“And it looks exactly the same.” Leo stared out the window as I turned onto Ben Franklin Parkway.

“How long has it been since you’ve been back?” Philadelphia hadn’t changed much in the years I’d been there either, but then again most cities didn’t on the surface. Change seemed to come in small ways that a casual visitor and most short-term residents would never notice.

“Eight years.”

“Whoa. That’s a long time ago.” Eight years before I was still in college blissfully unaware of the real world. I wasn’t nostalgic about my college days, but I missed the bubble sometimes, even though I’d stressed out about everything back then.

“Yeah, time marches on, huh?”

“Yes, whether we like it or not.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about the impending ‘30’ only a few years away. I knew it was just a number, but I’d built a long list of things I was supposed to have accomplished by that birthday. It looked like I wasn’t going to have checked many of those off my list by then.

“It only goes faster as you get older. Sometimes it’s a good thing.”

“Did you like it?” I steered the conversation away from the passage of time. “Living here?”

“I did in some ways, not in others.”

“Same here.” I pulled to a stop at a light. I’d have been able to make it if weren’t for the cyclist in my lane. We weren’t in a hurry, so I tempered down my annoyance despite there being an open bike lane right next to him.

“I like New York better.”

“Me too.” I had an attachment to the city I grew up outside of. Growing up in suburbia was a strange experience. You liked to think you were part of the city, but you weren’t. At least not in the same way kids raised as city-dwellers were.

“Not that we’re biased.”

I laughed as I drove the familiar route up toward my apartment. I hoped I’d get lucky and find a parking spot, but I didn’t hold my breath. I’d probably have to pay to park in the one lot in the whole area. That is if there was even a spot there. Weekend parking could be dicey in my old neighborhood.

We turned onto Spring Garden Street. I was surrounded on both sides by the restaurants and stores I’d frequented only weeks before.

Leo pointed out the window at a large building that looked like a castle fortress. “Eastern State.”

“I spent over nine months with a view of the prison.” Eastern State Penitentiary was closed and a historic site now, but it was still strange to wake up in the morning and look at one of the oldest prisons in the United States. It wasn’t exactly a million-dollar view, but it was a two-bedroom we’d been able to afford.

“I never spent much time in the art museum area.” His eyes were glued to the window.

“Where were you? Downtown? South Philly?”

He turned back toward me. “West Philly.”

“Wait. Were you at Penn?”

“Yeah. For Business school.”

“Why am I not surprised you went to Wharton?” A Wharton grad working at a used record store on Long Island wasn’t exactly news in our economy, and Leo seemed far more intelligent than he wanted me to know.

“Because it’s the business school at Penn.”

I rolled my eyes before attempting to parallel park into a tiny spot. I failed on the first attempt, but tried again despite the line of cars waiting. I finally edged my way in.

“Nice parking.”

“Is that serious or sarcasm?” I’d worked hard to get better at it. I loved driving, but parallel parking wasn’t my thing.

“Serious. Most people wouldn’t have gone for it.”

“Beggers can’t be choosers.” I unlocked the doors. “I never spent much time in your neighborhood either.”

“Cities are like that. Full of neighborhoods that never intersect.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?" I opened my door.

"Both, like most things." He waited for the traffic to die down before walking around to meet me on the sidewalk.

The buzz of the city hit me. The constant noise was one thing I missed. It helped keep you grounded because you could never fully drown out the world. I led the way down the block, toward my second floor apartment. There were never tons of crowds in the neighborhood, but the weekends did bring everyone outside.

I opened the outer door and headed straight up toward my apartment. Leo followed right behind me. I used the key I'd used a million times before, but it felt different now. Like I was entering someone else's home.

"You okay?" Leo put an arm on my shoulder right before I pushed open the door.

"No, but that doesn't really make a difference right now." No matter how much I didn’t want to face the place, I couldn’t avoid it. Putting things off didn’t make them go away.

I pushed open the door and found a large empty space. Steve hadn’t been joking about moving out. He’d done it already.

