He looked down at himself and shrugged.

“I hope they’re getting better,” I said, suddenly feeling awful for even bringing it up. Like he needed a reminder? And obviously they were getting better. “Have a seat,” I said, pointing at the closed lid of the toilet.

He sat down and held his cast out toward me. I made sure there were no holes in the bag and slid it over his arm. As I turned to get the tape, I noticed something peeking out of the pocket of his cargo shorts folded up on the counter.

Oren saw me looking. He reached up with his good hand and pulled the thing out of the pocket.

It only took a moment for me to realize what it was. I was so shocked, I just stared at the two little flowers I’d made for him. They were crumpled and worn, but there was no mistaking them. They weren’t attached to the packet of tissues anymore. Maybe he’d removed them when the tissues were used up.

I looked at him. “What is this?”

He did a double take, confused.

“No.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course I know what they are, but I thought you threw them out.”

He shook his head and gently wrapped his fingers around the flowers as he pressed them into his chest. Right over his heart.

“So…wait.” Tears sprung to my eyes. It was clear what he was saying without words.

Still I had to ask. “You like them?”

He nodded. Then he grabbed his phone and typed out:

I’m sorry I never thanked you.

“It’s okay.”

I keep them with me all the time. Even under my pillow at night.

I nodded, not sure what to say to that. After having thought he hated them, I was overwhelmed that the little paper flowers meant so much to him. I guess when I couldn’t be there, my flowers were. That felt good in a weird way.

They want me to go to therapy.

“Who? The flowers?”

He snorted.

No. Uncle. Grandparents. They want me to talk to someone.

How would that even work? Would he type out his feelings in emojis or something?

“You know…” I cleared my throat. “You can always talk to me if you want to. I…I mean, I’m not a therapist, but like I told you when we first met, I’m a good listener. I’m also pretty good at hugs and I can—urk!”

Suddenly I was getting hugged. Hard. Even though he could only use his one arm, Oren was clinging to me as tightly as he had to my mom.

I could tell he was crying, too, so I just kept on hugging, using both my arms until he took a deep breath and began to pull away.

When the hug was over, I reached for a tissue because I was crying now too. I pulled one out for him.

We stood there for a few minutes, sniffling and blotting our tears.

“You okay?” I asked finally.