a nice afternoon." I smile at the Uber driver as I quickly exit his car, closing the door behind me.

Looking up at the small house on the corner of the street, I swallow down the ball of nerves that have formed in my throat. I've never been to The Bronx before, and unfortunately, my first time will be to interview a mother who's just lost her son.

When I'd woken up that morning, my phone had blared with the reminder for my interview with Jermaine Bowers' mother, Grace Bowers. I've done a good job of saving my nerves leading up to today, trying to keep my mind on other things, like finishing out my second to last semester of college. But now there is no running away or trying to distract myself, not when her house is staring right at me, the street surrounding me as quiet as ever.

I'd half expected to see vans upon vans of different news crews, or maybe people milling outside, waiting for Grace to make an appearance or something. But, it seems that the only thing around that alerts me to being at the right house is the immense collection of flowers and paper hearts at the edge of the sidewalk, centered around a picture of Jermaine himself. He is smiling, a pearly white grin that has my chest constricting in pain.

I look back down at my phone, seeing a few texts from my mom and brother in the family group chat, wishing me good luck for my interview. My lips pull back into a smile as I read their good wishes, quickly typing back a thank you message. When I swipe out of the messages, my fingers twitch, seeing Miles' name at the bottom of my screen. The entire morning as I'd been getting ready, the only person's voice I'd wanted to hear was his. His soothing tone as he coaches me through my anxiety, telling me that he knows I am capable of walking into Grace Bowers' home and talking to her. Except, I am not able to call him. I had royally screwed things up with him, and it has been almost a week since I'd kissed Sebastian whilst simultaneously stepping on Miles' heart.

Sort of in the same way Sebastian had stepped on mine.

Shaking away my thoughts, I pocket my phone before I decide to do something stupid. Letting out a heavy sigh, I walk towards the gate, pushing the lock up and gently leaning against the metal gate as it creaks open. The sound seems to echo all down the block, and I inwardly wince at the loud noise. My feet seem to carry me up to her porch steps and to the door, where I take an additional five deep breaths before ringing the doorbell.

I hold my breath, rocking back and forth on my heels until I hear the sound of locks being turned, the door opening slowly.

A petite older lady stands behind the screen door, squinting at me through a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. Her gray hair is braided in two, a long dress draped over her thin figure. Even without being introduced, I know this is Jermaine's mother, Grace. I can see it in her eyes, they share the same brown irises, except for his glowing in the picture that is sitting outside of her house, her eyes are clouded with pain.

"Hi, Mrs. Bowers. I'm Evie Porter, we exchanged emails to set up this interview." The confusion immediately clears as she unlocks the screen door, opening it with her foot.

"Hello, dear. Come in, come in."

I brush past her with a smile, walking further into her home. There is hardly any noise coming from inside, except for the sound of the television which is on a low volume. Grace comes up from behind me, gesturing towards the dining table that is situated in the kitchen.

"Do you want some coffee or tea?" she asks, walking towards the kettle.

"Tea, please. Thank you so much." I watch as she nods, running the pot under the water before placing it over the stove, the fire underneath causing the kettle to let out low whistles. Whilst she is preparing the tea, I take out my notepad and pen, and place my phone in front of me, making sure it's positioned right to capture our voices.

Grace pulls the chair out across from me, placing two mugs on the table before sinking into her seat. She looks haggard, with dark circles under her eyes, but despite that, she has this warm aura about her, that immediately causes my nerves to slowly dissipate.

"I just wanted to say how appreciative I am for allowing me to interview you," I begin softly. Grace smiles, waving away my gratitude.

"Don't mention it. You said this was for an internship?"

Nodding, I take a small sip from my mug of tea. "Yes, I'm putting together a portfolio for an internship with The New York Times. This was the last part of it, my interview with you. I'm trying to showcase Black life, and what it means to be Black in a city like this."

Grace hums, cradling her tea against her chest. "Usually the interview requests that come my way are for these different news stations or papers, and I'm always saying no. But, I'm happy to tell Jerry's story if it means you get an opportunity for The New York Times." I feel my heart soar at this woman's bravery and her will to help me—someone she doesn't even know.

