Page 99 of What I Like About You

“It’s fromus,” Gramps says. His voice cracks on us. “From our London trip, before—well, you know. It was supposed to be your birthday present. I found it when I put up your shelves. You should open it.”

There’s a handwritten note on the first page.Gram’s handwriting.

Happy birthday, Hal! Your collection is now complete. We love you. —Grams & Gramps

It’s sonormal, soGrams.Like she had no idea this would be the last gift she’d ever give me. But just seeing her writing again is the real gift. I throw my arms around Gramps before I have the chance to overthink it.

I hold the book close to my heart and it hits me all at once—this Middle-of-Nowhere house is home. I can’t even imagine saying goodbye.

“Thank you,” I whisper into his scratchy grandpa sweater. “It’s the best.”

“Pretty sure these”—Ollie holds up the Red Sox tickets—“are better.”

We laugh and I’m grateful he’s always here to lighten the mood, even if he doesn’t need to. Gramps has been doing better.I’vebeen doing better. We can miss her without spiraling into sadness. It’sChanukah. We eat tons of latkes and tell stories and are comfortable sitting at the kitchen table for hours. Comfortable in ourtogetherness.

Before I know it, Ollie eats the last latke, his potato-to-sour-cream ratio a new level of disgusting, and the Chanukah festivities come to an end. Gramps turns the TV on, but the only choices are Christmas specials, so he turns it off and we start to clean up.

“Play that Chance guy,” Gramps says to Ollie and Idie.

Near the end of dish duties, long after Gramps has retired to his room for the night and in the middle of yet another Chance the Rapper chorus, the doorbell rings. At first, I think it’s in the music, but then Scout jumps off her spot on the couch and runs to the door, so I know I’m not imagining it. The bell rings again. And again. And again.

“Answer the door, Hal,” Ollie says, elbows currently deep in dirty dishwater. “Please make it stop.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Nash Kim

Open the door, Upstate

9:01 PM

I stare at the text, processing.

Nash is here? But we’re still stewing in our awkward. I can’t answer the door. I don’t know how to be around him. I don’t know how tothinkaround him. Especially now that he’s been texting Kels not just check-ins but actual worries about me, asking if I’m mad at him—for going to the dance with me? Almost as if I’m—Kels—is jealous? And I hate that. Ihatethat he thinks I’m mad at him about myself. I hate that this has all spiraled so far.

Mostly, I hate that hewantsme—Kels—to be jealous.

The doorbell keeps ringing.

“Hal!” Gramps yells from upstairs. “Nash’s car is in the driveway.”

“Ollie’s getting it!” I yell up to Gramps.

“No, I’m not,” Ollie says, drying his hands with a paper towel.

“Can you tell him I’m not home?” I ask.

Ollie shakes his head. “It’sChanukah, Hal. Absolutely not.”

I inhale a nervous breath. “Okay. I’ll get it. Can you, like, stay out of sight?”

“Ouch.” He clutches his hand to his heart.

“If you’re going to eavesdrop, at least be stealth about it.”

“You got it,” Ollie says.

I exit the kitchen and walk through the living room to the front door. I reread the text five times before I’m brave enough to open it.

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