words. We’ve stopped at the entranceway of the lab, which is the obvious point of parting, but even though we both still have too much to get done today, I say, “Peter. We need to talk.”
He waits but won’t look at me.
He’s thinner than I’ve ever seen him. His cheekiness and general easygoing air from when Paul was around haven’t resurfaced once in the last three months. All of us have said multiple times that he can step down from his duties as a captain, take some time, but every time, he’d shake his head and say he needed something to focus on. We’ve all tried everything we can think of to comfort him or cheer him up, but nothing’s worked.
I don’t know what to say to console him. That’s never been something I’m good at. Paul’s death still drags at my heart every time I think of him or look at his brother, though I’m sure that’s nothing compared to what Peter himself must be going through. But I have to at least try to say something.
“I’m worried about you,” I say softly. “I’m sure if Paul were here, he would be, too. He wouldn’t want you to be so consumed by grief that you put yourself in danger when you go out into battle.”
Peter doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, “Lai, why did you assign me to last night’s raid team? You’re the one who made that decision, aren’t you?”
I hesitate, but there’s no reason not to say the truth. “I was hoping it’d remind you of what’s happening and why we’re here. What we’ve all spent years working on.”
“So you think if you give me a goal and tell me to go for it, I’ll forget about Paul?”
“That’s not—”
“We’re not all you, Lai,” Peter says very, very quietly. “I can’t just shut up my emotions for the greater good like you do.” He still won’t look me in the eye. “If that’s it, I’m going.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before leaving.
* * *
I find Jay watching over the Order’s budding farm plot. He sits on his heels at the edge of it, looking out over the fuzzy green tufts sprouting from the soil. His chin rests on his arms, eyes distant and thoughtful.
I sit beside him. “How goes it?”
“Me or the carrots?”
“Both.”
“Fine, and looking a little wilted but still good.”
“Well, hope you can perk up again soon.”
He laughs and I feel a knot inside my chest loosen. “What about you?” he asks. “You look exhausted.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“Merely an observation.”
“Well, it’s a little too spot-on.” Even as I sit here, fatigue pulls at my limbs. I’d go to sleep right here and now if I didn’t crave conversation with Jay.
“Are you doing okay?” he asks.
“I’ve been worse.”
Jay watches me quietly for a moment. Then he stands and holds out a hand to me. “Let’s dance.”
I laugh in surprise. “Dance? Why?”
“Do you need a reason to?”
“It’s just really sudden. Besides, I’ve never danced before.”
“Me either.”
“But you think now is the time to try?”
“I think it might as well be.”
I laugh again as I take his hand and let him pull me up. “Lead the way, Major.”
He starts to hum as he pulls me back gently by the hands, away from the little plot of vegetables. I recognize the song. It’s one of the last pieces we played together on the piano in Central. Something that might as well have been a million years ago already.
For someone who’s never danced before, Jay’s pretty good. I think. I don’t really have any experience to go off of. But he leads me back and forth steadily, and lifts my hand in his to twirl me around.
I find myself laughing again. “You sure you’ve never danced before?”
He laughs, too. “I’ve only ever watched. My father would occasionally host parties involving dances, but I never wanted to join in. I did see enough to get the gist of it, though.”
“Well, that’s a shame for everyone else at those parties.”
“You’re a little awkward at giving compliments, you know.”
I sigh dramatically. “I know. It’s not in my nature.”
We both laugh and keep moving back and forth, back and forth, and I think that I could stay like this forever. Being gently led by Jay, his eyes softening as they meet mine, his hands warm in my own. For just this moment, nothing else exists. There is no exhaustion, no war, no worry over a friend whose grief is inconsolable. Just the two of us,