Begin Again(108)

The same way the show will someday, when another Knight takes it over and makes the show their own. The same way my life will when I eventually move on from it, and figure out which step to take next. I’m just going to have to trust myself along the way.

“I’ve been digging through some of our old things,” my dad tells me. By “our” I know he means his and my mom’s things. My dad and I may talk about her a lot more openly now, but I know going through the things he put in storage with Grandma Maeve these past few weeks hasn’t been an easy process for him. “I have a lot of stuff saved for you to go through at your grandmas’, but I figured you should have this now.”

He hands me a worn metal compass, the same one my mom used to take on our hikes and famously ignore. It’s still beaten up at its edges, the glass slightly cracked, looking more used than it ever actually was. I smile to myself, the mischief in my mom’s declarations clear in my head even if the words aren’t exact: Forget the compass. Let’s go on an adventure.

The memory doesn’t well up without an ache, but it’s a sweeter one now. As if the more my dad and I have talked about her, the more we’ve had the chance to heal; like some part of the grief was always going to be suspended in motion until we started coming to terms with it together.

My dad’s smile is pressed into a proud line. “Unlike your mother, you and the yellow squad might actually put it to good use.”

I thumb the compass, watching the arrow adjust as I tilt it slightly in my hand. I will always need her, I realize. I will need the memories of the way she loved me, especially in moments like this when I can still feel that love in full force. But I don’t need her footsteps. I don’t need her path to lead the way. I slide the compass into my pocket, knowing wherever it takes me, the paths will be all my own.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say quietly.

His own voice is firm and earnest. “Knock ’em dead, A-Plus.”

We spend the rest of the late morning wearing out Ava on the quad and walking around campus to show him all my new favorite haunts. My dad regales us with stories from his own time here, waiting until Ava’s out of earshot to tell us about his own first Family Day, when Gammy Nell caught him so hungover she threatened to stop sending him care packages stuffed with homemade cookies every week. (Apparently this idea was dropped when she realized it would be every bit as much punishment to her as my dad.)

When it’s time for them to make the drive back I hug them all in turn, my dad giving me an extra squeeze and saying they can’t wait to tune in today. For a little while Milo and I stay on the quad, Milo finishing up his reading for a class, me going over today’s segment on little-known campus health resources. We alternate between using each other as headrests and footrests in the variety of Andie-and-Milo-studying-together positions our bodies have grown accustomed to these past few months until Milo stretches.

“I better head out to meet Harley,” he says.

I smile at the words, and the way I hear them a whole lot more often these days. Milo and Harley have slowly but surely been weaving their way back into each other’s lives. Enough that we even went on a joint hike once with him and Nora, and are all invited to a Friendsgiving at their apartment before we all leave for break.

“But we’ll be tuning in this evening,” Milo says. “The whole Flynn family.”

I glance up at him from my perch, his cheeks perfectly sun-kissed and his curls messy from the heat, his eyes warm on mine.

“Chickens included?” I ask, leaning in close.

“If they don’t fight over which one of them is calling in again,” says Milo, closing the distance to press a kiss to my lips.

I grin as he pulls away, then reach up and sneak another kiss.

“For good luck,” I say cheekily.

Milo’s own smile widens as he shakes his head. “Trust me, new kid. You don’t need it.”

I head over to the studio on my own, breathing in the cool fall air to settle my thoughts. Shay’s already at the computer when I get there, doing what she does best whenever I’m nervous, and pretending it’s just any other broadcast. Still, I notice she’s got an extra printout of my notes on hand just in case.

I pull my own out of my purse, but it’s more out of habit than anything else—these days I get into such an easy rhythm that I rarely need to look at them. Then I sit on my stool, feeling the reassuring weight of the compass shifting in my pocket as I settle in.

“Ready?” Shay asks from the control panel.

I nod, grounding myself by glancing around this familiar room. At the four walls that have been home to some of my best and worst moments, and the pictures on them that have watched it all. My mother’s beam. Milo’s wry smirk. And now my picture just above his, grinning like I’ve swallowed the sun.

Maybe I should be more nervous than this. Somewhere under the peace that settles over me, I probably am. But there is a deep comfort in that moment in seeing my own happiness reflected back at me. In this feeling of being deeply rooted and known and loved, and the understanding that this happiness I have found here—in the friends I have made my family, in the dreams I’ve reclaimed and rebuilt, in the heart I’ve learned to follow—is just the start of so much more to come.

“Going live in five, four . . .”

Shay stops counting out loud and uses her fingers for the “three, two, one.” I watch the quiet beats go by, a smile blooming on my face as I take in a breath, lean forward, and let the adventure begin again.