Is he really gone? That's what Liz emails her and Addison can't bring herself to reply so she's not even that surprised when the next email says I'm coming.

"I was in Seattle," that's the first thing she says when she bustles into Addison's beach house a few days later like she's been there before.

"Oh. Okay. How's-"

"Derek's Derek." Liz shrugs. "He's always the same."

"He said he wasn't the same person in Seattle as he was in New York." She blurts this fast, not even sure why.

Liz shakes her head. "Just because he thinks he's different doesn't mean he is."

"Is he okay?" Addison refills her wine glass.

"He's Derek. But he - you know, he misses him."

Addison swallows hard. "We all do."

Liz - even after all these years she's never tried Elizabeth - sits down heavily on the couch. "We should have been there."

"I - wish we had been." Addison's voice trembles. "But he wasn't conscious, and - Derek kept me posted, but..." and then her voice trails off. Liz's dark eyes are a mirror of her own guilt, and Addison's aware of what she's thinking: that Mark would have come, for them. Whether they were conscious or not, whether Derek kept him posted or not. He would have been there.

"We were his family."

"That doesn't change just because we weren't there," Addison whispers, either to reassure Liz or herself. "He knew, okay? He knew," and she's pretty sure that's what Mark would say and what he'd want them to know so she says it one last time with finality: "He knew."

"I just - can't believe he's not coming back."

Belief is the hardest part of loss, Addison thinks now, with the wisdom of four and a half decades.

Liz glances around. "Does Amy really live here? Derek said she did."

"She lives next door." Addison avoids calling her Amelia, knows it's a sensitive point with the family.

"You stayed with her," Liz marvels. "She always liked you best of all the sisters."

"I'm not her sister."

Liz levels her gaze. "Yeah, you are."

Addison shivers a little; there's a cool breeze coming in through the open windows. Her hair, unwashed, uncombed, floats around her shoulders. She's asked Jake for time to grieve, to hold Henry quietly and cry that Mark can't hold his child, to look at the ocean and wonder how the waves can keep pounding the sand when they should be curling in on themselves and mourning the way she is.

She hasn't showered in three days, hasn't taken off her old Yale sweatshirt. The L is starting to come undone after all these years. She plays with a loose string - don't pull, everything could unravel - and catches Liz staring at her again.

"I can't believe you kept that."

Her heart pounds. "You want it back?" Addison doesn't look up, not sure she wants to hear the answer.

"It looks better on you."

"Liz-"

"Call me Elizabeth."

There are tears in the back of her eyes. "Elizabeth," and she says the word slowly, tasting it. Savoring the syllables. "I'm sorry, about everything-"

Two fingers touch her arm, gently, but they sear her nonetheless. "I'm not."

Addison's cheeks burn with memory. "I didn't know if you-"

"Remembered? Oh, come on, Addie. You're not exactly forgettable."

She's blushing so hard it hurts. Which she thinks is probably less cute at 47 than it was at 22, but Elizabeth is looking at her with those dark eyes and 25 years later she still finds herself suddenly beautiful within that gaze. It still hurts, but...

"I remember-" she stops. It's too much, too late - or is it too soon? - but she somehow wants Elizabeth to know how many times she's thought of that night. Gone over in her mind the tiny things that could have changed in her universe to make her do it differently. To make her call. Why hadn't she picked up the phone? Why didn't she learn her last name? Why did she have to pretend at Easter?

Elizabeth is looking at her sadly now, but there's something behind the sadness too - understanding? Hope? Addison basks in it a moment longer, lets it warm her along with the cozy sweatshirt.

"I have to go." Elizabeth stands, breaking her gaze. "You can - call me, Addie. But this time actually do call me, okay?"

This time, she actually does.