CHAPTER ONE

Saturday morning – three days later

On a bright Saturday morning, thousands of miles away, in a luxury condo a block south of San Francisco’s MoMA, Carmen opened her eyes. A lush mane of the darkest brown hair covered her face. Yet she was in no rush to tidy the mess up. She had sold her furniture and slept on a straw mattress on the floor. It wasn’t half as bad as she’d expected. She gazed at her dead-empty room from an angle she had never taken before. Ground-level shot.

Carmen was, in many ways, remarkable. Five feet and six inches of good-looking woman. She had a smoky, unhurried kind of sensuousness. Her amber eyes were big and sultry, and her gaze as uninterested as it was intense. Her cheeks were rosy like ripe peaches, and her lips had driven more than a few men mad. People were quick to fall under the spell of that fascinating aura around her—strikingly attractive and frigidly indifferent.

Her slender fingers reached for a scrunchie by the mattress and tied her hair into a bun. She rolled out of bed, landing, ass first, on the same hardwood floor she’d been observing. She rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t one to hold on to material things easily, or to be attached to places for that matter, but the change was going to be radical.

When she left sunny Mexico for New England’s weather, she hadn’t expected it to be that tough on her. Winters were long, gloomy, and gray. Despite the best equipment, her feet and hands were always freezing. So, right after graduating from MIT, she moved to San Francisco for an internship at GAMMA. And she had lived there since.

It didn’t take much convincing from headquarters to get Carmen to accept the position of lead architect at their Mexican branch. She was ready to return to the country that had adopted her when she was only nine. It was time for her to make peace with her past. Forgive and forget. At least, that’s what her therapist had told her.

In the bathroom, a big towel was on the heater and a small one hung on the shower rod. Carmen turned the hot water on and undressed. With a quick foot kick, she tossed her socks, pajamas, and underwear into the black metallic trash bin by the sink and stepped under the shower.

Water dripped along her forehead to the sloppy bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

There was something deeply satisfying about putting all her life in a suitcase. She didn’t even need a second one. Her most precious belonging was around her neck and her credit cards and passport would end up in the pocket of her jacket.

After drying herself up, Carmen had the towels follow the same fate as the pajamas, right to the bottom of the bin. A pre-selected outfit was folded on top of her suitcase. For the flight, she had picked a pair of jeans and layered an off-white sweater over a shark gray tank top.

Right before leaving, she wrote a quick note to her landlord and left it on the kitchen counter. One last look at her apartment. She removed the set of keys from her keychain and placed it by the note. She threw her slippers into the kitchen trash, slipped on white sneakers she had laid by the entrance, and shut the door behind her.

Carmen rolled her suitcase down the red-carpeted hallway to the elevators. Inside, classical music played, punctuated by dings on each floor. The doorman greeted her, wishing her a good life. She almost guffawed. What an odd thing to say to a stranger. He always knew everything about everyone, as if some magical creature whispered in his ear. Maybe he’d felt the weight she carried on her shoulders. Have a good life. Who wants to have a bad life?

She had four hours before her flight, just enough time to have breakfast at a coffeehouse a block away. It was a sunny day in San Francisco. Like any other day of the year. As she strolled along the street, her nose picked up the familiar and disgusting olfactory cocktail of international cuisine mixed with cigarette smoke and splashes of pee.

Carmen had the café in sight. On the terrace, a tall blonde waved the hat she held in her hand in big, circular motions. Gabrielle, Carmen’s best and only friend, was dressed in seventies bootcut jeans, had a big, chunky belt at her waist, and wore a thin-sleeved knitted top in earthy colors. She was every bit of French, had healthy, wavy, shoulder-length golden hair, and exuded positivity with her uplifting smile.

Carmen threw a little hand movement to signal to Gabrielle that she had been seen and that she could now stop waving her arms like a wiggly wavy inflatable tube man.

The first time Carmen met Gabrielle was at MIT’s campus. Carmen was slouching on a bench, head back and eyes closed, enjoying a rare day in January when the sun was out. A woman sat next to her and greeted her. Carmen, eyes still closed, glided a little farther from the uninvited person. Then, the woman leaned back on the bench, mimicking Carmen’s posture, and started talking about the weather.

