I
’ —
together on the couch triggers my fight-or-flight response.
They watch me walk into the living room, Mom with her badass velvet blazer on and a neutral expression. Dad is seated on the edge, hands clasped and hanging between his knees, a slight frown marring his affable features.
I take my seat in one of the cream linen wingback chairs across from them, mirroring my dad’s posture. “Hey.”
“He—” Mom takes in the state of my face, eyes widening. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
Apparently, I did a terrible job of touching up the sobfest I indulged in from the end of Theo’s street all the way across the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Did that kid hurt you?” Dad’s eyebrows crash together, and he’s halfway off the couch before I raise my hand, trying to hold back laughter despite how wrecked I feel. What’s he going to do, go to Theo’s house and hug him to death?
Actually, god, that’s probably what he needs. But you can’t hug a brick wall.
“I’m okay.” I clear my throat when my voice catches. “It just wasn’t the conversation I expected.”
Mom doesn’t look convinced. “We can wait—”
I shake my head, pressing my palms together and catching them between my knees. “No, I owe you an explanation, and I’m ready to give it.”
“All right,” Dad says slowly. “Well, as you know, I found your TikTok.” “I didn’t even know you knew what TikTok was.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “I was in the kitchen at work earlier and overheard these young dudes talking about some series they’d been following. Is that what you call it? A series?” He doesn’t wait for my answer, just waves his hand. Dad prefers more tactile entertainment—the crisp pages of a book, ink transferred onto his thumb and finger from a newspaper. Social media holds no appeal for him. “They started talking about a trip, and named off a few locations, which were your locations. So I said, ‘Hey, my daughter’s traveling a similar route, let me see that video,’ you know, thinking maybe it was someone in your photography group.”
My heart simultaneously expands with love and shrinks with shame. “It was you, though,” he says, his gaze searching.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Well, hold that thought. After you left, Mom and I watched all the videos. And then spent some time reading the comments and . . .” He trails off, clearing his throat the way I did moments before. For the first time, I notice that his eyes are a little glassy. Mom looks at him, a soft smile on her face.
“Were you crying?” I exclaim, starting to stand.
He holds up a hand, his eyes reddening further. “What you did with this is powerful stuff. All of the comments about people’s families, about your talent. I want to say right off the bat that we’re so proud of this work you did.”
“It’s incredible,” Mom agrees. “But we’re trying to wrap our heads around why you said the trip was something it wasn’t. Why didn’t you just tell us what you were doing?”
“It’s a long story,” I warn.
“You’re clearly good at telling them,” my dad says. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
With a deep breath, I do. I start with how I found the photos and letter. I tell them how afraid I was to break the fragile skin of Dad’s healing by bringing up a love story that wasn’t his parents’. I admit I wanted to have
one last secret with Gram, and talk at length about the connection I felt to her while I was there. I tell them—haltingly—how attached I grew to Paul. To Theo.
When I’m done, my throat is raw from talking so much, from crying earlier, and I swallow hard. I wish I had a drink. Water, or better yet, vodka. Dad lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you for putting all that in context. I don’t love that you lied, but honestly—” He cracks a smile, and all of a sudden he’s laughing. Mom’s grinning, too, and I split my gaze between the
two of them.
Did they have vodka? “Um, are you okay?”
Dad wipes at his eyes. “Yeah, it’s just—it’s kind of funny, because I knew about Paul.”
All of the air leaves the room. For a second, I can’t hear anything but the heartbeat in my ears. “I’m sorry. What?”
“It’s not a secret, honey. Mom mentioned it in passing a time or two when us kids were older, in a nostalgic look how it turned out kind of way.” He sobers up, leaning forward. “Given your relationship and that little secret game you two had, I understand that this may have felt like she was hiding it from you, but I don’t think that’s ever what it was. It was just a chapter of her life that had closed.”
“But didn’t that—for you—” I let out a breath, frustrated with my scrambled brain. “Her and Grandpa’s relationship meant so much to you. I thought if you knew, it might bother you.”
“Not at all. Part of what’s so epic about their love story is that they chose each other, Noelle. They made the decision to make it work.” He lifts a shoulder, looking over at Mom, who he shares a private smile with. “Every relationship comes with a tipping point, where you decide if you’re going to let it go or hold on tight. Sometimes you have multiple—”
“Speaking from experience,” Mom pipes up, digging her elbow into Dad’s side.
He grins at her before continuing. “There’s nothing wrong with either scenario. In fact, both decisions are incredibly brave. But I think it’s miraculous when two people decide together that they’re going to hold on.
Gram and Grandpa did that for sixty-some years, and they loved each other deeply through every minute of it.”
Theo’s words drift through my brain. You’re so obsessed with secrets. I created an entire separate path because I thought Gram and Paul’s relationship was one. I went on their aborted honeymoon, for god’s sake.
