Then he glanced at the bouquet.
"And flowers, because I didn't know what else to bring to someone who nearly disappeared."
I walked past him to the door and unlocked it. I did not step aside. I did not invite him in. He understood immediately. The smallest shadow crossed his face before he hid it.
"Right," he said softly.
He came only as far as the threshold, then bent to place the grocery bags beside the door. He set the flowers on top with unexpected care, adjusting the stems so they would not bruise. When he straightened, he looked at me for a long moment.
My fingers tightened around my keys. He noticed and stepped back at once.
"I only needed to know you were alive and standing," he said.
He gave one last glance at the flowers by the door, as if hoping they might succeed where he could not, then stepped back from the porch.
"I'll go now."
He descended the steps slowly, hands empty at last, and walked away, leaving beauty and provisions on my doorstep the same way he used to do.
*******
I walked to Bramwell's apartment that afternoon carrying fresh bread and the uneasy certainty that I was becoming someone who visited injured men with supplies. I have never done this.
The door opened before I had fully knocked. A woman with bright silver-blonde hair and a soft yellow scarf stood there smiling at me.
"You must be April."
Before I could react, she took both my hands in hers. Her touch was warm and light.
"Oh, thank goodness," she said. "We have wanted to meet the person who has been taking care of our son."
I blinked. Behind her stood an older man with Bramwell's mouth and gentler eyes.
"Yes," he said, stepping forward to relieve me of the bread before I could object. "We owe you gratitude, apologies, and probably reimbursement for emotional labor."
The woman laughed softly.
"I'm Celeste," she said. "This is Martin, who tells strangers he is stern."
"I tell no such thing," Martin replied. "People assume it because I'm handsome and reserved."
"Come in," Celeste said, drawing me gently inside before hesitation could become refusal. "You must be tired."
I entered the apartment in a daze of warmth and movement.
Bramwell was on the couch with one arm in a sling, looking deeply unimpressed by existence. When he saw me, his whole face changed. Then he noticed his parents standing around me and closed his eyes briefly.
"they found you."
Celeste touched his cheek at once.
"Don't be rude to your guest."
"She was my guest first."
Martin set the bread in the kitchen and walked over to inspect Bramwell with the solemnity of a physician who had no training.
"You look terrible," Martin said, studying him with open satisfaction.
