Wes nods, and we watch as an older man, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, gets out of the driver’s seat. He makes his way to the passenger side and helps a woman out. I nearly gasp when I watch her take his hand and lead him to the door. Something about her posture and the way she walks reminds me so much of the way Julia moves. Always two steps faster than the rest of us. Always eager to get to wherever she’s going. These are my grandparents. And at seventeen years old, this is the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on them.

“They’re okay,” I manage to say. “They’re still here. They’re still alive.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to meet them? I can come with you,” Wes offers.

It’s tempting, of course. I’d love to glimpse the look in their eyes when they come face-to-face with the granddaughter they either don’t know they have or they’ve chosen to ignore all these years. Lord knows I’ve played the conversation out in my head a million times. It usually goes something like me yelling at them for abandoning us, and them sobbing and begging for my forgiveness. And then we all embrace and cry together. But there are other scenarios I’ve also imagined. Ones that don’t go so well. They could send me away. They could look at me coldly and say they don’t know anyone named Julia Gonzales. They don’t have a daughter or a granddaughter.

“I’m sure,” I tell Wes. “Take me home, please.”

My grandmother fumbles with the house key, and then they walk inside, and the door closes behind them. I wonder if it’s the closest any of us will ever get to meeting.

From: Parisa Naficy ([email protected])

To: Gabriela Gonzales ([email protected])

Date: Feb 1, 2023

Subject: Fwd: Your quarantine guide to good music

Is it weird that I’m forwarding you this email? I guess I just feel like providing you with some boy news, too—but Gideon sent me this playlist after I turned in my first completed draft of my essay to him. Which reminds me…

… I turned in my first draft of my essay!

So, I thought this email was kind of cute and sweet. I swear I’m not into him AT ALL. He’s more like an older brother to me now.

I miss you, I hate this.

Parisa

Forwarded message

From: Gideon Kouvaris ([email protected])

To: Parisa Naficy ([email protected])

Date: Jan 31, 2023

Subject: Your quarantine guide to good music

Parisa,

Congratulations. You have passed a significant milestone in every high school senior’s life. You’ve successfully written a college essay. If you get into Harvard, I will personally take all the credit. Although I’m hoping you’ll end up at Yale.