"Did Jermaine have any ambitions like that?" I ask, flipping open my notepad quickly. Grace nods, smiling to herself as I can visibly see her looking through her memories.

"He loved to write poetry," she says. "When he was in high school, I used to find notebooks upon notebooks filled with his words."

The fondness in her voice isn't lost on me. I know that Jermaine had been her only son, and for that, my heart aches for the woman sitting across from me.

"Hold on a minute," Grace insists, scraping her chair back as she rises. I watch as she walks into the living room, the sound of her picking something up reverberating through the empty house. Moments later she comes back into view with a picture frame close to her chest.

"This was Jerry for his senior prom." She turns the picture towards me. He is in a black tuxedo, his arms around two other teenage boys all wearing identical grins on their faces. Jermaine is in the middle, his buzzed hair and full eyebrows making him stand out from the other two. His smile is infectious, and I find my lips twitching as I look at the photo.

"He went to City College after graduating. He said he wanted to be an engineer." Grace twists the photo back around so she can look at it, her finger skimming over the edge of the frame. "He was finally headed into graduate school after taking a break to look after his children." She lets out a broken sigh, turning the frame upside down before placing it on the table in front of us.

Writing her last comments down, I mull over my list of questions, trying to find something to ask next.

"You know, I've read a lot about Jermaine from social media—things his friends will post about what he was like as a human being. I just wanted to know something that maybe no one else knew?"

Grace grins, folding her hands in her lap. "The way Jerry loved was something that never ceased to amaze me." I put down my notepad, suddenly intrigued by what she is going to say next.

"His father and I never really did set the best example for him, we were constantly fighting before his dad passed. But despite that, Jerry always believed in the idea of true love."

"I'm sure he loved his wife with everything in him," I add as an afterthought. Grace nods, her eyes clouding over with an unreadable emotion.

"One thing I know for certain was that as he lay dying, he was thinking of me, his children, and the love he got to share with his wife."

"That's a really beautiful thought, Mrs. Bowers."

It was then that she adopts this faraway look in her eyes, leaning back slightly in her seat.

"You know, Jerry used to say all types of quotes to me about love that he'd either memorized from different poems he'd read or he'd simply make them up in his head. I always used to tease him for his hopeless romantic ideas, but for some reason, this one quote has always stuck with me."

Watching her, I wait as she collects her next thoughts, my pen poised above my notepad to write them down.

"He used to say to me, 'ma, the heart is made for love, it's constantly yearning to begin again.'"

• • •

For the rest of the day after my interview with Grace Bowers, that quote seemed to stay on my mind. We'd spend another hour and a half speaking about her son's life, as well as Black lives that have been taken by police all over America.

Our conversation had been enlightening, and I'd left with a newfound sense of respect for the amount of courage Grace possessed. She'd even invited me around again, claiming that I will always be welcome in her home as well as wishing me good luck on my internship application as she'd hugged me on my way out.

But, as I'd climbed in my Uber home, the only person I've wanted to call and talk to has been Miles, for the second time that day. My finger has hovered over his contact name for a good amount of time before I'd swiped out of my contacts. Truth be told, I'm nervous to speak to him. With the way that he had stormed out of my apartment building, I'm afraid he is done with me. And frankly, I don't know if I can handle his rejection.

The entire ride back into Manhattan, I break down a small list in my head of the pros and cons of reaching out. I know that I will eventually have to, more so for my peace of mind, and just to know that I at least tried.

Except before I can do that, I have to speak to Sebastian. Luke had been right, there is no closure between us, and if we ever want to move on, if I ever want to let go, I have to speak with him.

Walking into my apartment, I've already begun drafting a speech good enough to convince Sebastian to meet me for coffee. As my fingers hover over the keypad to type it all out, I am pleasantly distracted by the sight of Veronica and Talia sitting across from each other on the couch, each with tears cascading down their faces.

Completely abandoning my task of texting Sebastian, I throw my things onto the floor, making a beeline towards them, my face a mask of concern.

