Chapter 18 – The Happiest Place in California
Jake hadn't gotten much sleep.
It wasn't the ocean, or the creaky beach house, or even Rose creeping around like some lovesick raccoon. It was Charlie.
Or more specifically, who Charlie had brought home.
Loud. Laughing. Then not laughing. Then screaming—the kind that made Jake slam a pillow over his face and seriously reconsider his financial priorities. Forget stocks. Noise-canceling headphones might be the best first investment.
By the time morning came, Jake shuffled into the kitchen like a zombie with a hangover, except his vice was secondhand trauma.
Charlie stood at the stove in a robe—his robe, not hers, thank God—flipping pancakes with a grin like he'd just wrapped a sold-out tour.
"Sleep okay?" he asked, far too casually.
Jake dropped into a chair, face blank. "Do you have any idea how thin the walls are in this house?"
Charlie smirked. "Sure do."
Jake blinked at him. "…You're a menace."
Charlie shrugged. "They said the same thing about Elvis."
---
Later That Morning – Disneyland, Anaheim
Jake never thought a theme park could be strategic. But somehow, here he was—standing at the gates of Disneyland with Alan, two prepaid tickets in hand and an actual game plan.
Alan, of all people, had insisted on starting with the classics.
Space Mountain was first. It was faster than Jake expected. Darker, too. He stumbled out of the ride blinking, hair sticking up like he'd just survived a minor explosion.
"Not bad," Jake muttered, catching his breath.
Alan grinned. "Told you. Simulated space travel—just the thing to shake off a midlife crisis."
Next came Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Rattling, chaotic, and absolutely designed by sadists. Jake screamed once. Alan screamed the entire time.
Then came Pirates of the Caribbean. Slow boats. Singing animatronics. Drunk pirate robots arguing about rum. For the first time that day, Jake relaxed. Really relaxed.
And he smiled.
Not a smirk. Not one of those calculated "I know something you don't" expressions. A real, honest, this-is-actually-fun smile.
It caught him off guard.
Because somewhere between Indiana Jones Adventure and churros, something shifted.
He'd always seen Alan as a walking punchline. The guy who crashed on couches, complained constantly, and got taken advantage of by everyone including his own kid. But here? Alan wasn't that guy.
He was just… a dad.
Telling awful jokes. Holding Jake's shoulder like a seatbelt on bumpy rides. Buying him snacks without checking prices. Making sure he drank water. Letting Jake steer the teacups—with a dramatic oath that he wouldn't spin them too fast.
There was no lecture about responsibility. No weird guilt trip. Just time. Just care.
Jake didn't want to admit it out loud, but he was starting to realize something.
Maybe Alan wasn't just the sitcom loser with a receding hairline and bad luck. Maybe the show didn't get everything right. Maybe there was more to all of them than the laugh track ever showed.
And maybe…
Maybe being a kid wasn't so bad after all.
---
That Evening – Charlie's Beach House
The sun was melting into the ocean by the time they pulled into the driveway.
Alan was out cold on the couch, halfway through a bottle of aloe vera and snoring like a broken leaf blower.
Jake stood by the sliding glass doors, watching waves curl under a sherbet sky. The house was quiet for once. Peaceful.
But his mind wasn't.
He was thinking. Hard.
Trading? Sure, it was going well. He understood the rhythm now—when to buy, when to pull out. He'd already doubled the ten grand from his grandma. But it was small.
Profitable? Definitely.
Scalable? Not enough.
Jake didn't want to just be rich. He wanted to change the game.
He stared out at the ocean and let the memories of the old world come rushing back in. Facebook—2003. Zuckerberg hadn't even launched it yet. But Jake had seen it. Lived through its rise. The way it changed how people connected. How it became the backbone of digital identity.
He could beat it to market. Build something better.
Then another name popped into his head. Twitter. Short-form, real-time. News, jokes, revolutions—280 characters at a time. It wouldn't exist for years in this timeline, but he could build it now. Or at least, the bones of it.
What else?
YouTube. Reddit. Spotify. Airbnb. Uber.
He didn't need to guess what the future looked like. He knew.
Jake turned, walked to the desk in his room, and pulled out a notepad.
Across the top, he scribbled:
PROJECT: FUTURE
Underneath, a list:
Social Network (Beat Facebook)
Microblogging (Pre-Twitter)
Video Sharing (YouTube alt.)
Forums + Community (Reddit 1.0)
Music Streaming (Early Spotify)
Vacation Rentals (Airbnb prototype)
Ride-Hailing (Uber foundation)
He stared at the words, his heart racing.
This wasn't some impulsive dream. It was a roadmap. A blueprint.
Jake wasn't just ahead of the curve. He was the curve now.
His hands weren't shaking from nerves—they were shaking from potential.
He looked around the room: the drawer full of notes, Charlie's clunky old computer in the living room, the faint hum of the ocean beyond the deck. It wasn't much. But it was enough.
He could build the future from here.
All he had to do was start.