Page 129 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

Peter sat with me in front of my work computer, though we were turned to face each other instead of my computer monitors. Our knees were touching and we were staring into each other’s eyes. I wasn’t working even though it was a work day. I’d set everything aside, put my work phone on “do not disturb,” and called Peter into the office for advice. He had been working in the dining room but took a break from his work to find out what I needed.

When I told him, he slumped, disappointed for me.

We’d been used to disappointments. Within our first year of living with the pandemic, hundreds of thousands of people were dead from COVID-19 in the U.S. alone. Protests against police brutality were ongoing across the country. The torture and murder of George Perry Floyd, Jr. by the police in our own city had brought the issue to the forefront of American minds a mere two months after the pandemic had been officially announced. We had watched in real-time with horror as insurrectionists attempted to storm the capitol and steal a legally won election.

The horrors in the U.S. were a mere percentage of the horrors we watched unfold on the news every day. We had been watching the world seemingly fall apart for a year. Though not ideal, we were becoming accustomed to bad news.

“That’s a hard decision, babe,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “I’m…I know what the right answer is.”

“Do you just want to hear it in my voice?” Peter asked.

I smiled, but I didn’t respond. He knew the answer.

A year into the pandemic, and after months of Source Language, Inc. losing business, it became clear that business could not continue as usual. Mr. Barton had called me personally to let me know that restructuring would occur. A handful of employees at our company were going to lose their jobs. He hadn’t indicated in any way that my neck was on the chopping block, he had simply been giving me a personal heads up.

The two of us had discussed the situation at length, and I could tell how much it pained him, knowing he would have to let any of our wonderful employees go. He had asked me if I was forced to choose if any of the interpreters on my team were underperforming in a way that would justify letting them go. Mr. Barton wanted to be certain he kept the very best employees if possible. Everybody on my team was wonderful—and I had enjoyed supervising them for over a year. Instead of giving him any of their names, I found myself asking:

If you got rid of me, how many would that save?

“Mr. Barton wasn’t happy,” I said. “About what I suggested. But he said if that’s what I wanted to do, he would accept it—since I care so much about my team. He said if I did that, he would guarantee that none of my people would be let go.”

“Do you want to do that?” Peter asked, rubbing my knees with his hands.

“A lot of my people are single mothers. Or the only income in their household. Or they really need the good insurance,” I said. “I love my job. You know that.”

“But?”

“Yes,” I said. “That is what I want to do.”

“Then that’s what you should do,” Peter squeezed my knees, smiling warmly at me.

“You’ll be the only one with a job,” I said, sighing and sitting back in my chair.

“So what?” Peter shrugged. “I make plenty.”

“We won’t be equal,” I said. “Again. I’ll feel like—”

Peter slapped my knee gently and drew my attention so that our eyes met.

“What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine,” he said. “We’re partners through the good and the bad. And how much you do or don’t earn isn’t what makes you an equal partner, Enzo.”

“I just—”

“You do so much for us,” he said. “You work full time. You cook for us every day. You keep this house sparkling clean and running. You’re always there for neighbors. Family. Friends. We have a warm, inviting, happy home because of you. Even through all of the world’s bullshit, you’ve made home feel safe. Like the one place in the world that doesn’t seem messed up. If anything, I’m the one dropping the ball.”

I chuckled. “No. But thank you for saying that.”

Peter took my hands in his.

“I mean it, Enzo,” he said. “This house is a home because of you. Everything works out because you work overtime on everything you do. If you want to quit to keep your people from losing their jobs, you have my full support. And we’ll deal with it as a team.”

Sighing, I nodded slowly. It was the right decision.

“But,” I said, “what will I do? I guess I can find another—”

“Just live for a while, babe,” Peter said. “Read. Watch T.V. Get a new hobby. Keep doing the other things you’ve been doing. Work on your writing some more. You haven’t had a lot of time for that in months. It won’t hurt for you to have one less thing to worry about. Selfishly, I’ll be glad to have you free more often.”