Chapter 7: : Chapter 7

Dude, you have to give the people what they want.”

I squint against the sunlight beaming behind Thomas’s head. “What are you talking about?”

On the other side of me, Sadie says, “Your TikTok is still going off. Thomas has been watching it obsessively.”

I sigh, turning my gaze back to the sky. Thomas and Sadie drove up to Glenlake for dinner, and we decided to take a walk while my parents cooked and danced around the kitchen like moony teenagers. We stopped at the neighborhood park, where we’re now stretched out on the grass side by side. Thomas is on his stomach, head propped on his arms, while Sadie’s on her back next to me, her fingers loosely twined with mine.

I’m grateful for their company. It’s been two days since my visit with Paul, and even after updating them on everything I’ve learned, my mind is still spinning.

“I had to turn my notifications off,” I admit. “My phone kept overheating.”

“People want an update,” Thomas says, laying his cheek on his forearm, his gaze sharp on me. “You need to tell them you found the guy and you know his grandson. Someone said, ‘if you don’t give us an update I will literally die.’ They’re gonna , Beans. Come on.”

“That’s not my fault!” I laugh as Sadie squeezes my hand, her shoulder shaking against mine.

He props up on his elbows. “You’re sitting on a gold mine. When people find out the grandson is your old nemesis, they’re going to lose their shit. Do you know how many fifteen-year-olds wish they had this clout? You can’t waste it.”

“TikTok was a onetime deal. I got what I needed out of it. There’s no reason to continue, even if someone’s threatening death by curiosity.” I pause. “Relatable, though.”

He’s quiet for all of three seconds. “Weren’t you using TikTok to show your photography?”

Immediately, I picture the videos I put together, little montages of shots I took on random weekends, set to some indie song. “Kind of, I guess. I mean, not in any serious way.”

Thomas snorts. “Yeah, that’s the theme there, huh?”

“Mas,” Sadie warns softly.

I whip my head toward him. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re afraid to fail at something you really love to do, so you’ve barely put any effort into it.”

“I don’t know if you remember this, but I did, in fact, already fail at something I love to do.”

“No,” he insists. “Enzo was a dick who was wrong about you, and you believed his bullshit. I’m telling you, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Maybe if you keep going, it’ll help you get more attention with your photography.”

I gnaw at my lip, my heart beating hopefully against my ribs. It doesn’t have the common sense my brain does, and pushing against it with my fingers isn’t slowing it down.

“If you’re going to keep seeing them, you should do it, Noelle,” Sadie says quietly. “It might be kind of cool to document this whole thing on video as you go. Since that’s how it started, you know?”

“Exactly,” Thomas says. “And listen, if it’ll give you confidence about your photography—which great, by the way—then even better.”

“All your compliments are freaking me out, please stop.”

He grins, hearing the buried there.

Would people be into it? Would they care about what’s happened since that first video, follow me on whatever path this takes me down?

“Besides, what else do you have going on? You’re unemployed. You have all the time in the world to do this.”

“Back on familiar ground,” I mutter.

He marches on. “Honestly, what you really should do is go on Gram’s honeymoon trip and document . People would lose it; you’d get some free promotion. Ride that viral wave.”

I blink over at him. The voice that whispered to me when I saw the map won’t quiet down, and now I wonder if Thomas heard it, too.

More than anything else I learned at Paul’s—Gram going to UCLA, their planned elopement—that map has been digging under my skin. The route sketched itself out in my mind as I filled out online applications yesterday, and I ended up down a Google rabbit hole, researching each destination Gram circled and imagining what I’d see and do. I even dreamed about it last night. I was standing at the base of Zion’s rich red cliffs, and I couldn’t see Gram, but I her there. She was standing right beside me, her touch against my hand as soft as the wind, and as fleeting. There was a creek running behind us, sage-colored shrubs rustling around us, and it felt like peace.

I woke up wondering if I was dreaming about it because I’m desperate for an escape from my hamster-wheel life, or if it was a sign. Thomas bringing it up feels like the latter.

His phone trills before I can formulate a response.

“Dinner’s ready.” He leaps up and holds a hand out for Sadie and me.

Sadie wraps her arm around my waist, squeezing me against her. “You’ll figure it all out.”

