He thought he had been wondering the city aimlessly, but apparently his feet knew where they were headed the entire time. Somehow, in his anguish, he had wound up standing in front of his old house. The home he had shared with Allison.

The neighborhood had changed. The corner market had new owners, and the video rental store was gone, replaced by a cafe. But the houses on the block all looked the same, except for some coats of paint. In the dim light of early morning, his old house looked almost exactly how he remembered it. Light green with darker trim and a royal blue door with white-painted panels. A flower bed along the front window added splashes of crimson and marigold. The new owners must have kept the colors and maintained the window garden. He assumed there were new owners. Allison was in her late seventies now, and while many people remained healthy and active until much later than that, he just couldn't imagine her still living in this same house decades later.

But if she wasn't here, where was she? In an apartment? With a new partner? The end to their relationship had been a clean break, with communication completely severed. Radio silence was helped along because he had also stopped pretending to be a lesbian which lost him all their mutual friends. So he hadn't been able to keep tabs on her over the years. As soon as they broke off their relationship, he'd moved across town and faded into the night.

That was one thing he loved about Shirley. Yes, he dared to admit it, even after so little time: loved. How affirming she was of his masculinity. Of his maleness. It wasn't something she was simply accommodating. She accepted it. Embraced it.

God, why did things have to become complicated?

He sat down on the front steps of his old house and put his head in his hands. Everything was going to shit.

Just as the first rays of sun reached into the sky, a runner came jogging up the hill, panting heavily in the cool morning air. Soon after, a man strolled down the hill, giving his dog a morning walk. A few cars drove by, too. Just as Alexander was feeling settled in himself, the front light switched on and the door behind him creaked open. "Can I help you?" came a voice from the crack in the doorway.

"Sorry, I was just leaving," Alexander said as he stood.

"Alex?"

He stopped, turned, and promptly forgot to breathe. He hadn't recognized her voice–it had thinned with age–but the woman standing in the doorframe was undeniably Allison. Her hair was short now, and completely white. And she wore glasses, which she hadn't before. But her face had hardly changed. Sure, she was older, with some more lines around her eyes and mouth, but she still stood with poise and radiated the same beauty.

"I didn't know you still lived here," he said apologetically, knowing that sounded stupid, but not able to muster up any other excuse for his presence.

"You haven't aged a minute in thirty years, have you?" she asked in awe.

He reflexively looked down at himself and held up his palms. "No, I guess I haven't."

"Come inside," she offered, stepping back and holding open the door.

He looked around, unsure of what to do at first. But why not catch up? For old time's sake? "Thank you," he responded, and stepped through the door and immediately felt transported to another era of his life.

Most of the furniture was different, but the setup was the same. New couch, same location. Similarly, the decor had been modernized, but not overhauled. A black-and-white photograph of a woman bathing in an old copper tub still hung in the hallway. In the living room, the bookshelf still featured the works of Gertrude Stein, Gloria Steinem, bell hooks. A curio cabinet displayed small sculptures and figurines that looked to be curated from womyn's festivals and street shows. A few personal photographs were also out and framed, including one of her mother, and another with her sister posing with a dog. Some other photos showed people he didn't know, or no longer recognized.

"You gave me half a fright, sitting on my stoop at such an hour." Allison followed him into the living room and picked up a mug of coffee from off the mantel.

"I'm really sorry. To be honest, I don't even know how I got here," he said as he continued to look around, running a finger across a shelf of books.

She squinted her eyes at him. "You don't remember how you got here? I didn't think you could get drunk. Did... Are you okay?"

"No, no, I'm fine, I just–" He looked over at her. How could he explain it without over sharing? "Allison, I know we haven't spoken in decades, but, can I ask you a question?"

She sat down on one end of the couch, took a sip of coffee before putting her mug down, and nodded her head. "Sure, shoot."

He took a seat at the other end of the couch and tried to formulate what he wanted to know into a simple question. After a deep breath, he asked, "Do you regret wasting your youth on me?"

"No." She said it without hesitation. "I don't have any regrets."

"That's... a relief," he admitted. "How about... Well, now that you are..."

"Old?" she offered, helpfully.

"Older," he agreed. "Do you wish you had gone the route Marco took?"

"Do you mean, do I wish I had let you turn me into a vampire?"

"Yes."

"Marco had been given a death sentence at twenty-seven. In his shoes, I don't know what I would have done. But, I know I wouldn't trade the life I've had for anything." She took another sip from her mug. "This is a rather deep conversation for so early in the morning."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to burst back into your life in such a manner. I can go." He made to stand.

"Don't be ridiculous." She waved a hand at him. "I'm just curious about the circumstances, that's all."

Alexander twisted his hands in his lap. And then, keeping his eyes trained on the floor, he gave her the condensed version of the story. How, for the first time since their breakup, he felt like he might be falling for someone. And they'd had a fight–their first fight–about what the future would hold.

"Sounds like a familiar argument," Allison mused.

"How can I have such a long past, but have no clue about what I want in the future?"

"Honestly, I think the reason is that you've had such a long past. Unlike the rest of us, you have infinite lives to live. Me? I can't afford to have regrets. This is my one life. It's all I have, so I can't waste it. The time I spent with you was beautiful. The time since has also been beautiful. There's a rhythm and flow, and there is also a destination: death." She made sure he was following along. "But you? You can hit the restart button anytime you like and start over, always twenty-two. Alex, they say youth is wasted on the young–something I never understood until I was old–but you, you get to be forever young."

Her words settled over him like drizzle, dampening his hair and slowly soaking in.

"I'm glad your life was beautiful, Allison," he said, finally meeting her gaze. "And I hope you know how much I loved you. Will always love you. Even centuries after you are gone, you will live on in my heart."

"Alex," she said softly, delicately. "Don't pine away for what we once had. Yes, there was a lot of love between us. But there was also tension and conflict. I–I do have one regret, and that's not accepting you more unconditionally." She looked away, blinking.

"I–" he started, but then stopped, his mouth still working, but no sound coming out.

"This woman who you fought with, what was it she wanted in her future?"

"Kids."

"Hmm." Allison nodded. "That's a tough one. Becoming a parent would tether you to the life-and-death cycle. You'd watch as your kids become older than you. But, on the plus side, you'd be a pro at taking the night shift when they were babies, and if they had kids of their own, you'd be guaranteed to be a young grandparent." She smiled.

"Maybe you're right," he replied with a laugh.

"Alex, all couples fight. At least all the good ones do."

"Allison, it was so good to see you. Maybe we could do it again sometime and you can tell me more about your life, too?"

"And, maybe not at the crack of dawn?"

As they said their farewells and Alexander walked out of the apartment and down the block, he felt lighter. His head felt clear. And he knew one thing for certain: he was going to make things right with Shirley.