Two Years Later
I sink my toes into the sand, standing behind Neelu. She’s got her headset on, instructing the cameraman beside her.
“Follow them,” she says to her colleague, and then she takes off, the messy bun on the top of her head sliding as she tries to keep up with contestants Krithika and David, who are in a race with another couple to get the next clue.
It’s the first season of her new show, and her second week of filming. It’s my second week in Greece too. I decided to take a sabbatical this year, so I’ve spent the last couple months in L.A. with Neelu, and now we’re traveling around. Greece for the first few weeks, hopping through the islands, and then we’re continuing throughout the Mediterranean. Italy is next.
“We’ve got it!” Krithika yells, her voice clear across the beach, and David whoops, wrapping her in a hug. They’re both widowed, and both were signed up for the show by their adult children. I’malmost positive that when the show airs the two of them are going to become fan favorites.
They cut filming, other producers coming in, separating the contestants for their one-on-one interviews, and Neelu jogs back to me, a wide smile on her face.
“You got it?” I ask.
“We got it!” She throws her arms around my neck, pulling me down toward her, and as our lips meet, I know I’ll never get tired of this. Never have enough of this. Of this way I feel when I’m around her. I used to hold the people I loved so tightly, terrified of what might happen, but these years with Neelu have stretched me, taught me how to love in a way that feels freer, less constricting.
“When are the girls getting here?” she asks.
“In a couple hours.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Want to go back to the hotel?”
“You aren’t needed for the interviews?”
“Nah.” She interlaces her fingers with mine and pulls her sunglasses over her eyes. “One of the perks of being showrunner. I get to delegate.”
I laugh. “Right. Like you weren’t just running clear across the beach to get the perfect shot.”
“He was going to miss it!” She frowns at me, still playful. “I’m not a micromanager.”
“No,” I say fondly. “Of course not.”
When Neelu and Natalie pitched the show—to a different network—they did it on the condition that they would be co-showrunners. A much-deserved promotion for Neelu, one that still makes her smile, her pride in her job evident.
I love when I get the chance to watch her, to see her work, in her element. Doing this thing that brings her so much joy.
We walk the half mile from the beach back to the hotel where all the contestants and crew are staying.
“We really only have about an hour,” I tell her.
She laughs. “Are you saying that’s not enough time?”
“I’msayingI told the girls I’d pick them up from the airport, so we’ll have to leave a little earlier.”
“I’ll come with you,” she says, still smiling. “I haven’t seen them since Thanksgiving.”
It’s become a strange sort of tradition for us. I invited my younger sisters to the first Thanksgiving we all did together in L.A., thinking they wouldn’t come, but they’d accepted immediately. I still don’t see them too often—they aren’t fans of coming up to Aberdeen. There are too many memories there for them, too many reminders of our parents. We’ve started meeting up in London more, though, and they love visiting us when we’re in L.A. It’s far for them, but they think it’s glamorous, and a lot more fun.
It’s been hard for Neelu and me, the distance. We visit when we can, we text each other all day regardless of the time difference, and we do video calls all the time, but these past few months, being able to spend every single day together—they’ve been a gift.
We survived two years of this, but I don’t want to do it anymore.
I haven’t told her yet, but I have an interview with USC’s English department in a couple weeks. I don’t know if it’ll work out, but I’m ready to be with her. I never thought I’d leave Aberdeen, but I don’t feel this need to be there the way I used to. Ajit and Maggie are doing great. We talk to them all the time. If they need us,reallyneed us, we can always fly to see them. But I have a feeling that when Ajit retires, he might try to find a way to move closer to wherever we are. At least, he’s hinted at that before.
We enter the hotel lobby, the cool air circulating inside a sharp contrast to the humidity we were just in.
“What are you thinking about?” Neelu asks. “You’ve been really quiet.”
“Nothing,” I say as we walk into the elevator. It’s just the two of us in here, the doors sliding shut, our reflections staring back at us from the mirrored walls.
