“I’m talking about being heartbroken,” Quan said, his eyes delving into Khai’s in an uncomfortable way.
Khai’s body stiffened. “I’m not. I—”
“Do you remember when Mom and Dad separated when we were little?” Quan asked quietly.
“A little. They were together, and then one day they weren’t. It was fine.” He shrugged.
“Except you weren’t fine. You stopped talking, and you got so clumsy you had to stay home from school for two weeks.” An ironic smile touched Quan’s mouth. “I remember because there was no one to take care of you, so I had to stay home, too. I made us ramen in the microwave, and you were upset because there was no poached egg like when Mom cooks it.”
“I don’t remember any of that.” And what he did remember was neutral and colorless, flat. He’d been told to give his dad one last hug before he left town for good. He remembered hugging a person who used to be everything and feeling … nothing.
“Maybe you were too young. How about … after Andy’s funeral. Do you remember that?”
An irritated sensation scratched up Khai’s back, and he kicked his blanket off, suddenly needing to be free. He wanted to brush his teeth and shower, shut all the windows, and maybe put that cup in the dishwasher. Wait, no, he wasn’t ready to put the cup away yet. “Yeah, I remember. I was fine.” Too fine. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Why?”
“There’s no point. I wasn’t heartbroken then, and I’m not now.” Stone hearts didn’t break. They were too hard. “I’m like a Terminator with logic programming and no feelings.” He stretched his lips into a plastic smile.
Quan rolled his eyes. “What a load of shit. Are you going to say you don’t love at all? I know you love me.”
Khai tilted his head to the side. He’d never thought about that before.
“There is literally nothing you can say to make me believe you don’t,” Quan said with absolute confidence. “Go ahead. Try.”
“I hardly ever do things with you, and we don’t have a bunch of similar interests, and—”
“And you never forget my birthday, and you always share your food with me even when it’s your favorite, and I know anytime I need something, I can count on you, no matter what,” Quan finished.
“Well … yeah.” Those were hard rules in Khai’s universe.
“That’s brother love. We just don’t say it because we’re tough and shit, but yeah, I love you, too.” Quan punched him on the shoulder. “And why the fuck are you wearing a sweater in late July?”
Khai rubbed his shoulder. “I told you. I have the flu.”
“You don’t have the flu. This is how your heart breaks. It’s like you hurt too much for your brain to process, and then your body shuts down, too. You were a lot like this after Andy. Even down to the one sock.”
Khai looked at his feet and was surprised to see he only wore one sock. “Maybe it came off in my sleep.” He dug through the blanket, but it wasn’t there.
“Or you forgot it. After Andy, you were so out of it, we were all afraid you’d accidentally kill yourself by walking in front of a bus or forgetting to eat.”
Khai shook his head and scratched at his beard. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
Quan laughed. “No, it doesn’t. That’s why we were all so worried, and you seemed off ever since then. These past couple months are the happiest I’ve seen you in a long time, to be honest.”
Khai gritted his teeth. He hadn’t been happy. He’d been in an Esme high. There was a difference, though at the moment, his mind wasn’t clear enough to figure out what it was. Frustrated, he pulled off his one sock and tossed it on the floor. There, now he was symmetrical. But a lone sock lay on the floor, completely out of place.