The Last Monroe

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

The mac and cheese sits steaming in a bowl when she settles onto the kitchen counter.

With her phone beside her. She made a decision to call Portland home but starting from her boss, her boss answers on the second ring.

"Elara. How are you holding up?"

"I need to extend my leave."

"How long?"

"I'm not sure yet. At least two weeks. Possibly longer." She stacks the macs into her fork. "I'd like to work remotely from Boston if that's possible." The mac was definitely delicious, just the taste she had imagined,

Her boss replied,

"Of course it's possible." A pause. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. The situation here is just more complicated than I thought."

They talk through clients. Through deliverables. Through the fact that she doesn't need to worry about any of it, that the team can handle everything, she should take whatever time she needs.

By the end of it, she feels lighter.

After the call, she texts Noah: Mom was way richer than we thought.

His response arrives before she finishes eating: CALL ME.

She dials his number.

He picks up on the second ring.

"Give me the tea," he says immediately.

She tells him. The properties. The businesses. The staff. The textile company alone. Damian. The way everything feels suddenly too large.

"Okay, but like," Noah interrupts. "Is the lawyer hot? Because in all of this, you still need to get laid."

"Can you be serious for a second?"

"I'm being completely serious. Grief and getting laid work hand in hand. It's science."

She laughs despite herself. Actually laughs. The sound catches her off-guard.

"You're insane."

"You love it."

They move past the jokes. He asks about her days. She asks about his. He tells her to explore. To go out. To sit in cafés and watch people and remind herself that living doesn't require permission.

"Take pictures," he says. "Make this a holiday too. You still need to have time to yourself too. I’ve been telling you to take some time off for ages. This is the time, my love."

Noah made her promise to take this time off and go out before they ended that call. He didn’t back down for nothing.

The next three days happen with remembrance of her promise to Noah. She goes to a grocery store in Beacon Hill and buys things that feel like hers—good olive oil, specific tea, fresh flowers. She doom-scrolled for a long time, she had such a routine in Portland, she barely had time to catch up on i********:, t****k, she just gets the gist about it all at work most times, but still, every time she's in public, she feels the weight of attention that might or might not be real. At the park, she looks around. Nobody watches her. At the café on Charles Street, she glances at the other tables. Everyone looks absorbed in their own lives.

By Wednesday, she stopped looking. She finds the restaurant on i********:—Ember & Ash, tucked into a corner of the city she hasn't reached yet. The photos show warm wood, soft lighting, a kind of careful elegance that doesn't announce itself. The decor does something to her. Nostalgia, maybe. Or recognition of something she can't quite name.

Michael drives her there without asking why.

"You'll like this place," he says, which suggests he already knew she would.

The moment she opens the door, the space hits differently in person. The light falls exactly where it should. The wood has aged properly. Someone spent real time thinking about what was happening inside these walls.

She's still looking up, still absorbed, when she walks directly into someone.

Serena laughed before Elara could apologize.

"I'm sorry," Serena says, steadying Elara's arm. "I'm always running around here like I own the place."

"You own the place," comes the response before Elara fully processes it.

Serena laughs again. "It took me two years to finish this decor. So, when someone walks in and just stops—" She gestures at Elara's expression. "That. That's why I did it."

"It's incredible."

"I'm Serena."

"Elara."

The handshake is warm. When Serena suggests lunch for her, Elara hears herself say yes before thinking it through.

They sat in a corner booth. A monstera plant sprawls across the wall beside them, its leaves catching the light. Serena orders wine—just one glass each—and they toast to old and new in town. The conversation moves easily. Serena asks where she's from. How long she's staying. What brought her back? Elara answers by telling Serena about Portland, about client work, about the unexpected inheritance that's still settling in her bones. She laughs and says,

“Sorry, that’s my first time saying it out loud honestly, sorry it might sound like a lot,”

"You're going to love it here. The city takes care of its own."

They laugh at other customers. A man in the corner who keeps checking his phone. A woman reading something that's clearly infuriating her. It was a fast-paced girl’s girl bond.

Elara glances at the monstera beside them, its leaves glossy and deliberate.

"Cassian picked the plant at my mom's house," she says.

Serena looks at her.

"Who's Cassian?"

"My older brother."

By the time they finish eating, Elara feels something she hasn't felt since arriving in Boston.

Ease.

"I really mean this," Serena says, pulling out her phone. "I'd like us to be friends. If you don't mind."

Elara doesn't hesitate. "I'd like that."

They exchange numbers. Then they exchange them again because Serena insists on actually calling Elara's phone so she has it in her contacts. The call comes through. When Elara answers, Serena is already grinning.

"Good. Now I have you."

Walking toward the door, Serena's hand briefly touches her back.

"The city is safe," Serena says at the threshold. "You don't need to worry about that. And if you ever need anything—restaurant recommendations, someone to sit with, whatever—call me."

"I will."

Serena's smile reaches her eyes. "I mean it."

Inside the car, Elara's phone buzzes. A message from Serena: Already missing you. Free Saturday?

Michael glances back through the mirror.

"Good lunch?"

"I made a friend."

He nods,

"She seemed nice. The Vale girl?"

Elara looks up.

"You know her?"

"Small city. I know most people." He pulls into traffic. "Serena's one of the good ones."

Elara texts back: Saturday works.

Her phone buzzes again. Serena: Great. I'll take you somewhere special.

She smiles. Types back: Can't wait.