Tyler "Prism" Anderson—nicknamed for his striking mismatched eyes—has built a good life. At forty-five, he's a successful account executive with a beautiful home, meaningful work, and deep friendships that span the globe. He travels internationally, writes in his spare time, and maintains close relationships with his chosen family—especially his beloved nephew Joshua, now twenty-one and home from college.
But Tyler has been dead for twelve years.
When Joshua discovers a collection of interviews and stories his uncle left behind—a careful documentation of the relationships that shaped both their lives—he begins to piece together the truth about love, loss, and what it really means to be family. Through Tyler's words, Joshua learns about the diving meet where his uncle met his best friend Rebecca and boyfriend Ken, the wedding that became legendary for all the wrong reasons, the business trips that forged unlikely friendships across three continents, and Tyler's journey of self-discovery. With the help of strangers who became chosen family—from Hong Kong to New Orleans to Brisbane—Tyler learned to navigate not just coming out as a gay man, but understanding his autism spectrum identity later in life, finally finding language for why he'd always felt different in a world that seemed to operate by rules no one had taught him.
As Joshua reads deeper into Tyler's carefully preserved memories, he discovers that the uncle who helped raise him, who understood his need for quiet spaces and predictable routines, who made him feel less alone in an overwhelming world, was also navigating his own journey of self-acceptance. Tyler never really left at all. Some bonds transcend the ordinary boundaries of life and death. Some love is too powerful to be contained by the merely physical.
A novel about chosen family, neurodivergent identity, and the courage it takes to understand yourself—proving that the most important relationships aren't always the ones we're born into, but the ones we're brave enough to build, and that coming out isn't always about sexuality. Sometimes it's about finally finding the words for who you've always been.
Michael Manosca writes about the people others are uneasy mentioning — the ones who are gay, or don't quite fit, or carry some small difference that makes a stranger smile and keep walking. He writes them because he has been one of them, and because somewhere along the way he learned the truth his books keep circling back to: family is not always the people you are born to. It is whoever steps up and says I want you here.
Every novel he has written grows from someone real — a friend, a stranger, a version of himself, a man he loved. He doesn't write to be an author. He writes so that one person, somewhere, might open a book and find themselves inside it — and understand that for all the ways we talk ourselves into being alone, almost none of us truly wants to be.
He came to fiction by way of the arts, studying in Chicago, and it shows in how he builds a scene: visually, patiently, trusting a small gesture to carry the weight. He lives along the western coast of the United States and has written more than a dozen novels, with another always underway.