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Throwing my arms around her, I say, “I’m booking a ticket to LA.”

She hugs me. “You are?”

Out of breath from all the excitement, I lean against the island where she was cutting carrots. “You inspired me, but don’t tell Dad. He gave me great advice as well.”

Soft laughter echoes through the kitchen area. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”

“I talk a lot of nonsense,” my dad says, coming in from the back patio. He stomps his boots on the mat. “What did I say?”

“You told me that no one can end my dreams but me. Not even heartbreak. You’re right.”

He nods in approval. “Sometimes I dole out a good one.”

The love for her husband shines in my mom’s eyes. I want that. Again. She says, “Excellent advice indeed.” She turns to me, and there’s no less love found. “You’re going to LA?”

But that sinking feeling fills my belly again. “I’ll go tomorrow. I promised?—”

“Bull-cocky. You’ll go when you damn well want to. You’re a grown woman with whom I’ve had the pleasure of spending the last month. You go. Be bold and live your life to the fullest, my brilliant Natalie.”

Leaning against the island, I say, “There’s so much to unpack there, starting with the term bull-cocky, but there’s no time.” I run to hug him, closing my eyes and whispering, “Thank you.”

He gives me a warm, fatherly hug, and when we part, he says, “Off you go. You need to see a man about a deal that I have a feeling he didn’t make.”

“I do.” There’s that phrase. It’s all coming back to me now. “I love you both, and Happy Thanksgiving.”

I run upstairs to pack, picking up the dirty clothes on the closet floor and tossing them in the suitcase before grabbing my toiletries. Grasping my phone from the bed beside the pie, I indulge and take a big bite before calling my bestie.

“Just in case you were wondering,” Tatum answers as if we’ve been talking for hours. “I’m never giving this panda outfit back, Nat. It’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn. I want to be buried in it at this point.”

“It’s yours, but I need a favor before the funeral.”

“Anything.”

33

Nick

Take the scenic route.

They said.

It will clear your head. Andrew and my mom carried on, convincing me to make this ridiculously long journey. I should have bought a first-class ticket to Sea-Tac and had my car shipped to Seattle.

After two days of driving, I’m over it and would be fine never seeing another pine tree again.

Seventeen hours of driving should have done what they said—cleared my head— but if being one with the ocean and surfing every chance I got this last month didn’t do it, then I’m not sure how an endless drive to the Pacific Northwest will cure me.

Fucking hell, I finally pull into the underground parking garage of my new building and take one of my bags from the back of my SUV. With shiny new keys in hand, I head up to the eighteenth floor and enter the. . . apartment? Place to live?I don’t know what to call this place, but I know what it’s not—home.

Dropping the bag on the bed in the main bedroom, I log on to the app on my phone and start opening the place up. The blinds slide up, and as I pad through the penthouse, the other blinds are already rising, letting the sunshine in throughout the rooms.

A push of a button has the coffeemaker perking to life. I usually hit a wall of exhaustion around three o’clock, but because of the drive, it hits early, and I need a jolt of energy. Sitting down on the couch, I text my mom because I know she’s worrying:Just got here.

Mom:Glad you made it safely. Does everything look in order? Should be stocked for you.

Me:Yes, you didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.

Mom:It’s what moms do. Let me know if you need anything else. Congrats again on the promotion, Nicholas.Proud of you. Love you.