You, With a View(23)

Sadie keeps sliding me looks, then darting her eyes purposefully at Paul. I widen my eyes back at her, a clear invitation to chill out.

My clammy fingers wrap around a worn envelope with mementos—ticket stubs, old flyers from school, a note that Paul and Gram seemed to pass back and forth. I show it to him and he laughs softly.

“Even after we started dating, she wrote me notes in class.” His thumbs smooth over the wrinkled paper. “Probably trying to distract me into failure.”

“An elite tactic.” Wish I’d thought of that in high school, though I have no idea what I’d have distracted Theo with. Cassidy Bowman’s ass, maybe? God knows he looked at it enough.

A foot connects with my ankle under the table. “F—” I cut off my curse with a cough.

“Are you all right?” Paul asks, placing a hand on my back.

“Fine,” I croak out, communicating with a glare that I will murder Thomas when he least expects it. He mouths do it, though he’s talking about the map.

One corner of Paul’s mouth pulls up, revealing his dimple. “Another bug?”

My cheeks blaze as I remember how I reacted to a shirtless Theo. As I remember shirtless Theo, period. “Yeah, I guess they love me.”

Paul walks over to the corner of the deck, where a mini fridge is set up. Theo’s been busy this week. There are railing planters lining the perimeter of the deck, all filled with flowers and herbs, and the raised planters Theo was working on earlier this week are now filled with greenery, the soil black with fresh moisture.

All of this had to have taken more than one day; is his schedule that flexible? Seems a little unusual for a CFO.

Paul sets a bottle of water in front of each of us. We all murmur our thanks, then lapse into silence. For a full minute, the only sound is Paul humming to himself and the crinkle of paper as he shuffles through letters.

Thomas and Sadie are full-on staring at me now. My heart is pounding with purpose and anticipation, and anxiety, too.

My gaze locks with Thomas’s. He watches me with eyes the same color as Dad’s, and I remember the look in his eyes when I came up with this ridiculous plan. The hope there, and the happiness. Like I’m finally pulling myself out of whatever black pit I sank into when Gram died.

It’s not just that I want to go. It’s that everyone else wants me to. If this doesn’t work, it’ll be another failure. And in some way, it’ll feel like losing another piece of Gram, one I’ve regained since her death.

“Hey, Paul,” I say, licking my lips, my attention still tethered to my brother. Thomas nods, just once. There’s something like hope in his eyes, too.

“Yes?”

I turn, squinting up against the sun haloing Paul’s head. “Um, I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”

He lowers himself into the chair at the head of the table, his expression open but touched with concern. “Of course, Noelle. What is it?”

“It’s about the map. Your honeymoon trip, actually.”

“All right,” he says slowly.

I open my mouth to just say it, but it gets stuck in my throat. I hate that I’ve become so afraid of not succeeding that even in this moment, I can’t go after what I want. “Would it be possible to look at it again?”

“Sure.” Paul pulls the box closer, tips it so he can look inside while seated. He pulls the map out and hands it to me.

Thomas and Sadie shift all of the various photos and mementos out of the way so I can lay the map flat. They don’t say anything, but Thomas moves a finger over the writing at the top, his expression turning solemn. Since Gram died, he’s shed his fair share of tears. She was the source of joy who lit us all up; the group text thread with my uncles’ families is an ongoing testament to that.

Paul’s chair creaks as he leans forward. His eyes lock onto mine. They’re Theo’s color but kinder, full of an emotion I feel echoing in the empty parts of my chest. He’s known grief, and he’s showing it to me.

I press my palm flat on the paper. “I want to go on this trip.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, but he recovers quickly. “Oh?”

I nod. “I’d love to borrow the map, but if you don’t want to part with it, I understand. So maybe I could take notes or pictures of it—”

“You can have it, Noelle,” he says gently.

“Oh. Wow, okay, thank you,” I stutter out. “Could you tell me what your plans were? There are lots of places circled here, but I’d love to know if there are certain things you wanted to do, so maybe I can do them, too.” I swallow, suddenly breathless with the weight of all of my emotions. Everything is sitting on my chest: relief, unbearable sadness, hope. All of them the same weight in different ways. “I’m going to take my camera. I’d love to take some of the pictures you would have. They won’t be as good as yours, obviously, but . . .” I lift my shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I think this might help. Nothing else has.”

Paul looks at me for a long moment, his eyes traveling over my face like I have my own map plotted out there. His fingers are intertwined, resting on the table between us. I fight the urge to reach across the table and cover his hands with mine, beg him to give me his blessing. Beg him to give me his stories before I go.

I hold my breath, my heart racing. I need this to work, for so many reasons all tangled up together.