“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice hushed.
“Hey, you.”
“How you holding up?” It seems like a stupid fucking question to ask, and I regret it the moment it comes out.
He shrugs. “Probably would be a lot better if all these people left.”
“I bet. Do you know everyone? Or anyone?”
“A few people,” he replies. “I know Chantel. I’ve met her husband and their kids a few times. That group over there”—he points toward the living room—“they lived in our neighborhood when I was a teenager. I’d hang out with some of their kids. But everyone else, no.”
“You did great today,” I mumble, cheeks heating. Everything I say sounds ridiculous. When he looks at me questionably, I add, “With the eulogy. It wasn’t easy, I’m sure, but you did great.”
“Thank you, Elias.” The sadness in his voice is unmistakable. “And thank you, also, for coming down here. It means a lot.”
He holds my gaze for a few moments. His eyes saying so much more than his mouth, and not for the first time, I wish we were alone.
“Zeke!”
And just like that, we’re dragged from the bubble we wrapped ourselves in as he looks behind me at the voice calling his name. It’s a woman from the group of people he told me he knew from when he was a teenager. I don’t know her name, but she beckons him over to the group.
I end up out back with a few beers, playing a game on my phone for the next few hours. The sun sets, and I don’t even realize it until someone comes to sit beside me.
The Tom Ford cologne paired with the scent of the cigar I know he must’ve just smoked hits me with a wicked sense of déjàvu.
Neither of us says anything for a few minutes. We sit a few feet apart, silence filling the space. Finally, I turn my phone off, slip it into my pocket, and pull my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. Resting my cheek on my knees, I peer over at him.
His back is pressed up against the side of the house, and he’s looking down his nose at me. His knees are also raised, his hands hanging off of them. It’s dark, but there are some string lights hung around the area, letting me see at least a little bit. The red and gold pinkie ring Zeke wears glimmers in the dim light.
“Everyone leave?” I ask quietly.
Zeke nods. “The last person just left a few minutes ago.”
“Is my mom asleep?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “She went to bed, I think, an hour ago. She had a migraine.”
“Why do you wear that?” I tip my head toward his ring, the question awkward and out of nowhere. “The ring, I mean. It’s awfully gaudy, don’t you think?”
He laughs, the sound flushing over me. It sounds beautiful coming from him, especially at a time like this. It’s contagious.
“It is a little much, isn’t it?” he asks, examining it. “My mom and Raf both had July birthdays. Ruby is the birthstone, and when they died, I bought this to honor them.”
Wow, I’m an asshole.“I’m sorry for saying it’s gaudy. Sometimes I speak without thinking.”
“You don’t say?” Another chuckle. “Really, it’s fine. You aren’t wrong.”
This time, it’s me nodding. I scoot over until my legs brush his, and I resume my arms around my knees, but this time I also rest my head on his bicep. It’s firm and nearly as big as my head. Being near him is so calming, I can’t explain it. Even with just my head on his arm, I can feel him breathing, and before long, we’re synced up.
The ability we have to sit next to each other and not say anything, yet feel completely comfortable, is astounding. I don’t fully know how I can help him feel better, but I do hope that this is helping, at least somewhat.
After several minutes of not saying anything, Zeke finally speaks, and I’m not at all expecting what he’s saying. “Katie came by my office.”
I whip my head up, meeting his gaze. “What? When?”
Zeke breathes out a soft laugh. “About a week after she ran me out of your house.”
This is news to me. “She didn’t tell me that.”