I felt a wave of relief hit me. This wasn't the home I shared with a guy who never really wanted me—it was an empty apartment. There were memories in every corner, but they weren’t right out in front of me. The couch we’d watched countless movies on was gone. The old table we’d bought with full intention of re-staining but never did was missing too. He hadn’t asked me about whether I wanted any of that stuff—and I didn’t. I didn’t want any of it.

I started to laugh.

"Is that a good laugh or a bad one?" His eyebrows drew together.

"A good one."

I walked further inside and found boxes lined up with my name on it. He'd packed my stuff. From the outside that probably seemed cold, but it wasn't. "He knew me well enough to do it for me."

“To pack your stuff?" Leo kept his distance.

"He made it easy on me.”

I walked into the bedroom and found it empty. Same with the study. He'd done it all. I was surprised he hadn’t shipped my things, until I realized he wanted to give me closure. Steve knew me better than I gave him credit for.

"Looks like this won't take long." Leo picked up a box. "Should I start bringing the boxes down?"

"Oh that would be great, thanks." I picked up a large box that was much lighter than its size suggested. It had to be clothes. I glanced around again at the apartment I’d barely seen in the months before I left. I’d been too busy working—and avoiding the reality facing me at home.

"Do you want some time alone here?"

I shook my head. "No. I don't.” I wanted to get in and out as fast as possible. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t upset. I needed to move on, and the only way I could do that was to walk out the door for the last time.

"Then let's get moving." He shifted the box into one hand and held open the door for me. I was glad for Leo’s physical help as well as the emotional. He’d been right. This wasn’t something I should have done alone.

Half a dozen trips later we’d moved out the rest of my stuff. I took one last glance at the apartment before I locked the door and slid my key under it. It was over, and as anticlimactic as it was, I knew it was a beginning as much as an end.

---

“You can’t get provolone. You need to have the real Philly experience.” Leo yammered on as I drove through a part of Philly I didn’t know well.

“Provolone is as much the Philly experience as whiz.”

“Is not.” He rested his arm on the armrest between us.

“Is too.” I continued arguing with him as though we were children. “Why do you care what kind of cheese I get on my cheesesteak?”

“Because we like the same kinds of food, and I know you’d love it with whiz if you tried it.”

“I lived here for five years. Don’t you think I would have tried it then if I wanted to?”

“Not if the people you were with steered you the wrong way.” He held out his hand palm up.

“Now you’re implying I don’t make my own decisions? Wouldn’t I be doing exactly that if I try the whiz?”

“Try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll buy you one with provolone.”

“And you always go to Pat’s?”

“Yes. It’s the original.”

“Fine.” I wasn’t sure why I was even arguing. I wasn’t that concerned with whether I’d like the whiz.

“You’re cute when you get argumentative.”

“Then you’ll see me cute a lot.”

He laughed. “Some arguing is good for the soul.”

“And there goes another wise phrase.”

“You might as well get used to them.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t count on it.”

I found a spot a few blocks away and got out. I wasn’t going to argue about the lunch choice or driving out of the way. He’d made the trip with me without a single complaint. I owed him a lot more than a cheesesteak.

Leo got right in the fast moving line and ordered. “Two whiz wit.”

He moved down to the second window. “An order of cheese fries and two bottles of water.”

I kept my thoughts on the cheese fries to myself. On top of a cheese whiz filled sandwich he wanted that?

A few minutes later we had our sandwiches, fries, and water and took a seat at one of the red tables out front.

“This had better be good.” My stomach rumbled.

“It will be. It’s way better than with provolone.”

“And you know that first hand?”

“Of course. I’ve tried it.”

“We’ll see.” I opened my water and took a sip before picking up my paper wrapped cheesesteak. “I’m going in for it.” I took a bite.

Leo grinned as he watched me chew. “I was right. Admit it.”

“It’s pretty good.” I set down the sandwich and wiped some dripping cheese off my chin.

“Pretty good?”

“It’s better. It does something to the meat and bread.”

“Exactly.” He took a large bite of his.

“Are you happy now?”

“I’m happy because you’re smiling. You haven’t smiled much since we left.”

“I’m happy.”

“And don’t forget about your half of the fries.”

“I think I’m having enough whiz already. They are all yours.”

“You’re missing out.” He ate a cheese drenched fry.

