forty-one
"Subtle," I said, dragging my suitcase down the walkway.
Tati laughed, balancing Miles on her hip. "You know he lives for dramatic moment."
Seth was already out of the driver's seat, grabbing my bag like it weighed nothing. "You travel light for someone who's been living in my house for a year," he muttered, but he gave me a quick side hug before tossing it in the trunk.
"Don't start with me," I shot back, climbing into the backseat next to Tati. She handed Miles over, his chubby arms reaching like he'd been waiting for me. He immediately latched onto my necklace.
"See?" I said. "He's trying to keep me here."
Tati rolled her eyes. "Don't even try, son. I've been trying to persuade her for weeks."
The car was quiet in the best way—Seth humming along low to the carplay, the AC blasting, Miles gurgling like he was part of the soundtrack. I leaned my forehead against the window, watching the neighborhood roll by, and felt that mix of nerves and excitement chewing at my stomach.
"So what's first when you land?" Tati asked, unwrapping a granola bar.
"Keys from Mr. Johnson, then straight to Tim's office," I said. "I told him I'd come by after midnight."
She nodded like that was the right move. "Back in your old building too?"
"Yup." I smiled a little. "Feels like picking up where I left off."
Seth spoke up without looking away from the road. "Just remember—you're not picking up old mistakes. You're starting clean."
"See? Inspirational quotes," I teased. "You sure you don't wanna write me a speech for the plane?"
"You're such an old head babe," Tati said.
We all laughed, and for a second it was easy.
By the time we pulled up to the terminal, I almost wished the ride was longer.
Seth parked, killed the engine, and got out without a word, already grabbing my bag. Tati slid out too, I lingered for a second, palms pressed against the backseat leather, before forcing myself to follow.
The air outside was hotter than I expected, thick with exhaust and movement. People rushed past with rolling suitcases, flight announcements echoing through the sliding doors.
Seth set my bag down on the curb and gave me a look that said no nonsense. Then, before I could say anything smart, he pulled me into a quick hug—firm, solid, big-brother-like.
"You take care out there," he said into my hair.
I nodded, throat tight.
Tati stepped up next, balancing Miles between us so I had to lean around him to hug her. "Text me when you land and don't disappear on me again, okay?"
"I won't," I said, though we both knew promises like that were fragile.
She gave me one last squeeze, then grinned. "Philly's not ready for you."
I laughed, blinking fast as I reached for my suitcase. Miles squealed like he wanted to say goodbye too, kicking his legs until I kissed his cheek.
"Bye auntie baby."
And then I was walking inside, swallowed by the blur of strangers and announcements, pulling my life along on two wheels.
Back to the same city, the same street, the same building with the peeling paint on the stairwell and the landlord who still probably smelled like cigars.
Back to the same club with its velvet curtains and sticky floors, back to the rhythm of dollar bills and music thumping through my ribs.
It almost made me laugh, except there wasn't anything funny about it.
I'd told myself a hundred times I'd never go back.
That I was better than that, or at least that I'd outgrown it.
But the truth was, when I called my old landlord and he said the apartment was still open, something inside me loosened.
Like Philly itself had just been holding its breath until I came back to fill in the space I'd left behind.
It felt equal parts pathetic and comforting.
Pathetic, because who circles all the way back to the start after everything? After hiding out in Texas for over a year, after watching a baby grow from a bump to a whole little human, after telling myself every night I was done with the club, with that entire version of me.
Comforting, because at least it was mine. At least it was something familiar.
I thought about how Tati looked when she leaned over Miles' car seat this morning, adjusting the straps like she'd been born knowing how.
How Seth drove with one hand steady on the wheel, the other reaching back every so often to jiggle a toy when the baby fussed.
They made it look so easy. Like they'd stepped right into their next chapter without missing a beat.
And me? My next chapter was apparently just... my old one, on repeat.
I hated the way that sounded. Hated the way it felt.
Still, I couldn't deny that a part of me wanted it.
Not the exact same life—not the girl who twirled onstage half in love with a man who could never love her back the same way—but the chance to rewrite it.
To walk into that club not as the girl who ran away, but as the woman who came back because she chose to, because she could.
That had to count for something.