That day, Carmen was in no mood to socialize. No different from any other day of the year. How dare someone interrupt a rare moment of communion with the sun? She turned toward the blonde woman and asked, with exaggerated sarcasm, “Can I help you?”

The woman smiled and replied, “No. But you look like you could use a friend. I’m Gabrielle.”

Back then, Gabrielle was a Zen teacher, still in training to become a Zen Master. Carmen had never met anyone Zen before. If someone had asked her to describe a Zen person, she probably would’ve mentioned an old, wrinkled Asian man, silent, with long white hair.

Even now, when she looked at this blonde, buoyant, shamelessly joyful woman with perfect skin, waving her sunhat like a lunatic, she still found it hard to believe she was a Zen Master.

Gabrielle was eccentric, radiant, always smiling. A powerhouse wrapped in sunshine. And yet, if you looked closer—or caught her in a moment of stillness—you could feel it: the calm beneath the current. The clarity. Like sunlight hitting deep water.

Her presence was magnetic. Grounded. And somehow, she always knew exactly what to say.

As soon as Carmen arrived at the café terrace, Gabrielle jumped up and wrapped her in a warm embrace.

“I’m so glad you called me for breakfast,” Gabrielle said. “It would’ve been so sad to just drop you off at the airport.”

Carmen pulled a chair and sat at Gabrielle’s table. She parked her suitcase by her side. “Well, I’m glad you had nothing better to do.”

Gabrielle squeezed her best friend’s hand. “So, tell me, how are you feeling?”

Carmen sighed. “Somewhere in between this is a very bad idea, and this is a very, very bad idea.” She signed for the waitress that they were ready to order.

Gabrielle laughed. “Nothing you’re excited about?”

“The food. That’s probably the only thing I’m really excited about.”

“Not even Daniel?”

The waitress approached, pausing the conversation. Carmen ordered a cortado and a chocolate croissant, and Gabrielle ordered a cappuccino.

When the waitress was out of sight, Carmen threw an exasperated glare at Gabrielle. “For the millionth time, I had a crush on him years ago. He’s married. Topic closed. Aren’t you tired of bringing him up?”

“No. You’re so adorable each time I talk about him. The closest I’ve ever seen you to a normal gushing human being.” She laughed and put her sunglasses on, leaning back in the chair, facing the sun. “Anyway, I’m really proud of you for making this big move. I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Carmen rubbed her forehead and sighed. “What am I looking for, again?”

Gabrielle straightened up. She pulled off her sunglasses and placed her hands firmly on Carmen’s upper arms, grounding her with a steady gaze.

“The stories you’re telling yourself,” she said softly. “Forget them. Let go of the anger. Forgive—especially yourself. Not because it’s easy. It’s not. It’s actually the hardest. But it’s time.”

She held Carmen’s gaze, letting the silence stretch.

“Boo. You can only start where you are. Breathe. Pause. And then you’ll see. Every moment is a clean slate. An opportunity to realign. And all you have is this moment. Only this moment.”

She gave her a gentle shake. “Okay?”

Carmen remained silent, but her lips moved, reciting the incantation. Only this moment. Then she shook her head. “Do you think it’s too late to cancel? I mean, there’s no rush, right? I can go next year.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, it’s too late! No time to chicken out.”

Carmen sighed once more.

“Did you tell Ricky you’re leaving today?” Gabrielle asked.

“No. He probably must have heard, though.”

Gabrielle nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll smooth the angles.”

“Tell him it’s not him, it’s me.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Fear of commitment, and emotional detachment narratives. You know you have to outgrow that too.”

“I’m trying.” If only it were that simple. She was trained to protect herself. That meant not attaching to anything nor anyone. Not even the people closest to her. So much so that when it came to staying—really staying—her body pulled the emergency brake every single time.

Gabrielle sighed. “You’re doing great.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I’m a walking box of tissues, you heartbreaker!”

“I’ll miss you very much. I’d love for you to visit when I have my own place.”

“I’ll miss you too and yes, I’ll come visit as soon as I can.”

Carmen smiled. Who would have thought that the annoying fly that dared interrupt her sunbath session back in MIT would now be her dearest friend and the strongest pillar in her life? Yet, she wondered if Gabrielle knew that every goodbye still felt easier than a promise to stay.

