I’m stopped at the door by a bouncer twice the size of me. “ID and invitation,” he says gruffly. I pause, license in hand. “Invitation?”

“ID and invitation or no entry,” he repeats, clearly annoyed by me already. I swallow hard. This must be one of those exclusive clubs for the rich folks. But why is it in some abandoned alley? Is this how gentrification starts? One hip nightclub and suddenly the whole Lower East Side is a multimillion dollar investment?

I chew the inside of my cheek. “Sorry I don’t have a… nevermind.” I step back to turn away but a slender hand wraps around my shoulder. A voice like honey slips out from behind me.

“He’s with me, Bruno,” the voice says. I turn, meeting the dark brown eyes of a tall woman with ringlets of waist-length blond hair and rosy red lips. Her tan skin makes the color on her eyelids and lips pop. A dusting of freckles litter her nose and she wears an off-the-shoulder silk black dress, hugging the body every woman would be jealous of. She’s stunning and I’m left gaping over her until she looks me in the eyes and winks. I shake myself out of my daze and turn back to the bouncer–Bruno. But I can’t shake this odd feeling that I’ve somehow seen her before.

Bruno looks unconvinced but is clearly not in a position to defy orders. He unclips the velvet rope from its post and steps aside to let us pass. There’s a small, dark vestibule that leads to another set of doors. Once we’re beyond those and far enough away I turn to thank the stranger, only to find she’s already ten steps ahead of me, making her way toward the bar.

I look around in a daze at the club, at the packed venue with beautiful roman gothic and celtic decorations, before pushing through the sea of dancing bodies. By the time I reach her, she's sitting on a stool with one leg crossed over the other and a dirty martini in her hand.

I can’t explain why I’m drawn to her. Sure, she’s beautiful, but that isn’t exactly why. Something about her almost reminds me of…. someone. Someone I have seen before.

I take the seat beside her, looking over to find her staring, an expression of amusement playing at her lips. She pops an olive into her mouth.

“Thank you,” I tell her, unable to look her in the eyes properly. I try to flag down the bartender instead, to hide my sudden shyness.

“Aiden, is it?” She asks. I’m startled at her mind-reading ability until she giggles and points at my chest.

“It’s on your name tag.” I fight a blush of embarrassment and bring a cold hand to my cheeks to try to cool them down. “Oh,” I reply stupidly.

It takes the bartender a minute to reach me. I order something random and find myself with a drink I don’t particularly enjoy. “You-” I start after taking a sip of the bitter cocktail. “Do I know you?” I ask her.

“Hm,” she hums. “Do you?” There’s something in her eyes.

“Do you know me?” I ask. She hums again.

“I know a lot of people.”

“Why do you look so familiar to me? You don’t seem like the type of person one could easily forget.” She takes a sip of her drink and I bit at my lower lip. This conversation seems to be going nowhere fast.

“Who knows?”

“You seem to.”

“You’re quite observant, Aiden.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

We remain in an unyielding stalemate for a few more minutes. Until I relent, seeing as this interaction has already reached its expiration. I pay my tab and rise from the barstool.

“Just one thing,” the woman beside me says. I pause, eager for an answer, any answer. “Patience is rewarded, but not without action.”

“What does that mean?”

“If the truth is really what you seek, what are you willing to give up for it?”

“What is this?” I ask, searching her eyes for resolve. I’m met with only amusement. I feel like a rat in a wheel. Or a fish in a tank. Being observed for sheer entertainment. I don’t like it, but she knows something. I know she knows something. I open my mouth to answer, but she doesn’t let me.

“Think about it. Just food for thought. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your night but know this, if it’s answers you want, you must know just how much the truth will change.” I have a feeling we’re talking so much more than just about her familiarity to me now. I frown.

“And how much will the truth change?”

“Everything,” she replies smoothly, as though she has had this conversation hundreds of times before. Before I can respond she gets up from her seat and brushes a hand along my arm.

“Don’t leave her waiting too long, Aiden.”

And with that, she is swallowed by the crowd. I run after, trying to find her but the ocean of people is too dense. I have lost her. And now I have more questions than I started with.

What does she mean by her? Lucy? How does she know about her? Who is this woman and why does she know me?

It isn’t until I run out the door of the club that I realize I never even asked for her name.

<<<>>>

It’s near midnight when I arrive back home. I open the door to the apartment softly, careful not to wake anyone. But I find the lights on. And the window to the fire escape open. I walk curiously to the window, meeting the shadow of a woman I used to hold dearer than anyone. I duck through the window and onto the fire escape. She knows who I am by footsteps alone. She recognizes the breaths I take, the space I create for myself.

“Aiden,” Silva says and I brace myself for it, for the scolding, the disappointment. I deflate against the railing beside her. I can’t look at her. I can’t face her. I feel like a failure.

“My Aiden,” she says again and I feel something inside me cracking. I want nothing more than to bury myself in her arms and have her comb her fingers through my hair and tell me she forgives me. But this is real life. She couldn’t forgive me, not if I cannot forgive myself.

I shrink into nothingness beside her frame, once strong and sturdy and now broken with old age. It shines in her silver hair, in the curve of her shoulders and the crinkles around her mouth. Finally she turns, and I can no longer force myself to look away. Her eyes, her clear and dark eyes, are the only parts of her untouched by age. I brace myself, cringing. But I could not prepare myself for the tears that fell from them.

“Aunt Silva, I’m so sorry.” She catches me in her arms and holds me as though I have done nothing wrong. She embraces me as though she has already forgiven me.

“Silva,” I say with a cracked voice and she shushes me, soothing me and running her hands along my hair. And I realize she is not weakened by age. She is the same Silva from my childhood. She is the same strong woman that would sneak us out of the orphanage and feed us until we couldn’t stand and would scold me for playing too rough with my sister and stormed the principal’s office once in high school when she discovered I was expelled for defending my sister against bullies. She is still my family.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Aiden.”

“Of course I do,” I sputter. “I always disappoint you and Lucy. And instead of owning up to my failures I just run away. It’s why I’ve been avoiding you. As a kid I wanted to grow strong like you. I wanted to grow strong for you. But I’m weak. I-” Silva pulls away just enough to clutch my face in her hands.

“You have never disappointed me, Aiden,” she says sharply, with such authority, such honesty.

“But how?”

“I was only afraid, afraid that you hated me. Afraid that you would come up to the wrong conclusions until you discovered the whole truth.”

I pull away. “What do you mean?”

Silva wipes the moisture from her eyes and cradles my cheeks. “There is so much to tell you. And so little time.”

“Silva?”

She takes my open palm and presses something into it, wraps my fingers around it. 

"Forgive me, Aiden."

That's when the first explosion split open the night sky.

<<<>>>