I was postpartum, traumatized, legally entangled, and still wearing mesh underwear from the hospital. He was grieving a wife and unborn child he still loved. We were not a romance. We were two people sitting near the wreckage of different lives, careful not to confuse rescue with repair.
But friendship grew.
Real friendship.
He learned how I took tea.
I learned he hated elevators because the silence felt like waiting for bad news.
He learned Lily calmed when bounced twice and shushed once, never the other way around.
I learned Anna had painted birds badly and joyfully, and Eli kept one crooked blue jay above his kitchen sink.
He met Daniel for coffee and somehow survived my brother’s interrogation, which included, “Do you have any intention of becoming weird about my sister?”
Eli answered, “No.”
Daniel said, “Good. Define weird.”
Eli said, “Controlling, opportunistic, emotionally careless, or wearing loafers without socks.”