* * *

Wednesday morning – present day

Mid-morning sunlight streamed through the glass façade of GAMMA Mexico’s tower. Wednesdays’ team meetings were customarily long and padded with random information. Most people found refuge on their phones or in the depths of their thoughts. Even in the abyss of their minds. But not that day. No. A peculiar new someone was far more interesting.

Miguel sat among a dozen team members at a sleek wooden table. He tapped the heels of his camel shoes while Robert, their boss, delivered the usual round of business news.

Miguel, who stood well over six feet tall, wore a white T-shirt and a distressed pair of jeans. He hadn’t trimmed his beard in a solid week, and his shoulder-length hair could’ve earned him a spot on a surfboard.

All eyes were on him as he ran his fingers through his wavy locks and stretched his neck left and right, to chase the boredom away. A few had already formed an opinion. Gossip traveled along the table like fire down a line of fuel.

Maybe it was the way his lips moved—always ready to burst into laughter. Or maybe it was how he slouched in the chair, legs stretched out and crossed—so far out they unabashedly reached the other side of the table.

Robert cleared his throat, aiming to regain the room’s attention. “Miguel, would you like to introduce yourself?”

“Sure!” Miguel pushed his chair back and stood up. His lips stretched even further into a wide grin. “I’m Miguel. It’s my first day and I’m looking forward to working with all of you!” He looked for Robert to give a curt nod. Then he sat back and pulled his chair forward with his bottom. A scratching sound ensued, as if he needed any more attention.

“Miguel will work with Juan, Tony, and Daniel on the new gaming simulation for the government,” Robert said, browsing the audience with his eyes. “Juan, please show him around and make sure he is all set to start.”

Juan peeked at Miguel’s immense tattoo spreading from his clavicle to his left wrist, at the end of which thick fingers twisted a cap-less pen. He glanced up, holding Miguel’s gaze a moment too long and was met with far more enthusiasm than the half smile he pulled off. He quickly looked away, blinking.

Juan’s round eyes, fair skin, and curly hair made him look to be just out of college. His eyes were slightly downturned at the corners, mostly round, decently interested but not curious. He had that accommodating attitude of one skimming through life, nurturing and polite to the tip of his fingers, sprinkling ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ like stardust.

“Alright. One last piece of news,” Robert said, “The Queen will be here next week!” Everyone’s gaze lifted. The chitter-chatter that had reigned for the most part of the meeting disappeared in a puff of smoke. The only background sound was the buzzing of a bug banging against the glass window.

Robert snickered. Rarely had he enjoyed full attention at these mid-week meetings. He added, “She is going to be transferred to GAMMA Mexico indefinitely! How exciting is that?”

A gasp cut through the back corner. Miguel turned his head, scanning the room. All he could read was utter apprehension.

“I know this news might make some of you nervous. But hey, I’m counting on you to suck it up and make things work.” Robert glanced at Miguel and looped his mouth into a smile. “Don’t pay too much attention to rumors!” He knocked twice on the table, pointed to Miguel, then left the room.

Loud shuffling ensued. Everyone picked up their notebooks and pens and frenetically headed toward the door.

Miguel glided his six feet and two inches of muscle mass from across the room. “Juan, right?”

“Yes, Sir,” Juan replied. “Nice to meet you.” He couldn’t help but glare at the imposing tattoo.

Miguel lifted the sleeve of his T-shirt. “It’s not the style of this company, is it?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s rather uncommon here, indeed.” Juan smiled politely and picked up the rest of his belongings. He exited the meeting room.

Keeping close pace behind him, so did Miguel. “So, who’s the Queen?” he asked as the two walked along the short corridor separating the meeting room from the office.

“The Queen is Carmen.” Juan sighed. “And based on what the boss said, you’ll meet her soon enough.”

Carmen. He picked up the pace. “People seemed nervous at her mention.”

Juan shuffled his laptop and notebook around. “Nervous is an understatement. She’s the most senior person on the team. Some say she is a genius; others think she is just a cold-hearted—,” he paused, rolling the words twice in his mouth, “Well, a very mean person.”

“How about you, Juan?”

“What do I think of Carmen?”

He nodded.

