ever in earnest

Dovi blows a puff of warm air on his hands.

“I’m two for two on relationships going down in flames,” Casey points out abruptly.

He can feel Dovi’s sideways glance, how it lingers as he studies Casey.

Eventually, Dovi shrugs, unfazed, “that just means that you’ll have to catch a break at some point, right?”

Casey’s laugh, short and sharp, escapes his chest like a puncture, “yeah I guess, that’s one way to look at it.”

His mouth is dry, it makes each inhale and exhale all the more punishing. He’s used to it now, after twenty odd years living here. The last few winters in Rome have all been harsh dry ones.

The lawyer handling his divorce had asked Casey if he wanted a copy of the papers in English, in addition to the Italian that it would be filed with the court in, it hadn’t even occurred to Casey to ask. Twenty years is a long time to call a place a temporary home. The suitcase he brought with him to Italy at seventeen years old is still under his bed, his ex-husband used to tease him about holding onto it even though the handle was loose and one of the wheels was broken.

But Casey has always been like that. His mother had cupped his cheeks with her chapped, work-rough hands on his wedding day, the exact same way she did when he only came up to her hip.