Page 41 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“You know,” Peter chuckled bitterly, “I could lock you in the car, start the engine, and just drive off. Make you my captive. Never let you leave.”

I laughed softly as I stared out at a man struggling to lift his suitcase into the back of his SUV. Why luggage manufacturers had figured out that putting wheels on a suitcase made it easier to handle but had yet to figure out a way to make lifting them into and out of a car easier was beyond me. Once the man finally wiggled his suitcase into the back compartment of his SUV, closed the hatch, and got into the car, I sighed.

“I suppose it is time.”

Peter said nothing.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I said gently. “I can find the gate fine on my own. I will understand if—”

The sound of the car’s electric door locks stopped me. Peter turned in his seat to stare at the side of my face. Refusing to meet his eyes, I stared out of the windshield at the black SUV’s brake lights as the man pulled out of his spot.

“Are you taking me prisoner?”

“Look at me.”

“No,” I said. “That will make this more difficult.”

“I won’t let you out unless you look at me,” Peter said, though his words were desperate, not angry.

“I could get out if I wanted to, Peter.”

“I know that. You know that.”

I nodded. We both knew that Peter wasn’t really forcing me into anything. That had to be clear before I acquiesced. Slowly, I turned in my seat, averting my eyes from Peter’s until I was turned toward him. Finally, when my eyes met his, I wished I had simply gotten out of the car. The look in Peter’s eyes did nothing to unbreak my heart.

“I need to know something before you get out of the car,” Peter said. “I don’t want bullshit or rules or common sense. I just want truth.”

I shrugged. “Sur ce que? What do you want from me, Peter?”

“I want to know if you love me,” Peter said.

“Peter—”

“I just want to know if you care about me the way I care about you, Enzo,” Peter said. “I want to know that I’m not an old fucking fool who felt like there was something…here…when there wasn’t. I need to know that…I need to know that you could find it possible to actually love me. The way I love you.”

“I—”

“Just shut up and tell me if I’m stupid or not, Enzo,” he demanded. “It’s not that difficult. Yes, or no? And I’ll unlock the doors and watch the greatest thing that ever walked into my life walk back out of it—regardless of your answer. I don’t want to hear anything besides ‘yes’ or ‘no’ come out of your mouth.”

Peter stared deeply into my eyes, his bottom lip quivering as I stared back at him. Instinctively, I knew that telling Peter I didn’t love him was the kindest answer. Out of everything I could say, it would leave him devastated, but not nearly as destroyed as telling him I loved him before walking out of his life forever would do to him. Saying “no” also seemed the easiest answer at first, but considering saying such a thing to Peter proved impossible. My lips wouldn’t form a two-letter word. Only three letters would do. Eight letters seemed perfect.

“I love you,” I said.

Peter exhaled heavily.

“I’ve loved you for one year, ten months, seventeen days,” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard, “ten hours, and seventeen minutes.”

Peter’s cautiously relieved expression grew into a grin.

“And what?” I asked with an angry chuckle as I pointed toward the airport. “I have a seat waiting for me. I have a life in another country. I love you, Peter. A Canadian citizen who has no legal right to stay in the U.S. indefinitely loves you. What does that do for you?”

“It proves to me that this wasn’t pointless,” he spat, though he wasn’t angry. “It proves to me that what I’ve also felt for one year, ten months, uh, uh—”

“Seventeen days, ten hours, and…eighteen minutes.”

“Yeah,” Peter laughed. “It proves that everything I’ve thought and felt for all of that time wasn’t some insane fantasy in my head.”

“I’m happy for you,” I said. “I’m sad for us.”