Jonah and my mother help too. It was weird for a while, seeing them together. But they’re a good fit. They’re taking it slow and have decided to wait before making any big moves, like moving in together. But we have dinner with Jonah and Elijah almost every night.

Jonah is a completely different person with my mother than he was with Aunt Jenny. Not that he wouldn’t have been happy living a life with Aunt Jenny and Elijah. But my mother makes him light up in a way I’ve never seen before. Every time she’s near him, he looks at her like she’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

I catch Miller looking at me like that sometimes. Like right now, as I stand in the kitchen, prepping meds for his grandpa.

I take them to the living room and sit next to Miller on the couch.

Gramps swallows his meds, then sets his glass of water on the table next to his chair. “So? I guess you finally saw the video of when Miller fell in love with you?”

I laugh and lean into Miller. “Your grandson is a romantic.”

Gramps laughs. “No, my grandson is a nitwit. Took him three years to finally ask you out.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Miller says.

“Not when you have cancer.” Gramps stands up. “I’ve been waiting to die for seven months now, but it ain’t ever gonna happen. Guess I might as well get this over with.” He uses his walker to slowly make his way into the kitchen.

“Get what over with?” Miller asks him.

Gramps opens a drawer where he keeps a lot of his paperwork. He rifles through it and then pulls out a folder, bringing it back to the living room with him. He tosses it on the table in front of Miller. “I wanted to wait and have my lawyer tell you about it after I was dead. Thought it’d be funnier that way. But sometimes I think I might never die, and you don’t have much time left to apply for college.”

Miller pulls the folder toward him. He opens it and begins to read the first page. It looks like a will. Miller scans over it and chuckles. “You actually left me the rights to your air in the will?” Miller asks, looking up from the papers.

Gramps rolls his eyes. “I’ve been telling you this for ten years, but you keep laughing at me!”

Miller shrugs. “Maybe I’m missing the joke? How can you will someone air?”

“They’re air rights, you dumbass!” Gramps pushes back in his chair. “Bought them when I was thirty, back when me and your grandma lived in New York. Bastards have been trying to get me to sell them for years, but I already told you I was giving them to you, and I don’t break my word.”

I’m just as confused as Miller, I guess. “What are air rights?”

Gramps rolls his head. “They don’t teach you kids anything in school. It’s like owning land, but in bigger cities, you can actually own parts of the air so people can’t build in front of your building or on top of your building. I own a small chunk of that air in Union Square. Worth about a quarter of a million dollars last time I checked.”

Miller chokes on nothing. He keeps choking. Sputtering. I pat his back before he stands up and points down at the folder. “Are you kidding me?”

Gramps shakes his head. “I know how much you want to go to that school down in Austin. My lawyer said it’s gonna cost you about a hundred and fifty thousand to get a degree. Plus, you’ll have taxes to pay when you sell the rights. I figure you’ll have enough left to help with a down payment on a house someday or maybe travel. Or buy some film equipment. I don’t know. I ain’t making you rich, but it’s better than nothing.”

Miller looks like he’s about to cry. He paces the room, trying not to look at his grandpa. When he does, his eyes are red, but he’s laughing. “All this time you kept saying I was inheriting air. I thought you were just being you.” He walks over to his gramps and hugs him. Then he pulls back. “And what do you mean you’ve been waiting to die first before telling me about this? Why?”

Gramps shrugs. “I thought it’d be funny. Me getting in one final joke after I’m dead, when you weren’t expecting it.”

Miller rolls his eyes. Then looks at me, smiling. I can tell we’re having the same thought, and nothing makes me happier than knowing we might be in the same city after I graduate next year. At the same school. We might even have some of the same classes.

“You do realize what this means, right?” I ask him.

Miller shrugs.

“The University of Texas? Your school color will be orange, Miller.”

He laughs. So does his grandpa. But Miller doesn’t realize the jokes aren’t over. I’m saving one of them for prom.

I bought the perfect dress for our special occasion. It’s the most atrocious shade of orange I could find.