“See you in New York!” Liam called out happily, as Xavier left. He was excited about his show. He never mentioned Sasha even once.

Sasha and her children had Thanksgiving at the apartment. She and Xavier went to a movie afterward, while Tatianna went out with friends. It was their third Thanksgiving without Arthur, and the least painful one so far. For the rest of the weekend, Sasha was busy with Liam's show.

The work, as they uncrated it, was absolutely wonderful. Sasha stood back and looked at it, and was proud of him. He had done a fantastic job preparing for the show. It all arrived in perfect condition, and she propped it up against the walls around the gallery, as she decided where to hang it. She was still there late on Sunday night, trying to decide which of two spectacular pieces she wanted to hang in the front, so people saw it the moment they entered. She didn't even hear him come in. The door to the gallery was unlocked. Xavier had come by briefly, and Sasha had forgotten to lock it behind him. She was too busy hanging Liam's paintings. She was staring at the two largest paintings, and heard a familiar voice behind her that made her heart pound. It was Liam, fresh off the plane, in a black turtleneck sweater and jeans, the familiar baseball cap, motorcycle boots, and battered black leather jacket. His long blond ponytail hung straight down his back. He looked more than ever like James Dean. And no longer hers. She told herself that as she turned to speak to him in a deceptively calm voice, and met his eyes squarely. It didn't show to him, but it cost her a lot to do so.

“You did a great job,” she said softly. She was his art dealer now, she reminded herself silently, and nothing else. Their eyes held as they stood watching each other from the distance. He didn't approach to kiss her on the cheek. He stood across the gallery and looked at her, and she looked at him. Times had changed. He looked serious and sad and tired, but as beautiful as ever. “You've done an incredible amount of work.” It was impressive.

“I've been busy,” he said quietly.

“I suspected you would be,” she said, and then hated herself for the comment. What he did with his spare time now was no longer any of her business. She seemed flustered when she spoke to him again. “Which one do you like best for the front? I've been standing here for an hour, trying to decide.”

“That one,” he said, pointing to the larger, brighter of the two, without hesitating. “Don't you think?” He still valued her opinion about his work. Her eye was infallible, and he had the greatest respect for what she did and how well she did it.

“Yes, I do. You're right. I've been standing here like a fool, stumped. But you're right.” She carried the painting to where she wanted to hang it, and he stepped forward to help her. The painting was too big for her to carry alone, but she didn't mind. She often worked late at night, hanging paintings on her own, battling with the painting, the ladder, her tape measure, a level, nails, and her hammer. He smiled as she banged the nail into the wall, and then grabbed the painting, as he lifted it up for her. She was as stubborn and determined as ever. Nothing had changed. He was still smiling when she got down to admire her work. “Wow! That looks perfect!”

He nodded, looking at it with the critical eye of the artist, but he was pleased too. “Yes, it does.” He looked around then and was delighted with the way she had curated the show. He had known he would be. As she stood there, looking at him, she was acutely aware that she hadn't seen him in four months and a few days. She tried not to think of it as she walked past him to put her tools away. Just feeling his presence in the same room with her was hard. She still felt the same electric current she always had, but she had to ignore it now, for both their sakes. He seemed to feel nothing at all for her, which was depressing, but she told herself it was probably better this way. This was the only way it could be.

She turned off the lights in the gallery, after he had seen all his work and how she'd hung it, and when they walked outside, she was amazed to see that it was snowing. She had been in the gallery all day and evening, working on his show.

“Where are you staying?” she asked casually, as she set the alarm and locked the door. He followed her out, noticing how tired she looked and how thin she was. Looking at him, and knowing the age of the women he probably went out with, she felt a hundred years old. He thought she looked beautiful, but drawn, and hoped she wasn't sick.

“I'm staying with friends in Tribeca.” He was intentionally vague. He didn't want to get too personal with her. “I'm going to see my kids in Vermont next week, after the show. Beth is getting married on New Year's Eve.” He didn't know why he told her that, but it was nice seeing her again. Nice but weird, for both of them. It was so odd to have loved someone, as they had, and now not even be friends. Just an artist and a dealer. After this show, she had no idea when she'd see him again.