I wondered if Brooks was still in Jersey, if Monte still shadowed his every step, if Margot was on his arm at every fundraiser. I wondered if he'd even notice if I walked past him on Walnut Street or if I was just another stranger to him now.
Maybe that's all I ever was.
I pressed my palms against my knees, grounding myself. This wasn't about him. Not anymore. I couldn't let it be. Going back wasn't about chasing ghosts—it was about facing them. About standing in the city that once swallowed me whole and proving to myself I could still breathe there.
And maybe, just maybe, finding a way to build something new out of the ruins.
The thought scared me, but it also steadied me.
When the gate agent finally called for boarding, I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder. My legs felt heavy, but they moved anyway. One step, then another, back toward the life I thought I'd buried.
Not because I wanted the old version back. But because I was ready to see if I could make something different out of the same pieces.
The air in Philly was heavier than I remembered.
Or maybe it was just me.
The cab had dropped me off outside my old building, and standing there felt like standing at the edge of a memory. Same scuffed steps leading up, same brass handle that always squeaked when you pulled it, same mailboxes lined against the wall with names half-scratched off.
Mr. Johnson had opened the door with a look that was equal parts surprise and recognition. He was older now—though maybe I just hadn't noticed the last time how his shoulders sloped, or how his hands trembled slightly when he slid the keys across the counter.
"Didn't think I'd see you again," he'd said. Not unkind, just matter-of-fact, like I was another tenant returning from the wind.
"Yeah. I didn't think so either," I'd answered, curling the keys into my palm. The weight of them felt strange—like they belonged to a past version of me I wasn't sure I could still inhabit.
Now, hours later, I was pushing open the club's doors.
The bassline hit me first—low, steady, familiar in a way that almost knocked the breath out of me.
It was like my body remembered before my mind caught up.
The velvet curtains, the dim lights pooling around the stage, the faint smell of cheap cologne and expensive champagne.
For a second, I swore I could see my younger self walking ahead of me, shoulders back, face painted into a confidence I hadn't yet earned.
But she was gone.
And I was here.
Tim spotted me before I made it far. He was behind the bar, polishing glasses like always, but when his eyes landed on me, his hands stilled. "There she is," he said, soft, like it was a secret.
I slid onto a stool. The leather groaned the same way it always had. "Guess I couldn't stay gone forever."
"Guess not." He set down the rag in his hand and poured water without asking. "How's it feel?"
I ran my finger around the rim of the glass. "Like time didn't move. But I did."
"Yeah," he said, leaning on the bar. "That's how it goes."
The silence between us filled in, comfortable and not.
"You still keep my spot open?" I asked.
Tim gave the smallest shrug. "Never let anyone sit there too long."
That pulled a smile out of me, weak but real. "You always did play favorites."
"I always did know which ones would come back." His eyes softened. "Doesn't mean I wanted you to."
My throat tightened. I looked down at the water. "I don't know what I'm doing, Tim."
He didn't rush to answer. He just braced his arms on the bar and tilted his head. "So? You'll figure it out the same way you always did. One shift at a time."
The words shouldn't have steadied me, but they did.
I blinked fast and managed a nod. "Okay."
The stage lights flared as my name was called. I walked toward them like I hadn't forgotten how.
Tim watched me for a beat, then tapped the counter with his knuckles. "If you wanna dance tonight, I'll let you. No pressure. Just say the word."
The thought twisted my stomach. I hadn't even unpacked yet. But my throat bobbed around the answer anyway. "Yeah. I'll dance."
He gave a small nod, like it was already settled. "Then go get ready."
The stage lights weren't mine yet, but the pulse of them hummed through the walls as I walked toward the dressing room.
The door swung open on a rush of perfume and heat. Curling irons hissed on countertops, lashes fluttered in mirrors, laughter pitched high over the bass from the main floor.
No one looked up when I stepped in.
I paused at the edge, scanning rows of stations I used to know by heart. My old chair was gone, replaced by a different cushion, a new set of burn marks. Somebody else's space now.
I set my bag down anyway, like claiming a ghost of something that wasn't mine anymore.
That's when it hit: I was the outsider.
I thought of Tati darting around in heels, Sam begging someone to quiz her with exam notes, Heather pretending she hated everything while Mya played music too loud. Back then the chaos had felt like home.
Now it was theirs.