“So I made this whole thing up?” I’m asking myself as much as I am my parents. “I could’ve just asked you, ‘Hey, do you know about a guy named Paul?’ and you’d have said, ‘Yeah, as a matter of fact I do’ and all of my questions would have been answered?”
“Well, no. I couldn’t have given you the story Paul did. If you’d asked me, I would’ve given you the information I had, which wasn’t all that much, and you’d have moved on. Look at where this other path took you.”
Two weeks of reading Gram’s words and hearing about her first-hand from Paul, feeling that connection between us strengthen. Two weeks of rediscovering my love for photography, and finding Theo.
None of that would’ve happened if I hadn’t dug deeper on my own.
My parents scoot apart, and Dad pats the space between them. I stumble over, letting myself be pulled into the circle of his arms.
His tone is soft and soothing, his bedtime story voice. “All our grief is different, and you faced yours in a way that you needed to, which was keeping one of the main tenets of your relationship with Gram alive. That grief never goes away, but it can grow into something that you can handle, or even grow from. Look what you created from it—your own story woven in with hers. That’s something she would love. She would be so proud of you.”
“Dad,” I groan, my eyes flooding. My heart is breaking and healing all at once, in waves. She would be proud. She’d probably frame all the complimentary comments about my photos. And the ones that called her a babe, too.
He shakes me gently, and I look up to see his eyes are wet like mine. “Mom and I are proud of you, too. Whatever you needed to do to come home with that smile on your face, it was worth it. I can’t be all that mad that you lied to us anymore, because look at what it brought you.”
I close my eyes and I swear I see it play out like a movie behind my eyes, using all of the images I’ve captured. It’s beautiful, even the painful parts.
It’s not a mistake I made. It’s my life.
My mind drifts back to Theo. Him in that backyard, alone. Me, walking away.
“Hey, and think about it—you have that job in Tahoe this week,” Mom says, interrupting my thought. “That wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t go, and I’m sure there’ll be more where that comes from.”
“Of course you’d mention the job,” I say without heat. “I love you, but I’d also love my Peloton room back.” I laugh, wiping at my face. “I’m working on it.”
“Love you, Beans,” Dad says, and they both lean in to hug me tight. It mends something torn inside of me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, kissing their cheeks in turn.
Their support is endless, and somehow it just makes me ache that much harder for Theo. I want him to have this, too, from me. I just don’t know how to get through to him.
 |
’ , ’ restless. I leave for Tahoe tomorrow, but I’m afraid if I sit around, I’ll end up at his door, begging him to open up. Literally and figuratively.
Somehow, I wind up at Paul’s door instead.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then relax as he smiles. “Noelle, come in.”
For the third day in a row, I start crying, and his smile crumbles. He lets out a soft tut of concern, gathering me into a hug.
“I missed you,” I say by way of explanation, resting my chin against his cardigan-covered shoulder.
That’s only part of it. I miss Theo. I miss being in our bubble, listening to Paul’s voice telling stories. I miss the magic of that life, even as I
recognize I’m building something special in this one, too.
He pets my hair, leaning a soft cheek against my temple. “I missed you, too, sweetheart. Please come in, all right? Let’s sit.”
He leads me to the living room, and I try not to look anywhere that’ll remind me of Theo. Not at the gallery wall with all the pictures of him, younger with a smile more easily handed over; not at the back deck where I walked out on him playing gardener, displaying that beautiful back my fingers have since traced every curve and dip of. It’s even hard to look at Paul right now—it’s Theo’s face in sixty years.
“I’m sorry I just showed up. I should’ve called or something.”
Or at least made sure Theo wasn’t here, though part of me desperately wants him to be. Other than a baseball game playing quietly on the TV, the house is still.
Paul sits at the end of the couch, angling to better face me as I plop down.
“It’s absolutely fine. I do have my poker buddies coming over later, but we have time.”
I nod and run my hands over my thighs. “I don’t know if you’ve talked to Theo . . .”
“Yes, of course,” he says, his expression turning somber.
“I didn’t come here to pump you for information, or even talk about him.” I swear disappointment flashes in Paul’s eyes as he nods. “I . . . actually, I was hoping I could read the last letter you mentioned.”
His face brightens. “Ah, I was waiting for this.”
He reaches under his coffee table, where a stack of photography books lie. He pulls the top one out and opens it to a page that has a gorgeous landscape photo of Zion. Angels Landing to be exact, where I was so high up I felt like I could reach Gram. A shiver runs down my spine; on top of that lies a letter, though it doesn’t look nearly as timeworn as the others.
Paul nods his head toward it, and I take it, unfolding the three pages carefully.
“I’m not sure if you remember me telling you Kathleen sent Vera and me a wedding gift and a note?”
It takes me a second to pluck the memory out of my mind. “You mentioned it the first day of our trip.”
