Page 115 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“For now, I only need three,” Peter said.

“Of course, I love you,” I said.

“That’s four. Or five,” he said. “I’m not sure.”

I laughed. Sniffled. A single tear rolled down my cheek. Peter made “shushing” noises and stepped over to me. He reached up and wiped the tear off my cheek. Cupping my chin, he made me look up from my feet so that our eyes could meet.

“I still don’t know how to not push you away from what I was going through then, Peter,” I said. “I’ve tried to think of how to explain it to you. Or, I suppose, I’ve tried to figure out how to explain it to myself so that I could begin to explain it to you…but I feel…I feel like someone has cut me open and I’m just…life has been hard.”

Peter stroked my cheek.

“My life, when you met me, was a battlefield after a war. Hundreds of little bombs had gone off. Each one had blown a hole right through important parts of me, and I haven’t figured out how to fill them back up. I tried filling them with my love for you and our marriage and our home and our new life and a job and…some days I feel like more and more of me is just…falling out of those holes. Sometimes it’s not the bombs that kill you but the wounds that refuse to heal.”

“Well,” Peter said, his voice wet, “it doesn’t help if someone keeps poking new holes, either.”

“It wasn’t you,” I said. “Well, maybe some of it was—”

Peter chuckled.

“—because you tell me that you are scared of losing me from your life but I feel like I’ve never been a part of it. I’ve been a satellite caught in your orbit, mindlessly circling, waiting to be given a purpose. Maybe I have pushed you away, but sometimes I feel like you’ve never…pulled me in?”

Peter frowned and cupped my cheek, looking into my eyes as he listened.

“I’ve felt superfluous to my own existence,” I said. “You made me feel like you wanted a husband in name, but I’ve felt—for a long time—as if I’m simply playing a role for you. I haven’t felt like I’m a partner.”

“Of course, you’re my partner,” he said, both of his hands suddenly on my face as he stared into my eyes. “You’ve been the best partner, Enzo.”

“I have not felt that way. Maybe that is part of why I didn’t invite you in when I began to have troubles?”

He nodded.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” he asked.

“A pair of what?”

He chuckled.

“I’ll try harder, Enzo. I’ll try as hard as I can. I can’t promise you perfection, but I can promise you that. I just…I need you to not shut me out.”

“Okay.”

Peter ran his thumbs under my eyes, clearing away barely shed tears.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’m sorry, too,” Peter replied. “I’ll probably be sorry for a long time.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry for a long time,” I said. “I want…I want this all to be a memory. Can we do that?”

He smiled. “I think we probably need to talk it out. Resolve things. Put things to bed. That would be healthier than pretending it didn’t happen.”

“I know,” I said, sniffling again. “I mean that I want the day that we’ve done all of that to come.”

Peter shook his head slowly. “I don’t wish the seconds away with you, Enzo. Even the difficult ones.”

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed wetly and shoved at his shoulder.

Peter caught my hand and held it; his eyes locked onto mine. The laughter that had been upon my lips slid back down my throat.