Valentino is coming down the stairs, and I rise to meet him at the door. He’s carrying my laptop, and the closer he gets, the louder his cries become. I open my arms for a hug instead of clenching my fists like I want to because I’m so pissed that even with death on the horizon his parents couldn’t get their shit together. Valentino doesn’t come in for the hug, he tosses the laptop on the couch and grabs my face and kisses me. It’s not passionate like the first one on the Brooklyn Bridge, which is great because I don’t care that my family can see us but I’m not ready for them to watch me go in like that either. Valentino is kissing me like I’ve given him a present.

“You okay?” I ask, breathing. “How’d it go?”

“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.”