The night was dark, the street deserted, and the only sound was the faint roar of a motorcycle somewhere in the distance. Lance walked slowly toward home.
Calling it home still felt strange, since it wasn't even really his. But now that, after such a long wait, Irina herself had finally placed the key into his hand, he felt he had the right to think of the place of this unusual mother and son as something close to his own.
A smile played on Lance's lips, widening as he recalled the events of the day. He was genuinely happy for the boy. Hardworking—that much was clear from the way he carried himself. And now he was finally receiving the reward for all that effort.
In many ways, Vasil reminded Lance of his own youth. Maybe that was why seeing the boy succeed had brightened his day so much.
Vasil's dreams were coming true far sooner than Lance's ever had, and Lance was glad that at least one of them didn't have to take the harder path. He himself still had bigger dreams and goals: owning a chain of restaurants, getting married, and raising three children—one son, two daughters.
Above all, he had sworn never to look back, especially not to the house he had left behind so many years ago.
The irony of the universe was that the family he had now wasn't so different from the one he had left—except for that his position within this new family, and with the eyes of an adult, he could finally see how much better things could have been.
He glanced at the glowing lights of his home and thought to himself that sometimes life takes strange turns toward something better.
---
Even before opening the door, Lance could already hear the sounds. So Irina had finally given Vasil his gift. He remembered the moment, a few days ago, when Irina had excitedly pulled the black case out from under their bed and shown it to him.
Turning the key slowly so as not to make a sound, he entered the house. Leaning against the kitchen doorway, he listened to Vasil play. The boy, his back to him, was lost in the music and hadn't noticed his presence. But Irina, sitting across from her son, looked up and welcomed Lance with a smile.
When Vasil finally stopped playing, Lance said, "That was really wonderful."
Vasil turned around, the excitement still glowing in his smile. "Lance! I didn't even notice you come in!"
"I just got here," Lance replied with a grin. "I was enjoying the performance."
Vasil's smile grew wider. Irina straightened in her chair. "You're late," she said.
"Sorry, Rina, work kept me longer than I expected," Lance answered.
Vasil shot his mother a questioning look. "Rina?"
Irina's cheeks flushed, but before she could respond, Lance said with a little embarrassment, "It's a nickname I gave her."
Vasil paused. "It's nice… but—"
Irina jumped in quickly, raising her voice. "You must be tired! Why don't you let us handle the cooking?"
Lance tossed his shoulder bag down by the kitchen doorway. "I'm not that tired, and honestly, I'd really like to try out this new recipe."
Rolling up his sleeves, he turned to Vasil. "Will you help me?"
"Of course!" Vasil replied happily.
---
Vasil was exhausted, confused, and now starving. That was why he stopped at the first restaurant he saw.
He parked his motorcycle in the large lot and pulled off his helmet to take a better look. The place was big and stylish—he guessed that at normal hours, you'd have to wait half an hour just to get a table. But at two in the morning, it was completely empty, like a ghost town.
Hanging his helmet on the handlebar and shoving his keys into his pocket, Vasil walked toward the restaurant. After hours of riding, his legs were stiff, and given the speed he'd been driving, he wasn't even sure if this town was still in his own state.
Wherever he was, he was glad to find somewhere still open.
He stepped inside and sat at one of the shiny tall stools at the counter.
"We're closing up, sir," the tired young waiter called over.
"I'll take whatever's left," Vasil said.
"Sorry, but we're out of everything."
Vasil sighed inwardly. He hadn't seen a single open place along the road, and now he'd have to drive for hours more to get back to the studio. Speed wouldn't help; he'd already come as fast as he could.
He got up without a word—only to hear a familiar voice behind the counter.
"Vasil?"
He turned and saw him: the same familiar face, now with a few strands of gray at the temples.
"Lance," he said in surprise. "I didn't know this place was yours!"
Lance approached the counter with obvious joy. "One of the new branches! Expanding my territory. I came today to check on things. What a surprise to see you here—two states away! Are you here for work?"
"Not really," Vasil said once Lance paused long enough for him to speak. "I was just wandering. But I should probably get going."
Lance slapped the counter. "No way I'm letting you walk out of my restaurant hungry!"
"But the place is practically closed—"
"Not anymore."
Turning to the waiter, who looked both tired and hopeless, Lance said, "You can head out, Albert. I'll finish up here."
The boy bolted before his boss could change his mind.
Lance opened the small door by the counter and waved Vasil inside. "Come on in! We can talk while I cook."
---
Vasil followed him into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the space. "Nice restaurant. Congratulations on opening it!"
"Thanks," Lance replied, glancing back at him. "So, what would you like?"
"Honestly, anything's fine," Vasil said with a shrug.
"Come on, there must be something you'd really craving."