"What's going on?" I demand, standing in front of them. Veronica sniffs, swiping at her nose as Talia turns her teary gaze onto me.

"We talked."

I relax when I realize they aren't actually about to pounce on each other, sinking onto the plush carpet and folding my legs together.

"About?"

"Everything," Talia breathes out. "I've been such a bitch to not only Ronnie but to you too, Eves. And I'm so sorry for that."

Smiling gently, I reach out, rubbing my hand over her knee in a comforting manner. "It's fine, Tal."

Talia shakes her head, another stream of tears flowing down her face. "It's not fine. God—it just hurt me so badly to know that you both were keeping this huge secret from me. It made me feel as if you guys didn't trust me or something."

Veronica scoots closer to Talia, wrapping an arm around her. "I was just scared, okay? And I was the one who told Evie not to say anything, so if there's anyone to be angry at, it's me."

"I hate that I took my anger out on you both. I just—it felt like our eight years of friendship didn't mean anything," Talia chokes out. "But I get it now. Why you didn't want to tell me. I understand that you wanted to protect me from the realization that my best friend, my sister, is moving across the ocean. I know we made that pact back in high school, and I know our plans are now changing. But I'm so fucking proud of you, Ronnie. For chasing your dreams, and getting to live in Paris." Veronica smiles through her tears, her hands firmly enclasped in Talia's. "Can you guys forgive me for being such a bitch about this?"

"You weren't being a bitch about it," I interject. "You had every right to feel angry towards us for not telling you such an important piece of news." I can feel my vision begin to blur with tears as Talia turns to look at me, her face splotchy and red from sobbing.

"Both of you are my family. I hate it when we fight. I think our friendship is too strong to let something like Veronica leaving change our dynamic." We all choke out watery laughs. I missed this. I did.

Without thinking about it, I launch myself at Talia, pulling her into a tight hug. Not even a millisecond later do I feel Veronica's weight on my back, crushing all three of us together as we fall back onto the couch, our laughter flowing through the apartment.

Pulling away, we each wipe away our smudged mascara from under our eyes, exchanging goofy smiles.

"Also, trust and believe that Eves and I will be in Paris like every other weekend," Talia adds with a mischievous smirk. "I can't let you hog all of the French men for yourself."

Veronica rolls her eyes, but she can't wipe the cheeky smile off of her face. "You guys will always be welcome."

Suddenly, Talia turns to me, her eyes about as wide as saucers. "How did your interview go today?"

I smile to myself, pulling my legs up to my chest. "It was really good." I quickly divulge my morning spent with Grace Bowers, sharing my excitement with my final piece for my internship application.

"And when I left, I just felt refreshed," I continue, so full of elation that I'm not even paying attention to the next words that left my mouth. "I was in the Uber and I wanted to call Miles–" I immediately stop myself, the smile falling from my face.

Veronica and Talia give me identical looks of pity, and I curl in on myself, cursing internally at my slip-up.

"Have you talked to him?" Talia asks tentatively. Shaking my head, I let out a dry laugh, the sound scratching at my throat.

"I ruined the one good thing I had going for me, and I'm too much of a chicken to try and fix it."

Veronica scoots forward, leaning her head on my shoulder. "You didn't ruin anything, just give him some time and I'm sure he'll reach out."

The sigh that escapes my lips can only be classified as broken. I haven't felt this sad since leaving Sebastian at that restaurant. It feels as if I've gone through another breakup, even though Miles and I hadn't made anything official.

"I just really, really like him," I mumble.

Talia gives me a woeful look. "Do you think you could love him?"

Without hesitation, I nod. "I know it's not love right now, but it really could be, someday. If he ever talks to me again," softly adding the last part as an afterthought.

Suddenly, Veronica leaps from the couch, grabbing the television remote. "I've had enough of the crying, let's watch some Love Island and see other people cry for a change."

Talia and I laugh, pulling a stray blanket over us as Veronica queues up an episode. I have no idea what is going to happen with Miles or even Sebastian, but for now, I'm just glad to be back to normal with the two people who I know will never turn their backs on me.