By day five Alex was exhausted. Melani had kept to her word and didn't give him a spare second to let his mind wander. His sun burn was beginning to stop stinging and he knew he had to have gained a few pounds from their constant eating. After the first night, Melani had essentially moved into his house, taking Roman's empty place. He found a sense of peace in watching Mel and his mom bonding. He could see the joy in her pale blue eyes with having another woman to talk to; a motherly figure that doted over her. He had already written a few multi page letters to be sent out, mostly gibberish that hardly made sense. He was dealing.
On day nine, he was sitting on his floor, staring at the one sentence he had written on his newest letter, Mel is trying to kill me, was as far as he got before his bedroom door was swung open.
"We have to leave in an hour," Melani chirped. Alex's brows rose as he waited for her to explain. "Did you not read the planner?" His nose scrunched in confusion and she huffed loudly. "The planner, Alex! I wrote down our schedule in the planner I put on your desk three days ago!"
"Oh. I thought maybe we could just stay in today..."
"We could if we didn't have a pottery class in an hour and a half."
"A pottery class? You're not serious. Mel, I have absolutely no interest in that."
"Have you ever taken a pottery class?" She deadpanned.
"No, but--"
"Then how do you know? One hour, Alex." He stared at the now closed door for a few drawn out minutes before setting his letter aside and heading for a much needed hot shower.
He couldn't say that he felt better. He could say he was holding on better. Every night he listened to the recordings that Roman left him; the ones that told him to just close his eyes and go to sleep and the one that was a bit crackly and muffled because Roman was no doubt flailing around to recant the story he was recording.
He began to wonder if it was more of a danger to his health to need someone so much or to have that person taken away. They were a package deal and they'd both known it since they were children, but no one had ever said it would be like this.
He had asked Michael what he should write in his letters to Roman. The older man told him that he should just write. He said to tell Roman how he was doing because he knew his son would want to know. Michael told him to add in current sports scores from their favorite teams, or tell him about the things he and Melani had been up too; essentially, things that would keep Roman feeling like he wasn't out of the loop and would keep him upbeat when things got tough. He said that mail call was one of the best times in basic training; that hearing your name called meant that someone was thinking about you. So that's what Alex wrote. He looked up sports scores and talked about shopping and a pair of skinny jeans that Mel forced him to buy. He talked about how she had gotten him to try some organic seaweed drink and he had gagged for hours. He just filled pages with the moments that Roman was missing. He never outright said he was hurting, that he missed Roman so desperately that he wanted to scream. He wanted to be positive, so that's what he did. He told Roman that he missed him, but he was doing fine. He thanked him for leaving the recordings, and he always told Roman that he was proud.
"Alexander!" Melani sang from somewhere down the hallway. He sighed and scrambled to dry his hair before she dragged him out.
The following week they had a cookout at the Delanceys'. Knives scraped across plates as steaks were cut and spoons hit glass bowls as potato salad was scooped and plopped onto plates. It was a calm dinner and it felt completely wrong. Roman would have made a mess of himself by this point. He would have managed to spill someone's drink while grabbing for his third burger or he would be pouting after getting kicked in the shin for mocking Alex. Their parents would have given up on trying to get them to act their age before they had even sat down to eat, and instead, their mothers would sigh with exasperation and the world would be perfect.