“I’ve never met her in person. But through the virtual interactions we had, I can tell she has high expectations of everyone and is very demanding. Daniel,” he nodded toward someone walking behind them, “told me she made Tony over there cry just by staring at him!”

Tony, the youngest of the team, twenty-four, was passively listening to the conversation until his ego went offended by Miguel’s loud laughter. He felt the urge to amend the story. “I didn’t cry. I barely teared up. The air was so dry, and I stared back for too long!”

“Yes, yes.” Juan nodded.

Daniel strolled up behind them and chimed in. “I’m Daniel, by the way.”

Most of the crowd looked a decade younger, but Daniel seemed closer to Miguel’s own age. Contrasting with Tony’s young charisma, Daniel had a deep, calming voice, husky and monotone. He offered a hand to shake. “Welcome to GAMMA. We’re glad to have you here.”

“Thanks, man.” Miguel returned an equally firm shake.

Daniel was attractive, but not intimidating. Just over six feet, he wore a pair of straight jeans and a light sweater in ivory that sat straight on his square shoulders. A charming face complemented his proportionate frame. The soft creases around his eyes and at the edge of his lips portended a pleasant nature. But it was his glasses, that added a touch of sophistication to the way he carried himself, and his cheek dimples that had earned him a place on the secret podium of the most fuckable people in the office.

GAMMA Mexico occupied seven of the twelve floors in one of the most modern buildings in Mexico City. On the south side of the sixth floor were four meeting rooms, connected by a long corridor to the open workspace where Robert’s development team sat.

Along the corridor, private offices for human resources and support staff lined the left-hand side. On the right, a shorter hallway led to the bathrooms, and further down, the break room. At the far end of the corridor, just before the open office, two elevators stood to the left.

“Are you from the city?” Daniel asked when the quartet reached their desks.

“No. I’ve moved a few years ago. I’m from Puerto Escondido.”

“Ah, a beach town,” Juan exclaimed. The revelation made perfect sense. The missing puzzle piece that integrated all the others. He opened the drawer to pull out a wedding magazine. “I think I’ve seen that place somewhere.” After flipping through pages, his eyes lit up and his finger landed decidedly on one particular picture. That of a golden sand beach and ridiculously clear water. “Playa Carrizalillo.” He turned the magazine around.

Miguel’s eyebrows found themselves in the middle of his forehead. Of all beaches in Mexico. It was one thing that the person who terrified his new colleague had the same name as his former lover. It was another thing that said new colleague had a picture of the exact same spot he had asked said former lover to marry him a good decade ago. It felt like a little thrust from the universe. A grim joke. He dusted the thought away.

“Anyway,” Juan put the magazine back in his drawer, “let’s get you up and running. This will be your desk.” He pointed to the desk next to his.

Miguel put his briefcase—a vintage, well-worn leather bag—on his desk. He hung his jacket on the back of the chair and sat. His desk was part of an island of four rectangular tables. To his right was Juan’s. In front of him, behind two gigantic monitors, was Daniel’s, and to Daniel’s left was Tony’s.

“We usually take new people out for drinks,” Daniel said, peeking over his monitors. “Tomorrow is Thursday. How about an after work at El Royal?”

“That sounds fun. Thanks, bud,” Miguel answered.

Daniel looked at Juan, who nodded, then at Tony, who gave a thumbs-up. “Good. I’ll book for four, then.”

Miguel stretched his arms, and cracked his knuckles then swirled his chair to face Juan, who was reviewing some papers, filling every inch of blank space with more words, arrows, and signs.

Feeling the inquisitive look, Juan lifted his head. “Sorry, just jotting down a few mental notes. I’ll be right with you.”

“Take your time.” He swirled back and opened his briefcase from where he pulled out the one and only capless pen and a notebook that he placed in the middle of his very empty desk.

He had just finished aligning the pen perfectly parallel to the long edge of the notebook when Juan stood up. “Your laptop should be ready by now. Let’s go pick it up.”

Miguel nodded and followed Juan back into the corridor. Up ahead, a young woman in classic business attire stepped out of her office. Juan gave her a quick wave from down the hall.

Camila—as Juan had called her—stood no taller than five foot two, though her heels gave her a few extra inches. When she turned around, her high ponytail swung over one shoulder, side bangs framing high, rosy cheekbones. Not a strand of hair was out of place.

