Yesterday I made Alex go to the Bronx. Alone. She tried to use that as proof I don't care about her. "You're sending me to a dangerous place all by myself?!" Yes. In broad daylight, with a cell phone and pepper spray, at the same age I was when we lived there and I walked around all the time by myself. It's no more dangerous now than it was then.
You think Aunt Elaine is so great? Fine. Go visit and ask if you can live with her. Enjoy living in Mott Haven with a filthy hoarder.
Alex thought she should bring her something. "Then go use your money to buy her some boxed shit. No way in hell is that woman getting any of my money." One box of No Pudge Fudge Brownies later, Alex headed out with a final warning. "If I get jumped, you're going to be sorry." I'm already sorry about this whole thing. It's still hard to wrap my head around her remembering things so differently than they happened.
About three hours later Alex was back without the brownies. I'd gone to work so wasn't home and didn't talk to her, but Danielle did. Alex lasted for 20 minutes wandering around our old housing project before she gave up, spooked, and fled west back to the city. Danielle (who keeps switching loyalties) told me the best thing was Alex's, "I've never been so happy to be in Harlem!" statement.
Yeah, Aunt Elaine moved. Alex couldn't find her. Some crazy crackwhore demanded the brownies. Good. There you go. That's how much she cares about you - so much that she kicked you out, never told you when or where she moved, and couldn't care less that you can't find her. I hope that totally fits in with your fantasy of the reunion.