Lena closes her eyes and rubs the space between them. “New York, I think. It’s brighter in the future. More lights. Oliver is there too. He loves you despite your terrible hair, it appears.”

That’s a comforting thought, Oliver and I together so many years from now. He’s always felt like a constant thing, but it is nice to have it confirmed, as much as the future can ever be confirmed.

All at once I can see it, a life with him, a brownstone with hydrangeas out front and a bench in a bay window to read in. Years of dinners and waltzes and his fingers playing with mine while we take the subway uptown. I long for a life made up of quiet moments with him. I picture opening a door after a long day of teaching and having his face be the one that greets me with a smile. I want it. I want it so badly I could cry.

“So, what do we do now?” I ask.

Next to me, they sigh. “Whatever we want, I think.”

It’s a nice thought.

“My painting teacher here is putting me in touch with a gallery in New York. They’re interested in my work,” Lena says. “I meant to tell you yesterday. It could mean a lot of money. I’m going to be a real artist.”

“You already were,” Maxine says.

“Yes, but now I’ll be one with works in salons and a house all my own, bought with my own money.”

I feel so hollowed out, but happiness soars in me, picturing Lena in a gallery standing in front of her paintings. “Well deserved. I never doubted you for a minute.”

“What about you, Maxine?” Lena asks.

She flops down on her pillow and announces, “I’m staying.”

“Staying?” Lena and I both ask in unison.

Maxine pops back up and looks us both in the eyes. “Well, not staying exactly. Anais invited me on a European tour and I said yes.”

“Anais?” I’m shocked.

Maxine nods, her cheeks a little pink. “She’s really nothing like her family. She lives most of the time in a flat with her aunts.”

“And?” I prompt. I’ve been a little distracted, but I’m trying to figure out exactly how we landed from Anais cornering us in a basement to taking Maxine on a European holiday.

“And we got to talking the night at the Louvre, and then at the ballet the night you were at the opera, and then on a stroll around Père Lachaise while Lena was painting and you were off with Finn.”

“My, my, Maxine, you are full of secrets,” Lena chides.

Maxine laughs, embarrassed, and ducks her face into the bed, hiding the way her cheeks flush. “No, just one, and now it’s out in the open. She’s just… she’s lovely.”

“She’d better think you’re lovely too,” I say.