“Yes, exactly. Now, some of this won’t be relevant because it’s her gossiping about our old college friends. But I would love it if you’d read the part where she talks about you.”
My breath catches in my chest. “She talks about me?”
“All her grandkids,” he confirms, his eyes twinkling. “That part lasts for an entire page. There’s a paragraph devoted just to you.”
I make a mental note to take a picture of Thomas’s paragraph and text it to him. But first, with Paul’s hand on my shoulder, I read mine:
Then there’s Noelle. Now, I’m going to tell you a secret: I know we’re not supposed to have favorites, and it’s easy for you since you have one grandchild. But if I did have a favorite, it would be my sweet girl. I look at her and my heart feels like it’ll burst. She’s my shadow, always following me from room to room. If I’m sitting down, she’s in my lap. People say we’re alike, but she’s so much braver than me. She’s so curious. Gets in everything! And when she really wants something, she never, ever gives up. I feel this with all my grandchildren, and I don’t want to wish away the years—every minute is wonderful—but I can’t wait to see what she does when she grows up. I know whatever it is, it’ll be spectacular.
The words are blurred by the time I finish, and I bend over the letter, holding it to my chest. Over my heart. I’m being stitched together, but damn, it hurts.
Paul sweeps his hand over my back while I cry, not just for the loss of Gram, but for the love she gave me in the first place. For the belief she always had in me, even when I didn’t have any in myself, and for the realization that I’m finding it again. To see it in her own words, like it’s a secret being whispered directly to me from her, is as perfect as it is painful. It’s exactly what I needed, and somehow she knew that.
If there’s anything I can learn from Paul and Gram’s story, it’s that I can fall and get back up, I can let go and it still won’t be too late to hold on to something else, as long as I keep trying. That eventually the peace will come exactly when it’s meant to.
I hate that Gram is gone; I’ll never get over it. But I don’t have to dig up any more secrets to keep her near, because she’s everywhere. She guides me when I guide myself.
Paul’s voice cuts gently into my thoughts. “I wrote her a letter, too, as a thank-you for the gift, but also so I could gush about my own favorite grandchild.”
I wipe at my face, letting my hair curtain between us so I can pull myself together. Though I said I didn’t want to talk about Theo, the truth is I’m hungry for any crumb.
He takes my silence for what it is: a request to keep talking. “I don’t remember the exact wording because it was a while ago and my mind isn’t what it used to be.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff, laughing soggily.
The amusement in his voice is clear as he continues. “I told her all about Teddy—how smart he was, how focused even at five. But more important than that, how much he smiled. How loving he was.”
I push back my hair, looking at him. He’s watching me closely.
“I’ve seen that five-year-old boy for the past several weeks, even with his unfortunate work situation,” he says. “I watched you two grow closer every day and build something that is very special. I know it feels hard when he tries to push away, but what you have is worth holding on to.”
It’s such an echo of what my dad said that it stuns me. Let go or hold on. “He doesn’t trust me,” I whisper.
“He trusts you. He doesn’t trust that what you have won’t be taken away from him.” He shakes his head. “If this is worth it to you, Noelle, then be patient with our boy. It takes him three times as long to admit to his own happiness because he never knew he was allowed to have it.”
The words sink between us, wrapping around my heart, which hasn’t stopped aching in days.
“Okay,” I say finally. It’s a promise I don’t know if I can keep. It’s worth it to me, but is it worth it to Theo? I still don’t have that answer.
Paul moves us on to other, less wrought subjects, plying me with coffee and cookies. By the time I stand to leave, the sun is hanging low in the sky.
“I didn’t mean to stay so late,” I say as we walk to the front door. “I’m leaving for Tahoe tomorrow to work with that resort, so I need to pack.” I give him a wry grin. “Again.”
“Will you let me know how it goes?”
I pause at the threshold. “Is that okay? Even if things don’t work out with Theo?”
He gives me a look, pulling me in for a final hug. “You were hers,” he whispers. “So, now you’re mine, too.”
I’m so busy crying as I drive down the street that I nearly miss the flash of red turning the corner. But then I see—it’s Theo behind the wheel of Betty, headed toward Paul’s. Our eyes meet through our windshields, and electricity arcs between us. I’m so flustered that my foot stomps the gas, and I lurch past him. I don’t slow down, but watch in my rearview mirror to see if he’ll stop. He doesn’t, so I don’t either. It feels like my heart is attached to his bumper; it pulls and pulls as his taillights move further away.
Then I turn the corner and he’s gone.
When I pull into my parents’ driveway, there’s a text waiting for me. It’s from Theo.
I want to be the person you said you need.
I wipe at my cheeks, searching for what to say. In the end, it’s simple:
You already are, Spencer. I just need you to trust that. And me.
I wait for his response, but it doesn’t come.
