“Man, when it rains Haltiwangers, it pours,” comes Lion’s voice as he manifests out of the sliver of the closet door that briefly reveals itself from the wall behind him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m still a bit drunk from Friday. Ignore me.”

“It’s Thursday.”

“So, you see the problem.” He yawns. “What can I do for you, nephew?”

It’s a good question.

My thing used to be talking, didn’t it? This address seemed like an obvious escape from the Upper West Side an hour ago, but now I’m not too sure. I suppose I just wanted to see family that wasn’t likely to tell me how much I suck. Or maybe an audience for seventeen years of built-up Jacques resentment. But as I think about how badly I messed everything up—with college, with my parents, with Corinne—I don’t really have the words now.

I expect another snarky comment when I take too long to answer, but Lion’s face unexpectedly softens.

“Let’s step into my office, yeah?”

He leads the way to one of the free elevators, trading a lightning-fast fist bump with one of the movers as he walks past them. Judging from the back of his neck, he might have lost weight since I last saw him, and he was already trim enough.

We take the elevator to the top floor and then a service stairwell whose door light turns green after a tapping of Lion’s work ID. We step out on the roof, and it’s an instant jolt to the system, which Lion absorbs with a grin.

“I know, right?”

Sorry, Montreal: there’s no arguing which city has the most impressive skyline. It’s the same view he’d sent me a video of after I was here last time.

The sky is already past orange, well into purple heading into navy. A grid of bright office and apartment lights steadily begins to overtake the sky’s natural light as I pace around the rooftop, taking Lion through the full story.

Lion listens with a loosened tie around his neck, a lime-green e-cigarette at his lips, and the city of New York far below us. My arms wave around me. Greg would say that I’m all over the place, Yadira would note that I’m too emotional, but man, it feels good to get it all out.

“Dang,” he eventually comments after I run out the clock on the topic of what a fuckup I am. “I’m definitely glad I don’t live there tonight.”