I keep hearing that, but I’m no closer to figuring anything out than I was a year ago. Or the five before that.

Thomas zeroes in on Dad’s famous cheesy garlic bread as soon as we walk into the dining room. “Hell yes.”

“Don’t take it all this time,” I say as he slides into his seat, Sadie dropping into the chair beside him.

“I had four pieces last time.”

“You had .” I look at Dad as he walks into the dining room, a stack of dishes in one hand. He stoops his six-five frame down to engulf me in a one-armed hug. “Why did you make him this way? He has a hole in his stomach.”

He kisses my temple with a sweet laugh, setting the plates onto the table. Thomas and I can talk all kinds of shit about each other, but Dad never fully engages. “DNA is a crapshoot, honey. Mas, bud, save some for the masses, okay? I made extra pasta for you.”

“Best dad ever.” Thomas reaches up to pat him on the back while I take the silverware from Mom and hand it out.

When I’m done, she ruffles my hair and wraps an arm around my waist. We’re exactly the same height, down to the centimeter, coming in at just over five-nine. I miss the days when she could engulf me in a hug, when I could press my cheek to her chest and listen to her heart beat.

“You are both perfectly made,” she says with conviction. “And you, too, Sades, our almost-daughter.”

“That’s a subtweet about marriage,” Thomas mumbles, grabbing a piece of cheesy bread. But he winks over at Sadie, who laughs. That proposal is inevitable, and probably more imminent than Thomas has shared.

Dinner is our usual chaotic affair. By the time I’ve polished off my second round, my stomach is seam-rippingly full and my defenses are down.

That must be why Mom takes the opportunity to pounce. “Hey, Jumping Beans, we didn’t get a chance to finish up our conversation this morning.”

“This morning,” I echo from my food coma. Across from me, Thomas picks at his teeth with a fork. Dad is polishing off his beer at the head of the table, though he lowers it, splitting a curious look between me and Mom.

“How the job search is going,” she says, leaning back in her seat.

Right. When Mom finished her prework Peloton ride, she stood in front of her be awesome sign, asking hopefully, “Any update on the job front?” I want to get out of this house as much as Mom seems to want me to, though it’s clearly more about my well-being than reclaiming her space. Dad has been tiptoeing around the subject, as tuned in to my emotional temperature as I am to his, but if I had something lined up, he’d be thrilled. He’d definitely cry.

Unfortunately, I remain empty-handed. “Oh. No, we did finish it up. I said ‘could be better.’ ”

She lifts a dark eyebrow. “I got a work call and had to step away after that.”

“That covers it.” I shift in my seat, my cheeks flushing, though everyone in this room knows every detail of my struggle. Across the table, Sadie throws me her most supportive best friend smile. Not wanting to be the bearer of total bad news, I fib, “I’m working on a couple things. Trust me, I want to get out of your hair as much as you want me out.”

“That’s not it,” Dad says. “I’ve loved having you here, especially given the way we ended last year.” His eyes dim before he sighs, forcing a smile. “But Mom and I also recognize this is your safe landing spot for a bit. You’ll fly away again when you’re ready.”

My throat tightens. It’s a gift to have someone believe in you, especially when you’re low on it yourself. “Thanks. It’s harder than I thought it’d be. I assumed I’d be here for a month, two tops, then be gone.”

“I was thinking,” Mom says, laying down her napkin. “There’s a position open at my company you may be qualified for, and I know the hiring manager. If you want to give me your résumé, I can put in a good word for you.”

Thomas drops his fork slowly, squinting at her in horror. “Mom, no.”

“What?” she asks, double-taking when she notices Dad looking at her in the same way.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Shame spreads, slow and hot. Dear god, I need to get my life together. This right here might be rock bottom.

“Why not? It’s a great company. The benefits are wonderful.

It’s in the city, and I’m sure you’d get a salary that would let you get back into an apartment with a roommate quickly.”

“I love you so much, and it’s a generous offer,” I preface, holding my hands up. “But not only would I have to fling myself into the nearest pit of lava if my mother got me a job, we can work for the same company.”

She sits back, insulted. “Why not?”

