Page 96 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

I took a breath.

“Does it have to be grand?”

“Definitely not.”

“I want to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Alex didn’t say anything for the longest time.

“You know what makes me happy?” he asked.

“What?”

“Being lazy, not cooking dinner, and ordering in,” he said.

He lifted his head from my shoulder to look at me and we both laughed.

“Give your hands a break for a night,” he suggested, sliding his hand from mine. “Let’s just be happy tonight.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Slowly, the two of us rose from the floor, coming to stand beside the sink.

“Also,” Alex said, not looking away, but not quite looking at me, “your entire family isn’t dead, Enzo. I’m still here. I’m your family, too.”

“Of course, you are.”

He nodded. Started to step away. Turned back to me.

“So is Peter,” he said softly, his eyes meeting mine briefly. “Still. You’re not alone.”

Then he walked away.

“I’ll order pizza,” he said over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

And I was left to clean up the mess I’d made in the kitchen. Shuddering with a shaky breath, I was stunned by what Alex had said to me. But I flexed my hands a few times, took a deep breath, and set about cleaning up the kitchen.

I could do that.

No matter how long it took.

No matter how many things I dropped.

Because, eventually…one day soon…cleaning the kitchen would be easy again.

My temporarily messed-up motor skills gave that meaning.

Repainting the Universe

Alex left on a Friday. We barely exchanged any words as we said “goodbye” to each other. We had hugged, holding on tightly, a wordless understanding passing between us. My hands were still not entirely reliable; I knew that I still had weeks of recovery ahead of me. However, Alex had seen me through the worst part of it all. There weren’t words to express my gratitude—or my love for my found brother. So, a hug would have to suffice.

Alone in my apartment once again, I sat for an inordinate amount of time on my sofa, staring out at another gloomy day in Minneapolis. My hands lay limply in my lap. Summer would be gone soon—in fact, in Minneapolis, it may as well have never come—and autumn would rush up to meet us. Winter wouldn’t be far behind, bringing in the cold and snow, putting the world to sleep; a slumber to prepare it for a new life.

My winter had finally passed. I was waiting for spring.

I needed to say “goodbye” to winter and welcome a fresh spring.

It was a funny thing, waiting to come alive as the world was slowly going to sleep.