Page 4 of You, with a View

He lifts an eyebrow. “I just got here, and you’re already ditching me?”

“Mas, you slither up from the city whenever Sadie has plans that don’t involve you. I’m sure I’ll see you in mere days.”

“I don’tslither,” he grumbles, though his expression softens at the mention of his longtime girlfriend—and my best friend. The softness is replaced by mischief as he pulls a magazine from his lap, curled open to a specific page. “We didn’t have time to discuss this.”

“What, thatMaximstill exists or that you’re still subscrib—”

What I’m looking at sinks in, and I snatch the magazine from Thomas’s hand with a gasp.

He leans back in his seat, grinning. “Your boy Theo Spencer is one ofForbes30 Under 30.”

I snort. “Myboy? You’re the one who had a crush on him throughout high school. He was a pain in my ass. On purpose.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he says smugly.

I ignore him, and the two men bracketing Theo in the picture, instead staring at the face that’s vexed me for years. That wavy dark hair, the barely there dimple that pops when he smirks. Those deep blue eyes shaded by stern eyebrows that curve into cockiness with infuriating regularity. At least, they did when I last saw him years ago.

We may have been voted Most Likely to Succeed in high school, but our paths diverged dramatically when we went to college.

Obviously. The man is inForbes, and I’m in SpongeBob sleep shorts. I’m not sure what’s more annoying—his latest accolade or the fact that he’s still smoking hot.

“Good for him,” I say in a tone that clearly conveysfuck that guy, if Mom’s arched eyebrows are any indication. I toss the magazine at Thomas, smiling triumphantly when it hits him in the face.

Thomas’s snort echoes as I drop a kiss on Dad’s sandpaper cheek to thank him for the meal.

I hightail it out of there, using the fumes of my annoyance to speed out to the backyard. Specifically, to the hammock in the far corner, where I can dive into comments without interruption.

Forgetting Theo, his perfect face, and his Midas existence, I pull up the app.

In the grand scheme of things, none of this matters. I had the perfect childhood. I had parents and grandparents who loved me,who showed up to my millions of extracurriculars, who thought the sun rose and set on my and Thomas’s existence, along with our cousins. Grandpa Joe was a sweet man with a booming laugh who used to tug on my bottom lip when I was pouting just to get me smiling again. Gram being in love with another man when she was young doesn’t change anything about my life.

But now that she’s gone, I’m desperate to know this story. She clearly found her way to ultimate happiness. How?

I don’t know what my ultimate happiness looks like or how to get it. If it even exists. Without Gram here to tell me it’ll be okay, and after the missteps that have moved me further from my Most Likely to Succeed path, I’m not confident I’ll ever find it. I wish she could tell mesomething.

There are nearly two thousand comments, but the most popular ones are at the top. My eyes scan the first five, almost desperately, like I’m looking for a life-or-death test result.

Two things happen.

The first: my breath catches as I see a comment, three words long.

And the second: Thomas pops out of nowhere, yelling, “GOTCHA!”

I jerk violently, screaming as the hammock swings and dumps me onto the grass below.

But I saw the comment before I tipped over, and it made my stomach drop harder than falling.

User34035872:that’s my grandfather.

Two

You really made this?”

I settle next to Thomas on the edge of my bed. After our tangle outside, he demanded to know what was up. We brought the party upstairs so I could walk him through everything privately. Now, I’ve got the stack of pictures in my hand, and Paul’s letter is unfolded on my duvet.

“Yes, for the fifth time, I did.”

Thomas looks up from my phone, his eyebrows raised high. “First of all, the production value is incredible.”

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