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Imani opened the door of Matthew's room one Friday evening, two weeks after he'd left for Italy and a few days after he got back into the country. He hadn't spoken to her since he got back; Imani missed those days they spoke on the phone. Matthew had sounded vulnerable, like he'd needed to talk to her to get through those rough days in the hospital. She had loved that side of him; the Matthew she had known before that visit had been impregnable, powerful to the point of untouchable; she wondered whether he now hated her for allowing her to see that side of him, the part that spoke of his childhood, of the priest that was more of a parent to him, the friends that he grew up with.
Though he hadn't said much about them, he had said e
