Page 67 of Never Quite Gone

“Whatever you say, duck.”

“Get out of my house,” she laughed, but pulled me in for one more fierce hug. “And Eli? Be happy. That's all any of us ever wanted for you.”

The front door opened before I could respond, bringing a blast of cool night air and David's familiar heavy footsteps. Mybrother-in-law looked exhausted but brightened when he saw us in the kitchen.

“Thank god you're here,” he said, dropping his gear bag by the door. “Maybe you can talk sense into your sister about the crib placement. She's been rearranging furniture at midnight again.”

“It's about optimal flow!” Rachel protested. “The feng shui?—”

“The feng shui was fine last week,” David interrupted, kissing her temple as he passed. “And the week before that. And the week before that.”

“Michael said—” She stopped, glancing at me apologetically, but I found myself smiling.

“Michael said the orientation of furniture affects the energy of a space,” I finished for her. “And that a baby's room needs perfect balance between practical function and spiritual harmony.”

“He spent three hours explaining it to me with diagrams,” David recalled, grinning as he pulled leftovers from the fridge. “Complete with historical references and mathematical equations.”

“That's because you kept asking questions to wind him up,” Rachel accused, but her eyes were bright with happy memories.

“He was so passionate about it,” David shrugged, mouth full of cold chicken. “It was like watching one of those nature documentaries where the expert gets really excited about moss or something.”

The laughter bubbled up before I could stop it – real, unguarded, full of love for the man we'd lost and the memories we shared. Rachel beamed at me, and I knew she'd been right. Loving Alex didn't mean forgetting Michael. It meant having more stories to tell, more love to share.

“You staying for a beer?” David asked, already reaching for the fridge.

“I should go,” I said reluctantly. “Early shift tomorrow.”

“Running away before I can make you move more furniture, you mean,” Rachel teased.

“Absolutely.” I hugged her again, then accepted David's one-armed embrace. “Take care of my sister.”

“Always do.” David's steady gaze held understanding beyond his words. “You take care of yourself too, yeah?”

The drive home felt different somehow, Rachel's words echoing in my mind. My phone showed missed calls from Sofia that I still wasn't ready to deal with, a text from Alex full of careful space and understanding. My hands were steady on the wheel, but my world felt shifted on its axis.

CHAPTER 21

Jazz Nights

The balcony glowed in shades of gold and shadow, turning the city into something almost sacred. I'd been avoiding this space since Michael died – too many memories of shared evenings, of architectural plans spread across the small table while Manhattan glowed around us. But lately, I'd found myself drawn here during quiet moments, watching light paint new patterns across familiar views.

My phone buzzed just as the last rays caught the hospital's distant silhouette. Alex's message was simple: “Are you free?” followed by coordinates to somewhere in Manhattan.

I should say no. Should maintain the careful distance I'd been trying to keep since everything started shifting sideways. Instead, I found myself typing “yes” before I could think too hard about why.

The rational part of my mind immediately started listing reasons this was a bad idea. I wasn't ready. Wasn't sure what I felt about any of this. Wasn't even convinced I believed Alex's impossible stories about past lives and eternal love.

I watched night claim the city, each streetlight flickering to life like stars being born. Michael and I used to play a game on evenings like this – guessing which light would ignite next,making up stories about the lives happening behind each window. The memory should have hurt more than it did. Instead, it felt like something I could carry without breaking, a foundation I could build upon rather than a weight holding me down.

My phone buzzed again – Rachel this time, her timing suspicious as always. “Wear the grey sweater,” she texted, somehow knowing about plans I hadn't shared. “The one that makes your eyes look greener.”

I smiled despite myself, imagining her teacher-voice delivering fashion advice. She'd been hovering less lately, her protective instincts softening as she watched me start to heal. Start to live again, not just exist.

The club wasn't what I expected. No neon signs or velvet ropes, just an unmarked door on a quiet street in Manhattan. Jazz notes spilled onto the sidewalk like liquid gold, making the autumn air feel warmer somehow. More alive.

Alex waited outside, and something in my chest tightened at the sight of him. Moonlight caught the grey at his temples, making him look timeless in a way. His smile held no pressure when he saw me, just quiet joy.

“Thank you for coming,” he said simply, holding the door.

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