Even now, as I’m practically begging for it, he’s not giving it. He just watches me, the only sign of life that heartbeat ticking in his neck.
“These past few weeks have been everything to me, and so much of that is you.” My voice breaks on the you, and he looks away, eyes shining in the waning light. “I don’t know how to tell you any other way that I want to do this. But I showed you everything, and you were hiding things from me, and now you’re shutting down. I don’t want to fight a brick wall over and over again.”
Nothing for a beat, then he exhales my name, looking down.
“I think you’re scared, and when you’re scared, you’re frozen.” I search his face, willing him to meet my eyes. “Ask me how I know.”
There’s such relief in admitting that I was right where he is, and that I’m coming out of it. For a second, it washes away the ache in my chest. If Theo could just break through, if I could help him get there somehow, then I could reach out and touch him.
But he has to be willing to let me in, and he’s not there yet. Suddenly I’m scared he’ll never be. That we’ll lose this.
My throat closes at the thought, but I push past it. “Maybe I do care too much about secrets, but it’s just because it makes me feel close to the people I . . . care about.” Shit. I keep getting so close to the edge, and Theo isn’t going to be there to pull me back this time. It’s not just a busted knee I’ll walk away with. “I want that with you, but I’m scared to give you more until I know you’re ready to give me an equal amount in return.”
“Yeah, I got that,” he says shortly, running a hand over his jaw with a sigh. “I’m not used to—I can’t do that right now. You’re pushing too hard, okay? I’m dealing with all this other shit, and this is too much.”
I lift my hands helplessly, my eyes and throat crowding with tears. “So, should I go?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it, his lips twisting into a tight purse. Finally, he says, “It’s better if I’m alone.”
Those words are like pressing a detonator connected to my heart. I pick my phone up from the table with a shaking hand. “Right. Of course. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I’m halfway across the yard when I hear his soft, emphatic “fuck.” My footsteps stutter, but he doesn’t follow me, so I keep going. I push through the gate, biting my lip hard so I won’t burst into tears until I’m in my car and driving away.
Tell me a secret. A whisper from somewhere, but it’s a taunt, not a request.
I’m so tired of playing this game. And now I have to face the secrets I’ve told with all of Theo’s sitting on my chest.
Thirty
It doesn’t matter how old I am—seeing my parents sitting 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.”