Page 23 of You, with a View

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 seeGram, but Ifelther 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 hadeight.” 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 herbe awesomesign, 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.”

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