You, With a View(6)

Sadie puts her hand on Thomas’s arm to quiet him down. “Open the message.”

I narrow my eyes at Thomas when he lets out a scoffing noise, then open the app.

My message from yesterday is there:

    I’m glad Paul saw the video and liked it. That means a lot. You said he was open to speaking with me? I’d love to talk to him ASAP. I’m in the Bay Area, not sure where you’re located. We could speak on the phone or video chat, or whatever he’s up for.



And underneath, Teddy’s response:

    We’re in the Bay too. My granddad wants to meet with you in person. Are you willing/available to meet in the city? Send times that work for you if so.



“Oh my god.”

I don’t realize I’ve shouted it until everyone at neighboring tables looks over at us.

“What?” Sadie shouts back.

“They live here. I mean, Paul does, who cares about his grandson.” I set my phone facedown on the table, overwhelmed. “He wants to meet with me.”

“You have to do it.” Sadie leans forward. Next to Thomas’s swimmer’s shoulders, she looks bite-size, but her excitement adds a good three inches to her five feet.

“This is a murder plot,” Thomas says with equal parts assertion and disinterest.

“Counterpoint.” Sadie holds a finger up in his face. “She could meet the love of her life.”

“Paul?”

“His grandson.” Exasperated, she leans back. “Dude, come on. Have you not paid attention to any of the rom-coms we’ve ever watched?”

Thomas gives her a meaningful look, flicking his eyes to me and back again. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

Sadie flushes, and I throw a balled-up napkin at my brother’s head. “Gross. Come on.”

They start bickering lovingly, so I pivot my attention.

My stomach pulls tight as I reread the exchange. Paul wants to meet me. This is exactly the outcome I wanted, though I never anticipated it would happen. It’s like playing the lottery once and hitting the jackpot; it feels impossible, and yet you play because you know there’s a chance, right?

“I’m going to say yes. I’m going to meet up with Paul.”

When no one responds, I look up from my phone. Sadie has a ring-laden hand over her mouth, her ecstatic smile peeking out from behind it. Thomas is watching me dubiously.

My thumbs fly over my phone screen as I reply:

    What a small world! I’d love to meet with Paul. I’m available—



I pause, chewing on my lip. I’m available all the time, but that sounds pathetic, so I pull three times out of thin air.

    —This Friday at 10am, Sunday at 2pm, or Monday at 10am. Please let me know the best place to meet.



I keep one eye on my phone for the next twenty minutes. Sadie and Thomas carry the conversation but go silent when I get another alert.

    Friday at 10. We’ll meet you at Reveille Coffee on Columbus at one of the tables outside.



“Friday’s the day.” I let out a deep breath, my heart racing. “And looks like Teddy will be there, too.”

Sadie collapses against her seat. “God, I wish I could come with you.”

“I’d go if I didn’t have to work.” Thomas, clearly disappointed, rubs a hand along his scruffy jaw. “Make sure you stay around people the whole time, okay?”

I give him a crisp salute before my eyes wander back to Teddy’s message.

Tell me a secret, I hear Gram whisper to me, and my heart stretches in memory.

I blink up at the sky, wondering where she is.

Someone’s going to tell me one of yours.



* * *





The week moves at a glacial pace. Mom talks me into trying the Peloton, and I last an entire thirty-minute class, then spend the next three hours determining whether I need to go to the hospital.

I also make a halfhearted attempt to look for jobs. The work I’m qualified for doesn’t exactly light a fire under my ass, and I won’t touch any photography-related jobs with a ten-foot pole. I’m not paying rent but am contributing to household expenses, and without an income, my paltry savings is drying up fast. I have an inheritance from Gram sitting in my savings account, but she stipulated in her will I was only to use the money for something that inspired me. Needless to say, it’s untouched.

Also untouched: my camera. It stares balefully at me from my dresser. I haven’t picked it up in six months.

I need to do something, but I’m frozen by my indecision and fear, and it’s starting to eat at me.

Thursday night, Thomas shows up for dinner, and we linger at the table in the backyard long after our parents go inside, talking through scenarios for the next day. I stand with a groan as the conversation wanes, my scratchy eyes alerting me it’s bedtime.

“Hey, listen,” Thomas says. “Don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

I pause mid-stretch. “What do you mean?”

“I know you miss Gram.” His tone is careful. He was heartbroken when she died, too, but our grief isn’t the same, and he knows it. “Just don’t go in expecting this to take that away.”