“Hey, Lion,” I say, stepping out of the way as a UPS delivery guy arrives, headphones in. He has Lionel quickly sign an electric pad before handing him the package. Lion collects the envelope and gives the UPS delivery guy a signature Lion Smile as a tip. It’s a good Smile. I should know; I modeled mine after his years ago.

Up close, the curly, unmanaged hair he had the last time I saw him, when he’d just started this job, is now in a clean cut with immaculate fades that admittedly looks a lot more at home across the marble counter. If I didn’t know better, I would think that this is a doorman who takes pride in his job.

At twenty-four, Lionel is technically my uncle, although cousin might be a better label, considering how close in age we are. Especially compared to him and Dad, who is literally twice Lionel’s age.

Dad was one of the first of his family to leave Haiti, and my grandparents had four more children after he left, of which Lionel was the last, before they both passed away, months apart. Dad didn’t go back for the funerals, since we didn’t learn about the deaths until weeks after. Haltiwangers are like balloons released into the air that way: you’ll never get them all back into the same grasp again.

“It’s been a minute,” he adds.

“Yeah, sorry, dude,” I say. “I’ve been busy. College applications, dog walks, and y’know . . .”

“And your dad.” He chuckles, leaning forward into the counter.

“And my dad. I gotta say, I’m surprised you’re still working here,” I say, looking around. We texted and emailed a bit after Lion moved out, but three weeks was his limit at the various temp jobs he would find around the city, crashing with new friends I didn’t know.

“I didn’t think I would be either.” He smirks. “But, eh . . . it has its perks.”

He smiles and waves to a young tenant with a stroller coming out of the elevators. She’s wearing both headphones and sunglasses, which she clearly has no intention to remove any time soon. I roll my eyes as Lion blatantly checks her out.

“Do you live nearby?” I ask.

He snorts. “Four trains and one bus, if you want to call that ‘nearby.’ But it’s all good: benefits are on the horizon, and I’d be an idiot to leave before Christmas bonuses.”

He looks around from the slightly elevated ground on his side of the counter, making sure there’s no one within earshot.

“The cheapest unit in this building we’re standing in? Sixty-four hundred dollars a month. It’s tiny too. Like, can you imagine?”

I nod. After so much time at FATE, I very much can.

“Makes me want to set the whole thing on fire some days, to be honest.”

“Please don’t.”