Page 51 of You, with a View

Which brings me to my next emotion—the fear, again. It’s difficult to be in love and not share it with my family. But if I tell them about you, they’ll insist on meeting you and your parents. I worry about the outcome. They’ll talk about marriageand ask you too many questions. My father and brother might be horrible. They could ruin everything.

If it sounds too terrible (it would to me if I were you!), then I won’t blame you for wanting to forget it all. We got ourselves briskly into this damn intimacy. We can get ourselves out, if necessary.

My heart hurts thinking about it. What should we do?

Love,

Kat

Theo’s eyes flicker over to me, dark and thoughtful. Then they focus back on the road ahead of us, his right hand resting casually over the top of the steering wheel. The audacity of this man for looking so hot while driving aminivan.

I turn to Paul. “Well, we know you decided to continue on.”

He nods. “I would’ve done anything for her.”

At my delighted sigh, Theo groans, but it’s indulgent.

“She called her parents soon after I read that letter. They weren’t enthusiastic,” Paul continues. “I spoke to them briefly, did thesirandma’amsong and dance, but their protective instincts were fierce. Kathleen was their baby girl, and I was a stranger whose intentions they didn’t trust. We made plans to have dinner right after finals in December. They were going to be in LA to bring Kat back to Glenlake for Christmas break.”

“Were you nervous after that call?” Theo asks.

“Not for myself. The thought of meeting Kat’s parents didn’t scare me. But I worried for her and her expectations. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was hoping it’d go more smoothly than we feared. She sometimes saw her family with rose-colored glasses.” He smiles. “She saw me with them, too. She thought the best ofeveryone she loved, and thought she could make it work through sheer force of will.”

“But she couldn’t,” I say.

“No,” he says sadly. “That comes with the next letter, though, unless you want to keep going now.”

I smooth my thumb over the paper, shaking my head as I imagine Gram’s hope—what it looked and felt like. How the fear probably mingled with it, making it more potent. Making it even more fragile.

“I want to wait.” I love hearing it all slowly, little crumbs laid out for me to follow. I wish I could follow them forever.

Images dance through my mind as we move toward the ever-nearing lights of Vegas. Theo’s knowing looks, the care he took with my knee, the kiss we nearly shared. Our moment earlier today when he shared the origin of his company’s name. That break in his voice, the gratitude in his eyes right before he walked away. Forme.

They’re all tiny pebbles of intimacy under my feet, gathering so quickly they threaten to send me tumbling if I’m not careful. So much is riding on this trip: my tether to Gram, my relationship with Paul, my tenuous reentry into photography, and the story I’m telling on TikTok.

I need to be careful not to get too caught up in whatever this is—a distraction, a brisk intimacy. If I fall, it’ll be scarier than my actual tumble down that embankment the other day. It’ll be faster and will probably hurt twice as much.

Fifteen

I’m downstairs at the bar if you’re up.

I stare at Theo’s text, perched on the edge of my hotel bed. It’s nearly eleven, but I’m wired. I’ve been sitting here for an hour, uploading Yosemite photos in preparation for my next TikToks. I lingered on a video of Paul and Theo at a picnic table, looking like a split screen sixty years apart—they have the same smile, the same hunched motion in their laughter. Even their legs are positioned the same—left straight out, right bent, foot balanced on its toe.

It reminded me so much of Gram and me. I’d look at pictures of us and laugh because we were mirror images, smiling our wide smiles, that tooth-snagged one, our eyes nearly closed with the force of our happiness. I sense the same pure joy in the connection between Theo and Paul, and I can’t wait to introduce them to the world.

But not tonight. Not with this text waiting for me.

I reread the invitation. Nonchalant as it sounds, that’s exactly what it is. I just don’t know if it’s an olive branch or something else.

I’m crouched over my suitcase before my brain catches up. I packed one semi-appropriate Vegas outfit, and I shimmy into it now—the black sleeveless bodysuit that dips low in front, revealing the subtle slope of my breasts, the jeans that lift my ass into outer space. I layer a couple of delicate gold chains around my neck, pull my hair out of its haphazard ponytail and finger-comb it into a hot, careless tousle. I even put on mascara, tame my brows into submission with brow gel, and use a cherry red balm to flush my cheeks and lips.

I look like I just had sex and had to quickly put myself back together. Mirror-me’s grin is diabolical.

Theo said he wanted to look. I’ll give him something to look at.

Instead of texting him back, I slide my phone into my pocket, slip into my strappy sandals, and make my way downstairs.

The bar is in an open-concept area not far from the check-in desk, curving sleekly around a towering display of liquor bottles. It’s quiet, even for a Monday.

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