There’s this palpable feeling of victory in the car. I think some of it is because we’re almost at our destination, and some of it is because we figured out how to solve a major problem and pay for car repairs on our own. It’s like I’ve just found out that I can take care of me, after seventeen years of wishing someone else would. And some of it is because, let’s face it: After barren Nevada, California looks so insanely beautiful.

Aisha must be enjoying the beauty too, because she says, “There’s a line in The Color Purple by Alice Walker that says, ‘I think it pisses God off if you walk past the color purple in a field somewhere without noticing it.’ ”

I snort. “Far be it for me to want to piss the Big Man in the Sky off.”

Aisha shrugs, and we go back to listening to Haley Reinhart on the stereo.

“You think it’s possible that there actually is a God?” she asks.

I laugh. “I think agnostic dyslexics lie awake at night, wondering if there is a dog.”

She laughs a little. Something about the way she asked the question makes me think about how far we’ve come since Montana. Because that isn’t even a possibility one of us would have considered four states ago. It takes me awhile to come up with a real answer rather than a snarky one.

“I don’t know, but if there is, I don’t think it’s a man in the sky or anything,” I say finally. “That doesn’t make sense. And it doesn’t make sense that he knows all. I mean, how could God or whatever know all the data about each one of us, all seven billion humans on the planet?”

“True,” Aisha says. “But … I mean, I know I get pissed about religion and all. But it’s hard to imagine that everything comes down to chance. Like, if I didn’t meet you in the zoo that day — and how random was that — I wouldn’t be here.”

“So God decreed it? That we meet at the zoo?”

“I’m just saying,” she says. “Can you imagine your life if we didn’t meet?”

I pull my leg hair, hard. “No,” I say. “I can’t.”

We’re cruising through California toward the coast, possibly about to find my long-lost grandfather, who was barely on my radar two weeks ago. There’s no way I’m here if my mom didn’t take me to the zoo, if I didn’t say just the right thing to get Aisha’s attention. My mom had never, ever taken me to the zoo in New York. Why that day? I had never, ever managed to say an intelligent thing to a beautiful girl before. So what are the odds of all that?

And if I’m not here? Where would I be if I was not here? I shiver. It’s unimaginable. Being here with Aisha is everything.

“So? You think it’s possible? There actually is a God? Not like the judgmental one from the Bible. But — something?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean. I really, really don’t know.”

“Maybe people can’t know,” Aisha says after a lengthy silence.

I have to stop thinking about this, because it makes my brain hurt. “I guess I’d say it’s hard to know what’s true,” I say. “It’s complicated. But I still put my faith in the Porcupine of Truth.”

Aisha accelerates around a truck that is in the right lane, its blinkers on. “I’m no longer feeling the porcupine,” she says.

I say, “That sentence has never been said before, ever.”

Sacramento whizzes by, and soon we’re surrounded by more cars than we’ve seen in the entirety of our road trip. We stop for a pee break in Richmond, and I call my dad. It takes everything I have not to tell him where I am, and how close I am to finding his dad. And then it gets harder, because without me even bringing the topic up, for the first time ever he starts talking about his father.

“I hate the fucker so much, but I miss him too, you know?” he says.

“Uh, yeah. I get that,” I reply, but Dad misses the irony. Shocker.

“It’s like you’re missing a part of your body, and you get used to it until you don’t even notice not having it. I tell you what. I notice it now. It sucks something terrible,” he says.

“I can’t even imagine what that would have been like,” I deadpan.

“Nope. You can’t. That’s why I got all crazy on you, bud,” he says, still not getting me. “Sorry about that. That day you came up and told me about whatever that letter thing was…. I just … It’s like, I wanted to know but I didn’t want to know.”

“Sure.”

“He was my dad. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“I just wish, like, one time, you know … Before I, you know. I wish I could see him again.”

God, I hope so. “Yeah.”

He is quiet for a while. “Would you tell me?”

My heart pounds. “Tell you what?”

His voice gets soft and weak. “The letter you showed me. Is there more? You said there was more.”

I want to tell him everything. But I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. I feel like a part of my body was missing too, and now I have it back and I want it to stay. Also, I don’t want to lead him on. If I give my dad hope and then we never find his dad, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

“There were more letters, but they were unreadable. What do you want to know?”

He is quiet again. “Why didn’t Mom tell me?” he asks, almost to himself.

At first I think he means my mom, but then I realize he means his. “I have no idea.”

“And they got divorced.”

“Yup.”

“Jesus. You think it’s possible that he’s still —”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I really don’t.”

“Come home soon, okay? I can’t talk to your mom about this shit. I can talk to you.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Don’t wait too long. Really.”

A chill passes through me. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Love you, son.”

“Love you, Dad.”

The conversation makes it all the more clear to me: I have to find Grandpa in California. Before it’s too late. I have to. If I don’t, I don’t know what I’ll do.

We get back on the road, we scoot through Berkeley, and finally, majestic San Francisco appears before us.

The finish line. We’ve made it to the finish line.

The skyline shimmers ahead of us and to the right as we cross the Bay Bridge. A crisp cityscape of confident high-rises stares at us from the horizon, and off in the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge sparkles like a fancy red earring on the city’s left ear.

As we enter the city, I struggle not to reveal the surprise I have for Aisha. Something I looked up on my phone. I tell her I’ll lead her where we’re going, and she seems dubious but finally relents and follows my directions. We park a block from Dolores Park, which is not that far from Turk’s place. Aisha says, “Where the hell are you taking me?” as we enter the park.

“A treat for the lady,” I say.

“Woman,” she says.

The game won’t start until four and it’s about three when we arrive. We quickly come across a group of adults practicing Tai Chi in unison. We watch from the back, and I’m amazed at the beauty of the scene, the San Francisco skyline in the distance, a row of pastel-colored Victorians behind the park, and right in front of us a slow, choreographed dance of Tai Chi done by many different kinds of bodies, people of infinite different colors and shapes.

“This, by the way, is not the treat. Not yet,” I say.

Aisha and I step into the back of the line and start doing what everyone else is doing. The moves look like slow-motion karate, with lots of chops and poses.

We lie down in the grass after Tai Chi. It’s a little chilly out, which surprises me. I figured since we were in California, it would be really warm, but when the wind picks up, I wish I was wearing more than a T-shirt.

Soon, I see a volleyball net being set up in the distance, and I ask Aisha to follow me. We approach a bunch of kids, all different skin tones, stretching and shaking out their legs and arms and greeting one another with hugs.

Aisha looks at me, raising an eyebrow. “Is this the treat?”

I nod. I found an LGBTQ youth pickup volleyball game on meetup.com. I figured it would make Aisha smile as widely as I’ve ever seen. But as we stand there, I feel a little bit like a father on the first day of kindergarten with my very shy daughter.