“I’m fine. I assure you.” I helped myself to another bite of my cheesesteak. “This is exactly what I needed.”

“I know it is.”

“You like being a know-it-all.”

“I like making you smile.” He ate a fry.

“Well now, that’s a good thing.”

We finished off our food in near silence, but it was the good kind of silence. Ten minutes later we were in the car on our way back home. As I drove away from the city that had been home for five years, I felt sadder than I expected. I was officially closing a chapter of my life, and a good thing or not, it didn’t make the end any easier.

The comfortable silence remained for most of the drive. It seemed like we were either half-arguing and talking non-stop, or we were silent. Both were comfortable though, and I didn’t miss the polite chatter that usually came from new relationships—or friendships, or whatever it was we were doing. The silence was even more welcome than usual since I was so emotionally exhausted. I wasn't sure what to think or say.

An hour into the drive I noticed Leo checking his phone as though he were waiting for an incredibly important message. He continued to do it as we hit traffic in Jersey and the drive wore on.

I turned on the radio, settling on the first station even though it was on commercial. I didn’t particularly care what I listened to as long as it was noise.

I saw him check his phone again, and I had to ask. "Everything ok?"

"Oh." He set the phone in his lap, "Yes. Just waiting to hear something."

"Oh." I wasn't sure what to say. He was back to his vague answers.

“Sorry if it’s annoying you.”

“Not annoying.” An old rock song came on, and I turned up the volume.

“You’re annoyed.”

“Curious, but not annoyed.” I was both, but I refused to be that girl who needed to know everything.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it.

"You can do whatever, I don't mind if you take a call."

He picked up. "Hey, how’s everything? You made it back?” He paused, and I assumed he was listening to someone on the other end. "I went out of town for the day, but I'm on my way back now."

He looked at me and held the phone away from his ear and covered it. "Could you drop me off in Roslyn again?"

"Uh, sure.” So much for a night of movie watching and sex. Oh well, he owed me nothing.

He smiled and mouthed “thanks,” before returning the phone to his ear. "Oh, yeah, you can put her on. Hey, baby. Did you have fun today?"

Baby? I gripped the wheel tighter.

"I won't be there before your bedtime, but I will be there when you wake up and I'll stop in to see you."

Bedtime? It was a kid. It had to be. Leo had a kid?

"Love you too." He hung up.

"You have a kid." I threw it out there. I was stuck in traffic on the Jersey Turnpike, and I wasn’t going to beat around the bush.

He nodded. "I have a daughter."

“Oh.” That was the only word I could come up with at first, but then I forced myself to say more. "And you were planning to tell me this?" He didn't have to. We'd hooked up one night and hung out a few times, but still, he could have mentioned it.

"I was going to tell you when I had to."

"That's honest." He didn’t even bother making an excuse. That said something. He was a rebound whether my mom agreed or not.

He watched me. "Does this change things?"

I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. "I don't think so." It didn’t. We weren’t anything defined before, and so we wouldn’t be anything defined ever. Either I could handle a causal relationship with him, or I couldn’t. I’d have to decide when he wasn’t sitting a few inches away from me in the car.

"Are you upset because I have a kid or because I didn't tell you?"

"Neither, I'm not upset. I'm just surprised." I took my left hand off the wheel for a moment and unclenched it. I needed to get some tension out. I needed to calm down.

"You’re upset." He put a hand on my arm.

I resisted the urge to brush him off. "I’m not upset. You didn’t have to tell me."

"I hope you aren’t reading into this or anything. I didn’t tell you because I liked having you look at me like I was just any other guy."

“And you having a kid meant I wouldn’t look at you the same way? You aren’t the only guy with a kid." I let out a deep breath. We still had a ways to go before I dropped him off.

“So my having a daughter doesn’t change your view of me?”

“Why would it?”

“Because it should.”

“You can’t tell me how I should or shouldn’t feel.”

He said nothing, so I allowed our first uncomfortable silence to set in. After ten minutes, I had to ask my burning question. “So, I'm dropping you to spend the night at her mom’s house?”

"Grandparents."

"Oh."

"Her mom isn’t around... I'm a widow."

