Maya follows Mihai, kicking her shoes off just inside the doorway out of habit. The ultra modern whiteness of the rooms feels almost clinical, but she hardly notices. In spite of everything they need to talk about, neither of them says a word. There will be time. She sits next to him on the large sofa that faces the Manhattan night skyline, shoulder to shoulder, close but not touching.
He looks so tired. Maya gets up and quietly turns the wall switch, returning to sit in darkness next to him. Without taking her eyes off the sparkling city lights she simply offers her hand, resting her upturned palm on the sofa. He’s right, she thinks. Mayita saved herself. She’d somehow found her way. Maybe one day Mihai would find his.
In those few hours before the sun rises over the buildings, while Adela invisibly waltzes satisfied circles above them quieting what spirits she can, the small space where the lonely little Mexican girl and the sad tall boy from across the world sit together feels almost like home.