“They said nothing, but I did. Everything I needed to.”
“I’m happy for you. And your parents can kick rocks and—”
“I don’t wish ill on them, Orion. Telling them that I’m willing to go to hell to live my life was all I needed to win.”
“You said you’d go to hell? That’s some king shit.”
He wipes his tears. “I’ll probably regret that if hell is real.”
“Yeah, that’ll bite you in the ass. Hell sounds hot.”
“Can’t be worse than an Arizona heatwave.”
“But for real. How’d you leave things? They really didn’t say anything?”
“Not a single word, Orion. I honestly thought they would apologize or tell me they love me or even something snotty about how this is what I get for going against God. But the silence started hurting even more, so I hung up. I thought it’d be better to cry in private.”
I wish I had been upstairs with Valentino the second that first tear dropped. I hate the idea of him crying alone, but he didn’t need me in his space and face. Valentino is a survivor who needed some help on his End Day, but always had that resilience in his heart and bones.
I grab his hand and lead him back outside, where there’s a loving family waiting for him. He doesn’t offer a ton more details than he did me, but they’re ready to go to war on his behalf too.
Dayana looks nauseated from this story. “I love God, but God would never come between me and my children. If your parents had a healthier relationship with God, it wouldn’t have to.”
“It means a lot to hear that,” Valentino says.
“I’m sorry you’re not hearing it from your own mother and father,” Dayana says.
“Do they know about . . . about me?” I ask. Then I realize how I sound. “Not about me like as a person, like as your friend—boyfriend. I meant about the transplant stuff.”
“They don’t know about that,” Valentino says. “But they know about you.”
“You sure you stuck around long enough to make sure they didn’t have heart attacks?”
“That’s dark,” Dalma says.
“I can make that joke, the heart attackers are my community.”
Dayana stands. “Okay, everyone up and out. Let’s give the boys some privacy.” She shoos Dalma, Floyd, and Dahlia upstairs.
But Dalma comes back around. “O-Bro . . .”
That’s all she says before leaving us downstairs, closing the door behind her. But I know what she’s telling me to do.
Well, what not to do.
Don’t let Valentino die in vain.
But first things first: a couple more firsts.
Valentino
5:23 p.m.
“Welcome to the O-Zone,” Orion says, opening the door to his bedroom.
“Great name,” I say, my heart pounding as I step inside this cozy bedroom with air blowing from his rotating fan. The walls are painted a light gray, almost white. Thumbtacked above his wooden desk are pictures of Orion with his parents. The one window offers a view into the backyard where the table is empty with everyone back upstairs. Behind me is Orion’s twin-size bed made up with a white comforter, just like mine was in Arizona. Except on top of his bed is also a black-and-gray plaid blanket with his phone, my camera, two champagne glasses, and a white candle resting on a tray.
“What’s all that?”
“We never got to have a proper first date,” Orion says, taking my hand and leading me to the bed. “I thought we could have it here.”