Vasil dropped onto one of the black swivel stools. "Nothing comes to mind. Surprise me."
Lance stroked his chin thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers as if an idea had struck. He headed for the fridge.
"Anyway, how's life?" he asked while pulling things out.
Vasil leaned back against a cabinet with a small smile. "The same as always."
"That's what you call the same as always?" Lance laughed, setting a pan on the stove and turning on the flame. "These days I see you more than anyone else in my life—on magazines, shows. You know that, right?"
Vasil sighed. "I've noticed."
"I'd bet soon agencies will be begging you to model," Lance went on, pouring oil into the pan. "Billboards, ads, perfumes—you'll be everywhere!"
Vasil chuckled. "Please don't bet on it. I've already turned all of those down. I'm a composer, not a model."
"Shame," Lance said with mock disappointment. Then he shot him a wink. "By the way, I like the new hairstyle."
Vasil ran a hand through his long hair. "It's not even new."
"I know," Lance admitted, his smile dimming. "But I haven't seen you in years."
"Yeah," Vasil said after a pause. "It's been a long time."
"How's Rina?"
Vasil didn't know how to answer. He felt like he knew just as much as him. "She's fine. Busy with work."
Lance, focused on adding unseen spices to the pan, had his back turned, hiding whatever expression he wore. "Is she happy?" he asked.
"I think so," Vasil replied honestly.
Lance gave only a small nod and kept cooking.
To break the silence, Vasil asked, "And you? What have you been up to? I heard you started a family."
Lance turned to him with a wide grin, as if the previous minute of conversation had never happened. "That's right! Six years married now."
"Any kids?"
"Three. Two girls and a boy," Lance said proudly, pulling his phone from his pocket. He showed Vasil the wallpaper. "This little one's Holly—she's three. That's Neela, she's five and unbelievably smart. She'll grow up to be a doctor, lawyer, or scientist, I'm sure. Holly wants to be a ballerina. And this is my wife, Miranda. If you knew her, you'd love her."
He clapped Vasil on the shoulder. "And they're all fans of yours! Holly even had a ballet performance in preschool to one of your violin pieces. Too bad when I tell them I know you, they think I'm making it up."
"That's a pretty great feeling, having cute fans like that," Vasil laughed. Then he lifted his gaze. "And your son?"
Lance stared at him—long enough for the silence to carry meaning.
When Vasil realized what he meant, he lowered his eyes. Without another word, Lance turned back to the pan, switched off the stove, and plated the food. A golden chicken fillet with a glowing orange sauce, garnished with vegetables and herbs.
"I heard about your father," Lance said quietly, setting the plate in front of him. "It must have been hard. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Vasil said, forcing a reassuring smile. "If I'd acted sooner, maybe things would have been different, but it's too late now."
Lance gave him a look.
"I mean it," Vasil said. "Besides, I never saw him as my father. The closest thing I had to a dad was you."
Lance smiled at that, though his eyes stayed troubled. "I hope nothing like that ever happens to you again."
"It won't," Vasil answered firmly.
He dropped his gaze to the plate. He was starving, and didn't wait another second before digging in.
Lance watched with a smile as Vasil devoured the food.
"I'm glad you liked it," he said when the boy finally set his fork down.
"It was incredible," Vasil replied gratefully. "Thank you."
"Told you—I'm not letting my son leave hungry."
Vasil looked at him, smiling. "You know, I'd really like your address. At least I could send Christmas gifts for my little sisters."
"Or maybe come visit sometime," Lance suggested hopefully. "Miranda would love to meet you too."
"I don't think that's going to happen," Vasil said honestly.
"I know," Lance answered with a bittersweet smile.
Vasil tried to reassure him with a look as he stood up. When he reached for his plate, Lance said, "Leave it. The morning shift will handle it."
Vasil apologized silently to the morning staff and let it be. Lance grabbed a small thermos from the counter and handed it to him. "Take this. You've got a long way to go, and it's freezing out—even if you had a car."
"I've got a motorcycle," Vasil corrected.
"Even worse," Lance replied.
Vasil laughed and took the flask.
"Let's hope we run into each other like this again," Lance said.
"So do I," Vasil agreed—though deep down, he knew he would never set foot in a restaurant with the same name as this one again. Maybe he'd order takeout, but that was it.
They shook hands.
"I wish I could say I'll see you again," Vasil said.
"We both know which side you'll take," Lance said.
Vasil stayed silent.
"The right one," Lance added, smiling.
Vasil gave him one last smile, then walked out of the kitchen, through the darkened dining room, and to the exit. He opened the door and looked back one last time. Lance was still there behind the counter, smiling at him.
Stepping out into the biting cold of four a.m., Vasil zipped up his jacket and shivered. He was glad he had accepted the soup. Like Lance had said—the road ahead was long, and autumn had already arrived.