Chapter Fifty-One: Changes

She laughed softly, more breath than sound, as she sipped from the glass of red wine he’d poured for her. It was the kind of laugh that lingered in the air, not quite joy, not quite ease—but something gentler. A surrender to the quiet.

She was still on the sofa, legs draped across his lap, her toes painted a chipped burgundy that matched the glass in her hand. Daniel’s hands moved slowly over her feet, thumbs pressing into the arch with practiced care. He’d offered the massage with a teasing smile, and she’d accepted without hesitation. They were… intimate enough now for that.

It was a kind of closeness she hadn’t known she’d missed until it settled in around them like a warm blanket. Nothing urgent. Nothing performative.

“You’re good at that,” she said to him.

He looked up at her with a crooked smile. “Yeah, well. I’ve been told I give good hands.”

She raised a brow, lips curving around the rim of her glass. “That so?”

He shrugged, mock-casual. “Can’t reveal all my talents in one night.”

She watched him, that easy smile of his. The way he settled and made her groan at the foot massage. Hands rough in the right places and soft in the others.

“Samantha used to wear these god-awful heels all the time,” he said, casually. “Every night she came home with aching feet. So, I got used to helping her unwind.”

He poured a little more lotion into his hands, rubbing them together before cupping her arch again. The warmth of his skin spread through her like a balm.

Daniel was always warm. Not just his hands—him. Steady. Reliable. Present.

“You talked to her?” Marissa asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

His brow twitched, not expecting the question. “Yeah. Every day,” he said simply. “Need to check up on Noah.”

“She knows about us?” Her voice was quieter.

He hesitated. “She knows about the first night. She wasn’t happy.”

“Wasn’t happy you slept with the wife of the woman she cheated with?” Marissa asked dryly. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Mhmm,” he responded hands between her toes. “Said I was using the break as an excuse to be with other women.”

Marissa scoffed, but she didn’t want to say anything. Not her true feelings on the subject.

“Still in love with her?”

“I love her,” he responded quickly without hesitation. “Not sure it’s the same as being in love you know? She’s the mother of my son, and I’m not the type to let that fade.”

She nodded letting the words carry a moment. “You’re a good dad, you know.”

He paused, let her foot rest against his thigh, and reached for his wine glass. “I could be better,” he said, the words carrying a heaviness he didn’t try to hide.

“You could be worse,” she replied, voice quieter now. “A lot worse.”

He gave a small, bitter laugh, eyes focused on the wine. “Five years old’s too young to watch your parents fall apart.”

Marissa looked at him for a long moment. “Yeah,” she said. “Any age is.”

“Your folks still together?”

“Dad passed a couple years back, before I married Olivia.”

“Shit, sorry I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine, the pain still there, but it’s gotten better.” She sipped her wine and kept her feet at his lap. “Yours?”

“California,” he responded. “Feel bad I left them, but Sam wanted to move out here.”

His hands returned to her feet, she sighed contently at that.

“You don’t have to keep doing that.”

“I don’t mind. You need someone to watch over you.”

She didn’t say anything nay that. It almost felt too much like pity, but Daniel wouldn’t pity her like that.

“You talk about it a lot you know.”

He glanced up, fingers still gently circling the arch of her foot. “About what?”

“California.”

A pause. Then: “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“You miss it?” she asked.

Often times, yeah.” He leaned back a moment. “Not the smog or traffic, you know? Not even the beaches. Though I do miss those early mornings—fog hanging over the hills, streets still quiet, everything just barely waking up.”

Marissa had pulled her feet back, folding them beneath her on the couch, but she watched him with interest now. The way he leaned back, wine glass loose in hand, eyes far away.

“I miss the people. My people. Neighbors who knew your name. My mom yelling at me in Spanish from the porch. Sunday carne asada, cold beer, bad karaoke. Family dinners that started at two and didn’t end until midnight.”

He glanced at her with a tired smile. “There’s something about home that you don’t realize you’re losing until you’ve already left.”

She nodded slowly, setting her wine glass down. “I get that,” she said. “It’s like that with me.”

“Thought you’re a native New Yorker?”

“I mean I am,” Marissa said. “Grew up in Bed-Stuy. But it’s different. I moved out to the Upper West Side with Olivia. I used to walk out and see people at the barbershop, used to see my auntie watching kids—not for money but because that’s what she did. Grew up going to block parties and cookouts with uncles who’d tell stories about how the neighborhood changed since the 80s.”

“It’s weird isn’t it?” He waited a moment trying to find the best work. “Being here, away from who you knew.”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She felt it too—that strange ache of displacement. Of living somewhere that didn’t know your history. Where no one remembered your mom’s laugh, or the way the corner store smelled in summer, or what it felt like to grow up with less.

She nodded. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Away from people who saw you struggle. Who knew what you were before you became whatever this is.”

Maybe that’s why she and Daniel got along so easily. They didn’t know everything about each other—but they knew enough. Enough to recognize the weight the other carried.

She was quiet for a beat. “You ever think about going back?”

“All the time.” He gave a small laugh, rubbed his palms together as if trying to shake the memory from them. “But Noah’s here. And I can’t leave him behind.”

“I think I’m gonna sell the apartment.”

Daniel blinked. “Giving up a rent-controlled place on the Upper West Side?” He leaned back dramatically. “Isn’t that, like, a sin in this city?”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, well. Feels like there’s too many ghosts in that place.”

Daniel watched her for a moment. “Olivia?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

“You sure?” he asked, voice gentler now.

She shrugged, eyes focused somewhere past him. “Can’t really afford it anymore anyway.”

Daniel nodded, but said nothing. What could he say? It felt wrong to mention the loft he had. spacious, quiet, more than he needed. And here she was, trying to let go of a place that still held her memories, even if they were painful ones.

She was too good to be struggling.

She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You’re exhausted,” he said, reaching instinctively for the throw blanket on the back of the couch.

“Shh.” She pointed at the TV. “Casablanca’s starting. You don’t talk during Casablanca.”

That was that. She was staying. She’d decided without saying it, and he wasn’t going to argue. She curled into the crook of his arm like it was second nature. Her legs tucked under her, head resting against his chest.

Marissa had grown up surrounded by people. Five siblings, two brothers and three sisters. A full house. Voices in every room. There hadn’t been much space between them in age or in volume.

Silence didn’t come naturally to her. Sleeping alone didn’t either.

Daniel didn’t move. Just let her settle. One hand found her hair, stroking it gently, not possessive or expectant—just present.

“You know,” he murmured, after a beat, “if you need a place to crash while you’re figuring things out… there’s a guest room. Just saying.”

She didn’t even lift her head. Just reached over and tapped his thigh.

“No talking during Casablanca.”

He chuckled softly, more to himself than her. And then he fell quiet too.