@priimafacie.
There weren’t many who would not consider her extremely well-versed at accepting, processing and exuding her own profusion of emotions, especially considering how openly affectionate she was, but when Valentina failed, she failed so utterly completely. There were certain people whom she was honestly at a loss for words about, and most of them were family, who left her chest feeling about six sizes too small for how much their very existence made her heart swell with warmth. Her Uncle Henry – who was very clearly too young and also not related to her enough to be thought of exclusively as such – was a prime example.
Their shared profession may have provided good basis for conversation, but the fact that he had suffered such a hard blow only a few years ago might have been the real reason she visited so regularly. Being alone, she thought, was about as terrible as life could get, so she went to see him often and cheerfully, often with thinly guised excuses of missing his cat in hand.
Tonight, she had barely been home an hour, cracking open a bottle of wine after a satisfying day of work when she had looked at the bottle, decided she wanted to share it and texted Henry before calling her favourite pizza place. She knocked smartly on his door, pizza carton balanced on her free hand and bottle tucked in the crook of her arm, bundled in a long coat and fuzzy boots over the pyjamas she had already been wearing.
There were days when Henry couldn’t bring himself to be productive. He would lie there, blinking up at the ceiling, his mind commanding him to just MOVE. Yet his limbs would refuse, as if his ankles were chained to an anchor somewhere deep underneath his bed —- and what an apt analogy, too, as he helplessly splashed around to keep his head above water as waves of grief came and went. On those days, continuing his daily routine proved to be a challenge. Getting out of bed, showering, fixing himself breakfast—all these basic tasks felt like a burden, and although he’d moved past the years of unduly blaming himself for feeling that way, Henry still couldn’t stand his own company. He’d learned to force himself to step outside, even if it meant burrowing himself into a corner of a small neighborhood cafe with zero social interaction. Being in public itself was distraction enough.
Thankfully, today wasn’t one of those days. Work had been uneventful, with everyone in that hopeful mindset typical of early January, then Valentina had messaged him for an impromptu dinner—overall, a good end to a good day.
“Nina! Here, let me take care of that,” he said, gingerly taking the pizza box and embracing his niece in a one-armed hug. “I see you’re all decked out.”
