Page 111 of Shatter

The cicadas are screaming in the trees.

Somewhere on the other side of the building, a bike fires up and roars off through the gate.

I tip sideways until my shoulder hits his.

He lifts his arm, slow, and lets me fold into his side before wrapping it around me.

I press my face into his T-shirt.

He smells like oil and his green soap.

"She didn't ask." My voice is wrecked, barely there. "She didn't ask if I was okay."

His arm tightens, and he doesn't answer, because there's nothing to answer.

After a long time, his voice rumbles against the top of my head, low and rough.

"It isn't you." He says it into my hair. "Whatever's wrong with her, it was never you."

I shut my eyes and let him hold me.

His lips press against the top of my head and stay there.

Later, after dark, I'm sitting on the bed with the photo propped against the lamp when he comes out of the bathroom.

I've been staring at it for an hour, at Mormor's crooked smile and the glass floats catching the light.

I've been thinking about something else, too.

Four nights ago, he said it to me in the dark, in two languages, and I couldn't make my mouth work.

The words have been heavy in my pocket ever since, like a stone I keep turning over with my thumb.

Tonight.

I'm going to say it tonight.

My palms go damp against my knees at the thought.

He sits down on the edge of the bed beside me.

His hair's wet from the shower, and he doesn't look at the photo.

He looks at me.

"I want to ask you something." His voice is low and careful, the way it gets when he's thought about something for a long time. "And I want you to hear all of it before you answer."

My skin prickles.

"Okay." I turn to face him.

He takes a breath.

His hands are clasped between his knees, and I watch his thumbs press against each other, hard, the knuckles whitening.

"I want you wearing my patch." His eyes don't leave my face.

It lands in the room like a thrown bottle.