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?”
Twenty-Nine
I stare at the phone in Dad’s hand.
“I can explain,” I manage to get out. My heart is on fire, and my mind has taken off in about five different directions, trying to figure out what the hell’s happening.
He steps into my room. “Start explaining, then.”
Another wave of adrenaline hits as I push back from my desk. I need to go see Theo. “I can’t.”
“Noelle.” Dad lifts his hands, exasperated.
“I mean, I can’t right now. I’m going to. I was going to explain everything tonight, actually.” As I say this, I’m pulling a sweater over my head, marveling at the spectacularly shitty, ironic timing of everything. “But I—something happened and I need to go.”
Like that, his expression changes from irritation to concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I sigh.
A stricken look crosses his features, and I recognize it immediately: the knee-jerk catastrophizing we’ve started doing since Gram died. It’s hard to conceptualize that sudden bad news could be right around the corner until you get it yourself. Then, the reality that life can change in an instant never leaves your mind.
I hold up my hand. “It’s not me. There’s an emergency with . . . a friend.”
The fear is replaced with understanding—and curiosity. One blond eyebrow raises. “Is it your friend from this weekend?”
Friend. The word felt like a lie coming out of my mouth, and it sounds like one coming out of Dad’s. He needs the truth, and I want to say it out loud. “You know what, no, he’s not my friend. It’s Theo, who I”—I gesture to his phone—“well, I’ll tell you more later. The short story is that I’m dating him and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him and something happened and I need to go see him in the city.”
Dad blinks at my outburst, then wipes a hand over his mouth. The frustration is still there, tightening the corners of his eyes, but I see that ever-present kindness, too. “Wow, Beans, okay. That’s a lot to process.”
“I know.” I let out a breath. “I swear when I get back, we’ll talk. I’ll lay out exactly what happened and answer any question you have. But Theo needs me, so I really have to go.”
“Take a deep breath,” Dad says. “Don’t start your car until you’re calm.”
“I’m calm.” I stuff my shaking hands in my pockets, heading toward the door.
He steps aside but touches my arm to stop me. “I love you. Okay?”
“Okay.” My eyes fill and I lean into him, placing my cheek on his chest. His heart thumps beneath his chambray button-up. “I love you. I’m sorry.”
He drops a kiss on top of my head, then pushes me gently. “Go on. I’ve got to watch all these videos anyway. I only got through the first few.”
Oh god. I compartmentalize that and run to my car, backing out of the driveway at a speed my parents’ next-door neighbor will probably post about on the neighborhood online message board. Doesn’t matter to me. Theo’s alone, processing this news, and he doesn’t have to be.
I get to the city in record time. When I park at his house, I squint up at the living room windows. There’s no movement.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I climb out of my car. I head toward the front door, but then I hear it—sad boy music, drifting out on the light breeze from the backyard.