"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry." And I was a bitch. Here I was being antagonistic, and the guy’s wife was dead.

"Yeah. I get that a lot."

"I’m a bitch, ok. I’m sorry for overreacting.”

"Stop."

"What?"

"Why do you think I didn't tell you? You are already talking to me differently. This is exactly what I didn’t want.”

"I can't even imagine. I've been moaning about my life when you’ve clearly been through so much more. I’m horrible. Horrible.”

He waved his hand. "My sob story doesn't make yours unimportant.”

"I’m sorry for keeping you from your daughter.”

"You haven't. And I'm surprised you haven't asked the obvious question.”

“What?” I was pretty sure I knew what it was, but I didn’t want to make things even more awkward if I could avoid it.

"You know what it is, just say it.”

I waited a few seconds but then spit it out. “Why doesn’t she live with you?”

“Because I screwed up, and I knew she’d be better off living without me for a while.” He looked away and out the window.

“What do you mean you screwed up?”

“I lost myself. I tuned out the world and turned to something that always numbed things.”

“Alcohol or drugs?” I assumed it was one or the other. They were both dangerous and addicting.

“Alcohol. I held it together for a while. I actually convinced myself I could move on and take care of my daughter myself, but then I lost it. Reality set in. Nikki wasn’t coming back, and I had no clue what I was doing. My in-laws stepped up to help, and I let them take her in. I couldn’t give her what she needed. Once I didn’t have my daughter to care for I fell even further. I was drunk more than I was sober, and I barely made it into work. My boss got tired of putting up with me, and I lost my job. And then you try finding another job when you’re fired with cause.”

“None of it could have been easy.” I struggled to come up with the right words.

“Bob at the shop did me a favor. My brother did me a favor too by giving me a place to stay.”

"I'm sorry." I was at a loss for other words.

"So am I." He crossed his arms.

"When do you see her?” I couldn’t imagine how hard it all had to be for him. He’d lost his wife and didn’t feel like he was capable of caring for his daughter on his own. I couldn’t even imagine.

"When I can, usually Saturdays, but she was in the city today with her grandparents. I also try to get out there a few nights during the week. It's hard because the only way to get out there is by train or bus right now. Nikki and I were sharing one car since I commuted into the city by train, and well, that car didn’t survive the accident either." He looked out the window.

"You could ask me for a ride. I don’t mind.”

"You’ve given me enough rides already. I'm saving up to buy a car and get a decent place that isn’t above my brother’s garage. I’m hoping to get a job that pays enough again soon. My student loans might as well be a mortgage in themselves, and we were already up to our necks in credit card debt before she died.” He shrugged. “But you can’t worry about that kind of stuff, right?”

I nodded absently. I understood his feelings about loans even if I couldn’t possibly relate to everything else he’d been through. "I'm sorry I bugged you about the tape."

"Ok stop.” He turned to me. “How does any of this make you feel bad about the tape?"

"You clearly don't have much time, and I wasted it."

"I have time, and you didn't waste it. You also gave me a ride out to see Naomi.”

"Naomi. That's a pretty name."

"Thanks." He smiled.

I spent the rest of the drive trying to sort through all the revelations. I was so lost in thought the drive went faster, and before I knew it we were over the Verrazano and headed back out onto the island.

I got off at his daughter’s exit. At least the location wasn’t mysterious anymore. And it wasn’t another woman.

"I'll give you a call when Phil comes by with the tape."

"Thanks." I slowed down in front of the house.

"That means you have to see me again at least once." He unbuckled his seatbelt.

"You'll see me again more than once."

"Is that a promise?" He sounded vulnerable.

"That or a threat."

He leaned over and brushed his lips against mine. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything."

"We barely know each other, you had no reason to."

“We more than barely know each other." He opened the door and got out.

I thought of at least ten things to say in response, but it was too late. He’d already disappeared through the door.

I drove home slowly, not sure if my melancholy mood came from the boxes in the back or the revelation from Leo. I meant what I said. He wasn’t required to tell me anything, but I wanted him to. Somehow I wanted him to trust me enough to bare his soul. But I wasn’t baring my soul either. If I wanted him to be open with me, I was going to have to be open with him.