I finally moved back home and took a job at the local museum to be nearer to Mom. Drive her to appointments. Hold her hair when she threw up. Sleep beside her so she wouldn't wake up alone.
And one morning during her eighth cycle of chemo, she didn't wake up at all.
When we lowered her next to Dad, I realized something inside me had gone still—the part of me that expected anything good to last.
Water splashes onto my phone screen and I realize I've been crying. I blink away the tears just as Drew reaches the porch, and open the door before he can knock.
"Hey, kiddo." He steps inside, then stops short. His eyes sweep the near-empty living room—cardboard boxes stacked against the far wall, furniture pushed to the corners, picture frames face-down on the coffee table. "Going somewhere?"
The house feels hollow without Mom's things. We donated most of it last week. Goodwill came with a truck and took the floral couch she loved, the rocking chair Dad bought her on their fifteenth anniversary, the china cabinet that held nothing but dust and memories.
All that's left is the old TV on a folding table, two suitcases by the door, and the couch Drew and I are standing beside.
"Sit." I gesture to the couch. My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
Drew lowers himself slowly The cushions sag under his weight, springs protesting after decades of use. I perch on the armrest. "Yes, Drew. New York. Uncle Ben lives there."
"You want to go to New York?" He's staring at me like I've grown a second head.
"Yes, Drew. I feel it's what Mom would have wanted."
It's the last thing Mom would have wanted, but I can't very well tell Drew about the inexplicable pull I've been fighting for months. Since Mom's death, it became impossible to ignore.
"How can you know this for sure?" He folds his arms over his belly, looking at me as if I've gone mad.
I shrug. "I just know. Plus, Uncle Ben is the only family I have left and that's where he is."
His face falls—something wounded flashing in his pale eyes. Guilt twists in my chest. I slide off the armrest and drop beside him on the couch, wrapping my arms around his barrel chest. "It's not that you aren't family, because you are. Yousoare. And I love you."
"Of course, kiddo." Drew hugs me back, one hand patting my shoulder blade, but his body stays tense.
I pull back and fish the folded printout from my back pocket. "Okay, there's another reason." I hold it out.
He unfolds it carefully, squinting at the text. Then whistles low, eyebrows shooting up. "Lead curator, huh? Century Gallery. This here is a big deal, kiddo."
I nod, twisting my hands in my lap. "I know."
"But isn't Betty due to retire soon?" He glances up from the paper, hopeful. "There's no one more qualified to take her place when she leaves, you know."
I stand, needing to move. Walk to the window where I watched him approach earlier. The glass is dusty, late afternoon light cutting through in shafts. Outside, the yard is overgrown—Mom's rosebushes long gone wild.
"Betty won't retire for another year. And when she does, I'll have to apply for the position. Which means I might not get it, Drew." I turn back to face him. I point to the paper in his weathered hand. "Here's my chance right now. I'd be a fool not to take it."
Drew sighs, the sound rattling in his chest. Folds the printout and sets it on the coffee table between a roll of packing tape and a half-empty water bottle. "I couldn't be happier to see your career taking off, Bree. You've worked yourself to the bone for this."
"But?" I prompt.
"You know there are places I have spent my whole life avoiding." Drew scratches his graying beard, eyes fixed on the printout like it might bite him. "The Tri-State area is one of them."
He won't visit. That's what he's telling me.
I cross back to the couch, drop down beside him again. "The entire Tri-State area is a huge metropolis, Drew."
"And you think it's big enough to hide if fate decides to cross your paths again?"
I force a laugh and pick at a lint on my jeans just to have something to do with my hands. "Drew, I'm sure fate has abetter sense of justice than letting us meet again. Besides, it was nothing more than a summer fling."
I've never been able to lie to Drew. He sees through every single one, always has. But for once, he doesn't call me out on it. Instead, he turns and pulls me into a hug—the kind that makes my eyes sting.
