The week after Lucas stayed over was quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that made me nervous like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Alexander had gone underground with no texts or calls or mysterious appearances at investor meetings, Victoria had stopped sending me passive aggressive emails, and even my grandmother had not called, which was probably because she forgot I existed again.
Lucas said I should enjoy the peace, Sophie said I was being paranoid, and Kevin said nothing, which was his way of agreeing with both of us.
Then my phone rang on Wednesday morning. The number was unknown, and I almost didn't answer, but something made me pick it up.
"Hello?"
"Vivian? It's your uncle. Matthew."
My uncle, my father's brother, the one who had disappeared after my father died, the one who could not handle the cold and scary version of me. I didn't remember him, of course, but my chest ached anyway.
"Uncle Matthew," I said. "You're alive."
"Barely. I'm in the city. Your grandmother told me about your accident. I wanted to see you."
"She told you?"
"She remembers you today. Yesterday she thought I was the mailman."
I laughed because that sounded exactly like my grandmother. "That sounds like Grandma."
"Can I come over? I'm at the hotel. I can be there in an hour."
I looked at Lucas, who was standing by the window pretending not to listen. His ears were pink.
"Sure," I said. "I'll text you the address."
---
An hour later, a man stood in my doorway, older than I expected with gray hair and kind eyes and a face that looked like my father's face, if my father had lived long enough to get wrinkles. He was wearing a sweater that had seen better days and shoes that looked comfortable but not expensive, and he seemed nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Vivian," he said. "You look different."
"I am different."
"The banana socks?"
I looked down. I was wearing them, of course I was wearing them, the bright yellow socks with little bananas that Sophie had given me.
"The banana socks are new," I said.
"They are... something."
"That's what everyone says."
He laughed, a nervous laugh, the laugh of someone who did not know how to act around a niece he had not seen in years.
"Come in," I said. "Lucas is making coffee."
---
Lucas was in the kitchen, and he had made three cups, one black for him, one with cream for me, and one with milk and sugar for Uncle Matthew. He had guessed, because he was good at guessing, and when Uncle Matthew shook his hand, Lucas's grip was firm and steady.
"You must be Lucas," Uncle Matthew said. "Vivian's grandmother told me about you."
"Good things, I hope."
"She said you're the reason Vivian is still alive."
Lucas's ears turned pink. "I just make coffee."
"You do more than make coffee."
Uncle Matthew sat on the couch, I sat across from him, and Lucas stood by the window, close enough to hear but far enough to give us space.
"Why are you here, Uncle Matthew?" I asked.
He looked at his hands, wrinkled and shaking slightly. "Because I should have been here before. After your father died, after Alexander left, after everything. I should have been here, but I wasn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I was scared. Of you. Of the person you became. Cold, hard, impossible to reach."
"The old me."
"The old you. Yes." He looked at me. "But you're not her anymore."
"I'm trying not to be."
"You're succeeding."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I drank my coffee. Lucas had made it perfectly, as always.
---
Uncle Matthew stayed for two hours, and we talked about my father and the old days and the company and the future. He asked about Sophie and Kevin and Maggie, and he asked about the ficus.
"The plant has two leaves," I said.
"The plant is thriving," Lucas said from the window.
Uncle Matthew looked at Lucas, then at me, then back at Lucas. "You two are close," he said.
"We're something," I said. "Something new. Something I don't have a name for yet."
"That's how it starts."
"How what starts?"
"Love."
Lucas's ears turned red, bright red, and I pretended not to notice.
---
Before he left, Uncle Matthew hugged me, awkward and stiff, the hug of someone who had forgotten how to hug.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For not being here. For not being the uncle you needed."
"You're here now."
"I'm here now."
"That's what matters."
He pulled back, and his eyes were wet. "Your father would be proud of you," he said.
"I hope so."
"I know so."
He left, and the door closed behind him.
---
Lucas walked to me and stood close, not touching but close.
"That went well," he said.
"He cried."
"You didn't."
"I'm saving my tears for later."
"For what?"
"For when you finally tell me you love me."
His ears turned fire engine red, and he opened his mouth but nothing came out.
"Lucas," I said.
"Yes?"
"You have amnesia."
"You keep saying that."
"Because you keep forgetting."
"I'm not forgetting anything right now. Right now, I'm standing in my living room, wearing banana socks, drinking your coffee, and telling you that I know how you feel. Even if you haven't said it yet."
He stared at me, his ears very red.
"You're impossible," he said.
"You say that a lot."
"Because it keeps being true."
He walked to the kitchen, and I followed. His ears were still red.
I smiled.