Page 131 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

A weak smile touched his mouth. A sound escaped me somewhere between a laugh and a cry.

“I love you so much.”

His fingers moved against the blanket. Elijah reached beneath it and pulled out the Spider-Man figure. He placed it in Malik’s hand. Malik looked toward him. Elijah came to the other side of the bed.

“You did good.”

Malik’s hand lifted a few inches. Elijah slid his palm beneath it. Their fingers rested together, and I covered both of their hands with mine. I looked at the two people holding my heart between them and knew whatever came after this, we would face it together.

epilogue

Frankie

Six Weeks Later

Malik laughed before Elijah finished the dance.

The sound filled the living room as Elijah stepped in the wrong direction, swung his shoulders entirely too hard, and turned beneath an arm he had raised over his own head. He knew how to dance. I watched him prove that more than once. But whenever Malik was watching, rhythm became optional. Elijah attempted one last body roll. Malik slapped his palm against his wheelchair's armrest and laughed harder.

“You are encouraging him,” I said.

Malik’s grin widened. Elijah returned to the sofa and sat beside me. His breathing had barely changed, but a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

“All that showing off and you still didn’t close the curtains.”

He glanced toward the uncovered windows. Night had settled over the neighborhood, turning the glass into a mirror.

“If anyone saw me, they’d assume you taught me.”

“I refuse to take responsibility for whatever that was.”

His hand settled on my thigh as he turned his attention back to the television. The superhero movie continued without us. Bright flashes of red and blue moved across the screen while Malik held the Spider-Man figure Elijah had given him months ago. Seeing the toy in his hand no longer surprised me.

Seeing Malik here—alert and smiling—did. It was a welcome relief, and I let out a contented breath whenever I noticed it, which was often.

The hair around the healing incision on his head had begun to grow back. The thin line left by the surgery remained visible beneath it, but the swelling was gone. His appetite had returned, and so had his amused, irritated, tired, or deeply offended expressions. One of my favorites was when he cut his eyes at someone if they got in the way of his movie.

His physical therapist had cleared him to resume his regular schedule the following week. Everything was returning to normal.

Elijah reached for the blanket that slipped from Malik’s lap and pulled it over his legs. The gesture came automatically to him. Malik glanced at Elijah, then returned to the movie.

The weeks after the surgery had shown me what Elijah intended to do with the place he had claimed in our lives.

He was there when Malik woke frightened in the hospital. He sat beside his bed while I slept with my head against the mattress. He learned the discharge instructions even though he already understood every medical term on the pages.

At home, he never treated Malik like a patient.

He watched movies with him. Read the same superhero book until he knew every page. Learned which sounds meant Malik was uncomfortable and which meant he wanted attention. He helped without taking over and listened when I told him how Malik preferred to be moved.

His love appeared in the ordinary moments. The movie ended shortly after nine. Malik’s eyelids had begun lowering before the credits appeared.

“You ready for bed, baby?”

His face tightened.

“Tired doesn’t mean ready,” Elijah said.

Malik looked at him, smiled, then clapped.