Page 113 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“Our tastes in movies and television shows?” He snorted. “That’s stupid. It doesn’t matter what you like, Enzo. As long as I can do it with you and enjoy doing it because I’m with you is all that matters. Or, if we don’t feel like doing the same thing, we can go our separate ways, do the things we love, then come back and tell each other about our days. And be happy for each other. I’m genuinely happy for you when you have a good day. And you’re genuinely happy for me when I have a good day. We’re not opposites. We’re the same where it matters—we align where it matters—the things we love doing are sometimes different.”

I thought about that.

“We just have to learn how to be there for each other on the bad days,” he added. “Instead of pretending things are fine. Instead of shutting each other out.”

Looking down at my feet, I knew Peter was right. I knew that a lot of the things going on in my head—the things that were not leftover trauma from my previous life—were problems of my own making. How does one explain their own mental health issues to themselves? Can a person ever fully understand the synaptic misfires and chemical imbalances enough to work around them? To learn and manage them so that their life can be relatively peaceful?

“You know,” Peter said, “Alex told me to give you a break. That you’d had a difficult life and you had things to work through. That I needed to be understanding.”

My eyes shot up to Peter.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting forward on the couch. “I screamed at him for taking your side in all of this—”

“He didn’t take my side.”

“I know that,” Peter said. “Now. But he told me to give you space to figure things out. To have patience. But when you say things like ‘maybe we’re opposites,’ I have to wonder if you’re not just looking for reasons to not be with me, Enzo.”

“That’s not it,” I stammered. “That’s not fair.”

“Who cares?” Peter stood, the blanket falling from his legs. “Life’s not fair, Enzo. You know that better than anyone.”

I stood from the sofa to glare at him.

“You blame me for everything!” I shouted. “I’m not perfect, Peter—no matter how much you want me to be—but you refuse to realize not everyone is perfect. Nothing is perfect. You just ignore the problems and close yourself off!”

“I never asked you to be perfect!” he shouted back.

“Fine,” I said, throwing my hands up. “Whatever. But you still refused to communicate when you knew things weren’t right.”

Peter shoved his face in mine. “Because you wouldn’t say what the fuck was bothering you, Enzo. You just moped around, slept, kept to yourself, and suffered in silence instead of treating me like part of the team!”

“And we both know who the owner of the team is, don’t we?” I barked.

“What does that even mean?” Peter took his turn throwing his hands in the air.

“You wanted everything to go the way you imagined it would,” I said. “But you obviously could tell I wasn’t doing well—that I was struggling—but you ignored it!”

“You’re an adult, Enzo! Why do I have to pry things out of you?”

“Why can’t you just—”

“Maybe I was fucking scared that you were thinking about leaving me and I didn’t want to ask because then I would know for certain!” Redness was crawling up Peter’s neck.

I stopped. Peter had been scared?

Clearing his throat, Peter growled, “Because I knew something wasn’t right, Enzo. But you weren’t talking or even giving me one damn clue what was going on with you. I knew I wasn’t perfect. I know I’m never going to be perfect. But I was scared that you were going to tell me you couldn’t be my husband anymore. That you’d made a mistake. I was fucking terrified to hear those words. I was scared to even consider it a possibility.”

“That’s not what was going on, though,” I managed. “I don’t want to divorce, Peter. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Peter threw his hands up again. “When are you going to come home?”

“I don’t want to commit to a timeframe right now,” I mumbled.

“That’s it, then?” Peter asked. “This is it? That’s your answer? You’ll just risk throwing me and anything we had away—that we might have had—because I fucked up? No. Because I wasn’t perfect either?”

“I didn’t—”

“That’s not what love is, Enzo! Love is—”