“How are the kids?” she asked, as they both waited for cabs to come by. The snow was sticking to the ground, there were already several inches piled up, and there were no taxis at all. And then finally there was one.

“The kids are fine,” he answered her, and was going to let her have the cab. They were going in opposite directions, and couldn't drop each other off. Sasha didn't want to take a cab with him anyway. Being that close to him would be too hard. But then she realized that it might be another hour before he found another cab. They had waited nearly twenty minutes for this one.

“Do you want to drop me off, and then go on? You could be standing here for hours,” she offered generously. The snow was falling harder and sticking more. If it hadn't been so cold and wet, it would have been pretty to watch. He hesitated and then nodded. What she had suggested made sense to him. So they both got in.

She gave the driver the address, and they both fell silent.

“I hope we don't have a blizzard, it'll be a mess for people coming to the show,” Sasha mused, as she looked out of the cab.

“I like New York like this,” he said, smiling, as he looked at the snow swirling around them. He looked more than ever like a kid, which wasn't unusual for him. “How was Thanksgiving?” he asked politely.

“It was okay. Holidays aren't what they used to be. But it was better than last year and the year before,” she said, referring to Arthur. It had been a lot worse in other ways because of him. And by then, they were at her building, the doorman opened her door, and she got out and thanked Liam for the ride. “See you tomorrow. You'll be a star after this,” she said, smiling at him. And then added, “You already are. Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sasha.” He was grateful to her, even though things hadn't worked out for them.

The cab drove away, and as it did, Sasha bumped into Tatianna, who was coming by to borrow a dress Sasha had promised to lend her for a party that week. Sasha saw her glance into the cab and recognize who it was. On the way up in the elevator, she said nothing, but as soon as she walked into the apartment with her mother, Tatianna looked annoyed.

“Who was that?” Tatianna asked with a nasty tone in her voice, that immediately set Sasha's teeth on edge. She made a point not to react or take the bait Tatianna threw out to her. They hadn't discussed him since July, five months before.

“You know who it was,” she said calmly. “His show is tomorrow.”

“Are you back with him?” Tatianna looked at her mother critically, as though she would be a loser in her daughter's eyes if she was, which annoyed Sasha further. Tatianna had done enough damage. She wasn't going to allow her to do more.

“No, I'm not.” But she wished she were. It was too late for that.

“He probably goes out with girls half your age,” Tatianna said meanly, and Sasha snapped.

“That's enough,” her mother said firmly, in a tone that startled Tatianna. “What he does is none of your business or mine.”

“You're still in love with him, aren't you?” Tatianna accused her, and Sasha faced her square on.

“Yes, I am.”

“That's pathetic.”

“The only thing that's pathetic is that you're mean-spirited enough to say what you just did, carry on this vendetta, and try to dignify it in your father's name. This has nothing to do with him, or you, or even me at this point. Liam is a decent man, Tatianna. It didn't work out between us, and I'm sorry as hell about it. But if you want to rub salt in my wounds, you can leave right now. My life is hard enough, and lonely enough, and miserable enough as it is, without having you make it any worse.” There were tears in Sasha's eyes as Tatianna looked at her, stunned by the power of her mother's reaction. Xavier had told her their mother was in love with him, but Tatianna hadn't wanted to believe him. She thought it was just sex. Now she saw it was much more than that and she hadn't expected Sasha to let her have it with both barrels.

“I'm sorry, Mother,” she said quietly. “I didn't realize you cared about him that much.” She suddenly understood what she had done and what it had cost her mother. She felt guilty for the first time.

“I do care that much, not that it does me any good at this point,” Sasha said honestly, and wiped her eyes as she took off her coat. For the first time since that fateful night in the Hamptons, Tatianna felt truly sorry for her. She never thought about how lonely her mother was.

All she thought about was how much she missed her father, not how alone or unhappy her mother was.

“I just wanted you to be with someone more like Dad,” Tatianna said softly, feeling bad about her comments now, and then she admitted the truth for the first time as tears flooded her eyes. “That's not true.” She corrected herself, “I didn't want you to be with anyone, only Dad.”