“Because my title will be Marnie Shepard’s Daughter, no matter what the role is. You’re a legend there. The Oprah of sourcing.” At this she perks up. Deep down, I am my mother’s daughter; we love people gushing about our accomplishments. She’s a kick-ass VP at a wearable tech company, and knows her. “I appreciate the offer, but it will mean more if I do it myself.”

Her work voice goes into full effect. “So, what are you doing?”

“Marnie . . .” Dad says.

“Grant,” she shoots back, and a lengthy silent sentence follows.

Thomas looks between us, tennis match style. Next to him, Sadie mouths a word:

The map flashes in my mind. Those locations circled by Gram’s hand.

The words fly out of my mouth. “I—I may have a thing.”

Mom raises an eyebrow. “A thing.”

“A thing?” Dad repeats, hope in his voice.

Something like guilt gnaws at my chest, but I force it aside. Across the table, Thomas is catching on. He bites back a smile. “When I said I was working on a couple things, this is one of them. It’s like a photography . . . thing.” Someone grant me the ability to start saying words that aren’t . “A trip. A, uh, two-week trip, um, across the western United States.”

“A photography trip!” Dad says, his face lighting up. “How awesome, Beans.”

“Is it paid?” Mom asks.

My brain scrambles for an answer. “No, but it could lead to paid opportunities.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since my TikTok went viral. Maybe Thomas was right. If I keep telling the story on the road, people could continue to latch on to it. I could take pictures along the way, use them to make jazzy clips with music and vibes, talk about the landmarks I visit. When done well, those types of videos do solid numbers, and I already have people waiting on me. I could finally do something with the online shop I’d been setting up before Gram died, link it to my TikTok account.

I could try again.

It’s a hell of a way to do it, but I can’t think of a much better reason to dust off my camera. I haven’t been able to shake my restlessness knowing Paul and Gram never got to fulfill that trip. Maybe hearing the rest of the story from Paul and then going will soothe it. Maybe walking in Gram’s planned path more than sixty years later will help me hold on to her. It could soften some of this grief, let me feel like I’m actually something in the process.

I think of that dream, of Zion. Of Gram standing next to me, her hand almost in my hand.

I press on, determined now. “Uh, the photos I take will be judged for quality”—I’m literally thinking of TikTok commenters now—“and based on that, I might have some really great options.”

Dad is getting misty-eyed, and the guilt turns thick. No turning back now, though.

“Is this a group trip?” Mom asks.

“Yes.” It comes out sounding like a question.

“Are you lying to me?” She leans back in her chair, her dark ponytail bobbing with the movement. Her arms are tanned and perfectly Pelo-toned. Strong enough to literally wrestle the truth out of me if she were like that.

“No! And Mom, even if it was a solo trip, that would be okay. I’m twenty-eight.” I look from her to Dad, who’s watching me with a tired smile, his blond hair and work clothes mussed. “I know I’m Benjamin Button-ing all over the place, but I am actually a grown human being who, up until four months ago, lived on her own.”

“I know.” I give her a look and she holds up her hands. “I do! I just don’t love the thought of a woman traveling alone—particularly a woman who wears heart on her body.”

We exchange world-weary looks. “I hate that we have to think about it.”

“Fuck, me too,” she says, which shocks us into laughter. She’s not much for the f-bomb, but when she says it, she really makes it count.

“This is incredible, Noelle.” Dad reaches a hand across the table. I take it, my throat squeezing in tandem with his fingers tightening around mine. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I manage, feeling equally hopeful and like shit on the bottom of someone’s shoe.

“When is this happening?” Mom asks.

“In a couple weeks.” Completely pulled that out of my ass. Hopefully it’s enough time to get myself together and go.

“And how are you going to pay for it if it’s not a paid thing?”

“I’ll use some of Gram’s inheritance.” I’ve been holding on to it, waiting for something she’d deem worthy. This is it, I know it.

Dad nods, his eyes shining. “She’d love that.”

I want to lay my head on the table and cry. What would he do if he found out about Paul? Would he care? Would it break him? Am I betraying him by not telling him about this, the way I feel betrayed by Gram for not telling me?

What a mess. What an absolute clusterfuck. And yet, now that I’ve decided, I have to see this through.

“Okay,” Mom says, her expression twisting from doubt to cautious optimism. “Yeah, this could be really good for you, Noelle.”

It could. And clusterfuck or not, I’m doing it.