Her tiny nose was too perfect to be purely genetic, and thick eyebrows added to her gamine features. A knee-length pencil skirt emphasized her slim thighs, while a silky cream shirt peeked out from beneath a tailored blazer.

Juan waved Miguel forward. “Change of plans. This is Camila, our human resources partner. She’ll present the company, our core business, and our values! I’ll go get your laptop and then pick you up in a about an hour.”

“It would be my utmost pleasure to enjoy the company of such an elegant lady.” He smiled like the lead actor of a toothpaste ad, presenting a big hairy hand that stayed hanging all by itself for a long, awkward minute.

Camila looked up and down, spending a few extra seconds on the tattoo. “You must be the new developer.”

* * *

As lunch time approached, traffic on Paseo de la Reforma picked up. City noises reached the office space where Juan gazed at the sky from a nearby window. The clouds started to build up. He was deep in thought when a heavy hand tapped his back. He coughed.

“Hola.” Miguel had yet again the widest smile.

Juan looked at the time on his computer screen. “You’re done early. How was it?”

“I’m not sure I remember anything but the beautiful, murderous look on Ms. Camila’s face. She might very well be the new love of my life.”

Juan squinted his eyes at the obvious lack of restraint.

“What? She’s hot. You know it.”

Juan frowned. “TMI.”

“What? You don’t agree?” He winked.

“I agree!” Tony said. He raised his hand to meet Miguel’s high-five. They giggled.

Juan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t used to feeling off-balance. But something about Miguel’s confidence made him feel... itchy. “She’s a colleague. Plus, it would be like cheating.”

Miguel exhaled, half disappointed, half amused. He dropped onto Juan’s desk, nudging back papers and office supplies with his bottom. He leaned forward, crossing his left ankle over his right knee. “God loves beauty.” His chin came to rest on his knuckles as he settled into a perfect Rodin’s Thinker. “If you love God, you love beauty. Don’t you love God?”

Juan tugged at the papers held hostage beneath Miguel’s posterior. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” Miguel got up—to the papers’ great relief. “What’s that?”

“Just some very important notes that I got with sweat, blood, and tears. I would’ve much rather you sat on my head.”

Tony snickered from above his monitors. “Are you going to ask her to repeat herself? I want to witness that.”

“No! They just got bent a little! Plus, she said I already have two strikes against me. If I must die, I want it to be with her bare hands,” Juan replied, half-serious.

“Guys! Your conversation is so stupid, I can’t focus,” Jane, who sat back-to-back with Tony, called out. “Tony, get over Carmen already. You’re pathetic. And, Juan, your wish will come true if you keep being this stupid.” She scanned the four guys and added, “And go to lunch already!”

Miguel looked at Jane, who had gone back to holding her head between her hands, leaning closer to her monitor. “Jane, right?”

She nodded without looking.

“Sorry we’re being loud. We’ll get going. Anything I can bring you to apologize?”

“Silence?”

Miguel nodded, and mimed zipping his mouth, locking it at the corner of his lips, and throwing away the key.

* * *

The afternoon went by gracefully and at five sharp, Miguel stood by the elevators, ready to call it a day. After an hour of driving bumper-to-bumper, he finally parked his car and turned off the engine. One deep breath in and a long one out.

He had taken an unusual path in life. After high school, he set off on a journey of self-discovery that carried him to the four corners of Mexico. With an imposing frame well-suited for manual labor, he never struggled to find work. It was always just enough to support his minimalist lifestyle. A couple of years later and a few tattoos down the arm, life handed him the motivation to try college. Miguel was much older than his classmates. And with his tanned olive skin and contagious smile, he had dazzling success with the women in his class.

He hadn’t yet adjusted to the salaryman lifestyle. But GAMMA Mexico came with its perks: from healthcare to a gym on the first floor. There were snacks available all day, and a break room stocked with video games and a pool table. It wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined. And he needed the money.

Miguel opened the car door, grabbed his briefcase, and crossed the street. Just as he reached the stairs, he remembered the fridge held nothing but a six-pack of beer. He sighed, turned around, stepped out and crossed the street again, heading toward the 24/7 shop.

