Vegas on the Fourth

So we hit Las Vegas on the Fourth of July, which is a sentence I never thought I'd write, and it was complete sensory chaos in the best possible way. Lights, noise, a man dressed as four different superheroes at once, a buffet I would like to be buried in. Ethan Highfield: thriving.

Jacob did not put one single dollar on anything. Not a slot, not a table, nothing. I asked him why and he said, totally serious, "I already won," and then flat-out refused to acknowledge that he'd just said the most romantic thing in recorded human history. I'm going to be thinking about that one for the rest of my life.

Then the fireworks started. We watched from the top of a parking garage, of all places, because Jacob said you could see three different shows from up there, and he was right, because he's annoyingly always right. Red and gold going off everywhere. I looked over and the light was doing this thing on his face and I just had a full-body how did I get here. How did I get to keep this.

A year and change ago I was a closeted kid watching the neighbor's driveway through a bedroom window, dead certain I'd never get to have any of it.

Reader, I got to have all of it.

One last stretch tomorrow. Next stop: the ocean.

— E