I met them out front as they poured out of an Uber. They showered me with enthusiastic greetings, and I recapped each of the stops I’d made, showed them a small selection of photos I set aside as proof I’d been working, and mentioned the online shop I’d gotten up and running while I was away, as well as my upcoming trip to Tahoe. Mom’s excitement ratcheted up to a twelve at that news. Dad insisted he wanted to talk more when it wasn’t so late. I sent them to bed, relief and guilt warring in my mind.
I want to tell them everything. I need to. But I need time to figure out how to make it sound less like a secret.
When Theo opens his front door Saturday, though, his hair damp from a shower, he banishes every thought I have but one: I’m absolutely head over ass over head again falling for this man. It’s terrifying and thrilling. All my emotions have chasers.
He pulls me into his arms, his hand snaking down to cup my ass, and presses a quiet “I missed you” into my neck. The door closes behind me, and he pushes me against it, kissing me hard, with an edge of urgency I’ve felt since I left him. We don’t even make it upstairs.
We spend all weekend together, falling back on the same habits we picked up during our trip—middle-of-the-night movies that are interrupted by either sleep or sex, dancing around his back patio while dinner sizzles on the grill, and, of course, my covert recording of his sleep talk. He’s surprisingly restless, his words gibberish but emphatic, and several times I wake him up with soft kisses on his neck, a hand moving up and down his back to bring him out of whatever strange things he’s dreaming. He sighs, pulling me close, and I don’t sleep again until the tension leaves his body.
We do other normal life stuff, too, and that’s almost more exciting than anything else. I drag him to the farmers’ market on Saturday. He grumbles about it but buys me a bouquet of wildflowers when I’m not looking and indulges me stopping by every vendor for free samples. We go out to dinner, and he finally takes me for a ride in his Bronco. He doesn’t let me drive it, but it’s only a matter of time. Even though I don’t get my hands on Betty’s stick shift, Theo makes it up to me when we park in an empty lot near Ocean Beach and I straddle his lap in the backseat.
Maybe all of this should feel mundane after the adventures we had, but it doesn’t. It feels like life, one I could have and be proud of. One I’m actually having.
Sunday, I take Theo on a hike in Tennessee Valley, my favorite with Gram. I can tell it means something to him that I brought him here, and I talk about her all the way to our final destination—a coved beach at the end of the trail. We set up a blanket to eat lunch, and afterward I lay my head in his lap, looking out at the water while he absently runs his fingers through my hair.
“I promised Thomas and Sadie I’d have dinner with them tonight,” I say, watching a cloud shaped like a flat heart drift by. “Want to come?”
He eyes the water, his thumb moving over my temple. “Wish I could. I need to get ready for tomorrow.”
“Lots of emails to catch up on?” “Yeah,” he says absently.
I reach up, running my nails lightly over his cheek until his attention returns to me. “You want to do a double date thing with them sometime?”
Theo must hear the hesitation in my voice; his eyes get sharper, then soften. “Of course. When things settle down.”
I nod and close my eyes, and if his thigh tenses under my cheek, I try not to notice.
When I leave that night, he cradles my face in his hands and kisses me with surprising intensity given how laid-back our day has been.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. I . . . This week I might not be around much. I’m not sure. So if I don’t answer you right away, it’s just because I’m dealing with things.”
I can only imagine how stressful his week will be, and I press myself closer. “If you need to talk tomorrow, take a break and call me, okay? If things get weird at work or whatever. I’m here.”
For you, I add silently.
Theo clears his throat, pressing a final kiss to the corner of my mouth. I expect some acknowledgment of my offer, but he simply says, “Thanks for a great weekend.”
I brush it off, grinning as I slip out of his hold and out the door. “You’re only saying that because you got laid about forty times.”
“Saying it ’cause it’s you,” he shoots back with a beautiful smile. I watch it fade in my rearview as I drive away, until I turn the corner and he’s gone.
My heart doesn’t stop racing, even as I pull into a metered spot near Thomas and Sadie’s apartment. I have to lay my forehead on the steering wheel and take several deep breaths so it won’t be written all over my face.
Unfortunately, my brother knows me like the back of his own hand, so when he throws open the door to his apartment and takes a good look at me, he bursts into laughter.
“Shut up,” I grumble, stepping inside.
“What is wrong with you, Mas?” Sadie asks, pushing him aside to fold me into a tight hug. “Hey, darling girl. How was everything?”
“Really amazing.”
And then I burst into tears.
 |
’ — of the trip, every grief-ridden and healing thought I’ve had about Gram, that intense psychic reading, my fear of telling Mom and Dad what I’ve been up to, and, sans sex details, what’s happened with Theo.
