Page 106 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“What are you writing?”

“I don’t actually know,” I said. “Probably nonsense.”

“Is…is it helping?”

“I think so, yes.”

Peter nodded slowly, looking around the room. Fortunately, I had made my bed upon waking so that everything seemed put together. I always made my bed each day, but sometimes I waited until after breakfast. I was glad that Peter had not seen one of those days.

“Look,” Peter said, “Enzo—”

He stopped and motioned at the side of the bed. I gave him a nod as I sipped my coffee, so he shuffled over in his socked feet and sat down gently on the side nearest my desk. A mere few feet apart, we were able to look at each other as we talked. Somehow, even after everything, it didn’t feel uncomfortable having him on my bed, sitting so close to me.

“I’m sorry that I was a jackass last night,” he said. “That wasn’t what I meant to do.”

“Forgiven,” I said.

There was really nothing to forgive, because Peter had not done anything unforgivable, so I said what he needed to hear from me.

“Good,” he said. “But I do want you to come home. That’s why I came here. I’m just sorry I did it while drunk and upset.”

“I am home, Peter.”

Sighing, he rubbed his hands on his knees.

“You’re going to be impossible, aren’t you?” he asked gruffly.

“I’m not trying to be,” I said. “But…being alone…it has shown me that before I can be part of us, I need to be Enzo. For a while. So I can know who Enzo really is. I’ve hardly ever had the chance to just be Enzo. At least, not when life was good.”

Peter’s bottom lip quivered.

“Are you going to divorce me?”

I had to keep myself from looking shocked. Of course, acting shocked would have been incredibly insensitive of me. Peter’s assumption that I was considering divorcing him was reasonable. After my decisions and actions, who wouldn’t come to that conclusion? I suddenly hated myself even more for doing that to Peter—especially since it had never occurred to me that might be a side effect of what I’d done.

“Wouldn’t I have done that by now?” I asked evenly.

“That’s not a ‘no.’” Peter was gripping his knees tightly, as though trying to comfort himself.

“No. I have no plan to divorce you, Peter,” I said.

“But you won’t come home?”

Sighing, I realized it was a terrible time to repeat my ‘I am home’ mantra.

“I want to be here,” I said. “For now.”

“But I’m not the problem? Our marriage isn’t the problem?”

Mumbling, I said, “I’m waiting for the storm to pass.”

“Huh?”

“I’m waiting for the storm to pass, Peter,” I said. “I’m the biggest problem.”

Peter reached out tentatively, so I offered the hand that wasn’t holding my coffee.

“Why can’t I weather it with you?” he asked.