On his way back, his phone rang, yanking him out of his thoughts. He shifted the bags to free a hand.

“¡Abuela!”

“If I don’t call, I never hear from you!” Beatriz, a plain-speaking woman well in her seventies, scolded. “This is how you thank me for all those years nourishing you, caring for you, spending all my money on your education?”

“Abuela, I missed you too! Sorry. I was so busy with the new job. I was going to call you tonight, though. You beat me to it this time,” he attempted to tame the fire of dragon Beatriz.

Beatriz huffed out her steam. “Is it going well at least? I hope you’re behaving this time. No more fooling around. It’s time you find a wife and get married. I want to see my great-grandchildren before I die.”

“Only three seconds to get to this topic. That could be your new record!” Only humor remained once all arguments had been exhausted.

“You know I could set you up. Just say the word. There are new tenants on the third floor. One girl is really your type.”

“Auntie Maria Elena moved out?” he asked. “Wait, since when do you know my type? I don’t even have a type!”

“I have raised you since your late mother died in that terrible accident, God bless her heart. I have seen countless women come and go. You have a type! And Maria Elena only moved downstairs. It’s easier on her knees that way. Not as many stairs to climb.”

Miguel felt the pressure grow inside him. “I don’t have a type, but anyway, I’m visiting next weekend.”

“Ah, Carmen,” Beatriz sighed.

He froze. “What?”

“You don’t remember Carmen? You were inseparable! How can you not remember Carmen?” she asked, very disingenuously shocked.

“Of course, I remember Carmen. You just brought her up out of the blue.” He arrived at his apartment, breathing heavily after speeding up in the stairwell to not lose the phone connection.

“The way you left, oh dear God, that was something. You were too proud to accept her decision. You should reach out to her; see how she’s doing.”

“I was clearly not her priority. What more could I have done? And she didn’t reach out to me either.”

“I wasn’t able to get a hold of you. Were you expecting a carrier pigeon from her? You were both too young and too stupid. Anyway, it’s in the past now,” Beatriz said. “But Carmen is your type. All the other girls were nothing but a pale copy of her.”

Miguel leaned against the kitchen countertop and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. It’s all in the past,” he repeated with a soft voice.

“So, you’re coming next weekend! How long will you be staying?”

“Just the weekend, Abuela. I don’t have any vacation day yet.”

“Anything you want to eat? Beef empanadas? Your favorite!”

“What would I do without you?” Miguel reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer that he cracked open. “How’s your hip? Did you see a doctor recently?”

“Well, age is rarely kind to anyone. But it’s not too bad. My telenovela is starting,” Beatriz said, hurrying to hang up the phone. “See you soon.”

“Take care of yourself, Abuela!”

“Yes, sweetheart. Bye now.”

Miguel opened the glass door to his balcony and stepped out. He adjusted a chair and sat, beer in hand, looking up at the stars as he lit a cigarette. He wondered what had become of Carmen. His Carmen. Then quickly buried the thought. And the thought of the thought.

* * *

Beatriz hung up the phone and went to the kitchen. She came back with a platter of savory dishes and put it on the coffee table in front of the couch, where the TV was already recapping the last episode of her favorite telenovela. Her best friend and neighbor, Maria Elena, sat on the edge of her seat as the show began. They had everything they needed for a great, gossipy night.

“That poor boy. You didn’t tell him that Carmen will be back soon,” Maria Elena said.

“It won’t do him any good. Knowing him, he’d probably disappear somewhere again,” Beatriz said, settling on the couch. “They were too young back then, and the situation wasn’t ideal.”

“Bea, I did what I had to do.”

“Yes, I know. I wasn’t blaming you. Truth is, I would have done the same. But they had a one-of-a-kind chemistry, don’t you think? Now things are different. They need a second chance. Plus, their babies would be so adorable,” Beatriz cooed while pouring for her and her friend their favorite jasmine tea.

“Hm... They would.” Maria Elena sighed wistfully as she indulged in a comforting vision she had built of their offspring. “Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I had delivered that letter.”

“To be honest, I don’t think it would have mattered that much. They simply weren’t meant to be, then. Now things are different.” Beatriz had an evil smile that only grandmothers can sport and get away with. “They just need a little push from Destiny, and Destiny needs a little hand from me.”