“The really questionable thing is,” Thomas says, leaning forward to uncork the emergency wine he grabbed for us as soon as I started crying, “I knew you were going to fall for Theo and I still made that bet. I have to buy a couch, dammit.”
“The really questionable thing is betting against me, period.” I let out a breath, then groan. “God, I have no idea why I cried like that. I’m actually fine.”
Sadie rubs my leg. “Permission to psychoanalyze?”
“Granted.” I sniff, accepting the glass Thomas hands me. He snakes his arm behind Sadie’s shoulders, his fingers just long enough to squeeze my shoulder, too.
“I know you’re fine, but you’ve also had a really emotional couple of weeks,” Sadie says. “Do you feel like you ever got a chance to process your gram’s death?”
I go back to that first month, where I essentially shuttled myself between work and my apartment. How I couldn’t look at pictures of her or hear her voice in voicemails. How I stopped going out with my friends because they’d ask how I was doing in that specific “you’re grieving and I’m
uncomfortable but have to ask or I’ll look like a dick” tone of voice. Those months I spent staring at my camera, at the walls of my childhood bedroom, at the views from the hikes Gram and I took together.
“No.” For the first time I realize it’s true.
Thomas stands and moves around the couch, settling in next to me and ruffling my hair.
Sadie continues, “A while back, I ran across an article about this thing called grief trips. When you lose someone, you travel—maybe to their favorite place or a place that brings you peace or somewhere brand-new to shake yourself out of your routine—and you get to process that way.” She leans forward, catching my eye. “That’s what this was for you, I think. You had this story unraveling with Paul, these emotional letters, and it was a way for you to focus on your grief in a controlled way. And at the same time, you had some joy in your life with Theo.”
“That doesn’t explain my outburst.”
Thomas smacks my leg. “We’re your safe space.”
“We’re a place for you to unload,” Sadie adds. “Your parents don’t know what happened, so you have to wear a mask with them. With Theo, it’s this new, bright, exciting thing, and you just spent a weekend together after a really emotionally heavy trip, so you want it to be magical. It’s a normal response. You’re purging some of the stuff you’ve had to compartmentalize.”
I let out a breath, gulping down a mouthful of wine. “I guess that makes sense. It’s been a lot. And I truly have no idea if Dad is going to be upset about where I’ve been and why, or if he’ll understand. This trip was mine, but the loss is all of ours, you know? All of the details I got are. He’s in a better place now than he was six months ago, but how do I know that his grief can handle it?”
“You won’t know until you tell him, and the sooner you tell him, the better,” Thomas says. “You know how he is. He idolized Gram and Grandpa Joe’s relationship, so the thought of you palling around with some guy Gram almost married right before Grandpa may be weird. But he also knows how special your relationship with Gram was, and the fact that
you’re getting back into your photography is sending him to the moon. While you were gone, he wouldn’t shut up about how proud he was of you for starting up again.”
My eyes start to fill. He flicks my cheek lightly to stop it, like he did when we were kids and I’d get all wound up to cry. I smack his hand away, like I always did. But his distraction works.
His eyes drift toward the clock meaningfully. It’s eight. By the time I get home, our parents will be in bed, and that’s by design. “For real, Noelle. You should talk to him tomorrow. Dad loves you and he’ll support you, even if he doesn’t understand at first.”
“I don’t want to hurt him. With the story, I mean.”
He appraises me. “You’re the one who’s the most invested. At the end of the day, Gram had a happy life with Grandpa Joe, and that’s what’ll matter to Dad.”
“Ugh, you’re right. I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” I say. Thomas lifts his eyebrows. “I will. I promise. No more delaying.”
“Let’s move on to the next item of business,” Sadie says. “Are things serious with Theo?”
Even hearing his name makes my stomach swoop.
“It’s early, but . . .” I lift my shoulders helplessly. “It kind of feels like it’s headed in that direction. I mean, don’t go ordering that couch, Mas, but
—”
Thomas scoffs. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to admit
it.”
“I’m saying that because you can’t be in love with a person after a
matter of weeks,” I argue. And even if I feel it, it’s not something I can say out loud right now.
Is Theo getting there, too? Does he want that? In so many ways now, I feel like I know him. Like we get each other, and the connection we’re building is headed for something that can really only be love.
“You just spent a cumulative . . .” Sadie trails off, counting in her head, her lips moving silently. “Three hundred and thirty-six hours, give or take some time for sleeping—”
“When you were doing that separately,” Thomas adds. “Plus you’ve known this guy for years.”
