Page 72 of Where She Belongs
“First separation after getting together for real?” Alma says with a knowing smile. “It’s always harder than you expect.”
I want to argue, to point out that Andrea and I have maintained a friendship across this same distance for a decade. But there’s a knowing look being exchanged around the table that suggests they understand something I’m only beginning to grasp—that the shift from friendship to relationship fundamentally changes the equation.
“I’ll video call her,” I concede, earning approving nods from the women at the table.
“Now,” Nana says, leaning forward with glittering eyes, “tell us more. Have you two been dancing around each other all these years while the rest of us watched?”
I choke slightly on my coffee. “I wouldn’t say?—“
“Please,” Dax interrupts, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been half in love with Andrea since your residency. We all saw it.”
“All of you?” I ask, looking around the table in disbelief.
“It was pretty obvious,” Sawyer confirms with a shrug.
“To everyone except you two, apparently,” Harlow adds.
“The way you looked at her,” Sarah sighs dreamily. “Like she hung the moon and stars.”
I sit back, momentarily speechless. Has it really been that apparent to everyone but us? Have I been carrying these feelings, unacknowledged, for all these years?
“Sometimes we need to step outside our normal lives to see clearly,” Nana says with satisfaction. “An island wedding, away from all the everyday distractions, was just what you both needed.”
“I suppose it was,” I acknowledge, the truth of her words resonating deeply. The island setting, the wedding atmosphere—all of it created the space for us to finally recognize what had been developing between us for years.
“So?” Nana prompts, eyes sparkling with interest. “When do we get to welcome her properly? Sunday dinner?”
I consider deflecting, maintaining the privacy of those precious moments in Hawaii. But looking around at these faces—people who have celebrated every success and supported me through every setback—I find myself wanting to share at least some of the story.
“It was the most natural thing in the world,” I begin, a smile tugging at my lips as I remember. “After all these years as friends and colleagues, something just... shifted. Like seeing a familiar landscape in an entirely new light.”
“The best love stories always start with friendship,” Nana declares with the confidence of someone who’s seen countless relationships unfold over her eighty-plus years.
“Well, I for one am thrilled,” Harlow says, raising her wine glass. “To Gabe and Andrea—may you have fewer misunderstandings and more happiness than the rest of us put together.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Dax agrees, lifting his beer.
The others join in the impromptu toast, their genuine happiness for us washing over me in a wave that’s both comforting and slightly overwhelming. It strikes me suddenly that this is what has been missing from my previous relationships—this sense of rightness, of community approval, of fitting into the larger tapestry of connections that make up a life well-lived.
Later, as the gathering begins to disperse and goodbyes are exchanged, Nana pulls me aside in the kitchen, her weathered hands clasping mine with surprising strength.
“You know why I always liked Dr. Martin?” she asks, her dark eyes searching mine.
“Because she’s a brilliant physician?” I suggest.
Nana shakes her head. “Because she sees you—the real you, not just the handsome doctor with the easy smile. She always has.” She pats my cheek gently. “Don’t mess this up, mijo. Some chances only come once in a lifetime.”
“I won’t,” I promise, the weight of her wisdom settling on me. “I’m all in, Nana.”
“Good.” She nods in satisfaction. “Now go call your woman and tell her about your trip. And tell her when you get back, I expect her at Sunday dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead before heading out into the cool Taos night.
The drive home passes in contemplative silence, my mind still processing the evening—the unconditional support from friends who’ve become family, the genuine happiness they expressed for Andrea and me, the strange sense of having finally found my place in a pattern I didn’t even know I was seeking.
At home, I pour a finger of whiskey and step out onto my back portal, where the expansive night sky stretches above, stars brilliant in the thin mountain air. The beauty of it catches in my throat—this same sky that’s spreading over Andrea in Albuquerque, connecting us despite the miles between.
I pull out my phone and dial her number, switching to video just before she answers. Her face appears on my screen, hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, more beautiful to me than all the stars above.