“Great point,” Sadie says, beaming at my brother. “That’s a lot of quality time. It’s reasonable you’d catch intense feelings.”
Thomas nods, elbowing me in the ribs. “Yeah, and it’s possible anyway.
I fell in love with Sadie right away.”
Her cheeks pink up, even as she rolls her eyes. “No, you didn’t.” “Uh, yeah, I did.”
They start to lean around me for a kiss, but I push at both their shoulders. “No, no, no. Kiss on your own time. And not right now, either. I’m hangry.”
“It’s your own fault for wanting to come over so late,” Thomas mutters, but he leaps up, heading for the kitchen.
Sadie and I stand together. She wraps her arms around my waist, squeezing me tight. “I’m so excited for you. You’ve got a lot of exciting things coming around the bend.”
I rest my cheek against her temple. “Yeah. I think I do.”
|
, online shop with new prints, and organizing orders that have been placed. I’m nowhere near a point where I can make a living doing this, but it’s a goal worth driving toward.
I still have to create my end-of-trip TikTok, but I’m not in that emotional space yet, so I answer comments and DMs instead, focusing on the ones where people tell stories of their own grandparents, their moms and dads, siblings, or found family members who’ve impacted their lives the way Gram did mine. The way Theo and Paul have, too.
A swell of pride sits on top of the more obvious emotions as I respond to the messages—grief, always, and nostalgia—knowing that my work has started these conversations, that people connect with it. That they see
themselves in it. It’s what’s always drawn me to art; that it can be simultaneously so personal and so intensely universal.
The house is quiet with my parents at work, but it doesn’t feel lonely like it did before. I’m focused, barely stopping for lunch. Before I know it, the sun is slicing through my window, glinting against the metal back of my computer.
After grabbing a snack, I settle back at my desk, picking up my phone to check if I have a text from Theo. I FaceTimed him early this morning to wish him luck. He was quiet, maybe a little distracted, but who could blame him? Walking back into a shitstorm after two weeks off could fell even the most stoic person.
“You okay?” I asked, suddenly feeling like I’d asked him that a lot lately.
He nodded, running a hand over his bare chest. “Yeah, I’m good. I—I’ll check in.”
But he hasn’t, and now as it creeps closer to four, I feel a sense of foreboding I can’t explain.
Maybe it’s that I texted Dad earlier, telling him I wanted to make sure we had dinner together tonight. He promised to pick up In-N-Out on the way, our favorite meal. I stared at that text message for minutes, guilt shadowing my productive day.
I drum my fingernails on my pale wood desk, then text Theo: How’s it
going? I’m having dinner with my parents tonight, but I can come over late.
I have no idea what Theo’s day looks like or if he’ll be up for it. Surely he’s talked to Anton and Matias. Did his two weeks away give them the distance to see that they want to work together to find a happy medium? Or is Theo conceding to it all?
I wish I knew. I want to be that resource Flor claimed I was during his reading. A safe space, an open ear. If he’s having a bad day, I want to pour him a glass of wine and let him unload. And if he’s had a good one, I want to celebrate it.
My phone dings, and I grab it eagerly, assuming it’s Theo’s response.
Instead, it’s a LinkedIn notification: Theo Spencer, who you follow, is in the news.
I frown, hitting the banner, and an article from a well-known tech site pops up.
TRAVEL APP WHERE TO NEXT’S COFOUNDER AND CFO EXITS BUSINESS
Adrenaline crashes through me, the words swimming in front of my eyes. It takes several frantic moments for what I’m reading to sink in.
In a surprise move today, popular travel app Where To Next announced that cofounder and CFO, Theo Spencer, has exited the business.
“We are so appreciative of Theo’s invaluable contributions over the years,” cofounder and CEO Anton Popov said in a press release by the company. “We wish him the best. Nathan Mata, current SVP of Finance, will be stepping into his role. We expect a seamless transition so we can continue providing our valued customers with unforgettable experiences, and are excited about the future growth of WTN.”
The next couple paragraphs go on to talk about the history of the business—which is Theo, I want to scream—and the current state of the business.
At the end is this: Spencer could not be reached for comment.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper, dread pulling at me, making me clumsy and sluggish. Did they blindside Theo with this, too? The thought makes me want to throw up. I can only imagine how he’s feeling.
There are footsteps down the hall, heavy and purposeful, and my brain spits out THEO, though it can’t be. He must be at home.
The door swings open—no knock—and my dad stands there instead. He holds up his phone, my TikTok account on the screen. His expression is tight, cheeks pale.
“Noelle,” he says, in a voice I rarely hear from him. “What the hell is this?”
