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‘You said you were going to pick him up.’
‘No, you said you were going to pick him up.’
Alex should be used to this really. All his mom and dad ever do lately is argue. But now they’re arguing about him, and they’re meant to be happy. He won his lacrosse match, and he got most valuable player too.
He hadn’t expected either of them to turn up at the match, they hadn’t for the last few games, but he thought at least one of them would be there waiting at the end, to tell him well done. Instead, he’d had Coach Rubins trying to get either of his parents to pick up their phones and come get him. He’d waited with Alex, and shared his post-match snack with him. Alex has no idea what it was, but it tasted good.
He’d been happy today, he’d got an A+ on his social studies report and there had been tacos for lunch, and no one had told him to calm down or stop talking. He’d been so good, Benny and Mateo at lunch wanted to talk about some TV show and he’d nodded along, and said nothing about the cool history book he’d found at home that he was dying to tell people about.
Then he’d played so well at lacrosse and the team had lifted him up and Coach Rubins had told him he’d done a good job, clapped him on the shoulder and called him buddy and everything. He thought his dad would do the same, ruffle his hair and call him mijo, and congratulate him, or maybe his mom would give him a hug, and listen to him when he told her about his day.
Neither of them had done either of those things. They’d bickered under their breath the whole way home, and then the shouted had started once Alex had gone up to his room. He hasn’t even had dinner yet, and he’s hungry. June is at one of her friend’s houses so he can’t even commiserate with her.
When the arguing seems to have moved into the study, with the door firmly shut, Alex goes downstairs and shoves some mini pizzas in the oven, bringing them upstairs with a bag of Doritos and salsa, and a bottle of Mexican Coke.
When he’s finished eating, he turns off his light and climbs under the covers to read with his flashlight.
Both times one of his parents knock on his door, he pretends to be asleep.
--------
He’s so warm. Alex is warm-blooded anyway, has always basked in warm climates, come alive under the sun. He’d gotten used to colder temperatures once they had moved to DC, and even more so once he had moved in with Henry in New York. Sometimes it still bit at his bones though, burying deep, with not even three sweaters and central heating able to combat it.
Henry knew how though. Henry who laid down on the sofa, and pulled Alex on top of his, his head on Henry’s chest, and pulled a fluffy blanket over them. Henry who wrapped his arms around him and started running his fingers through Alex’s hair and now Alex is so warm.
Alex thinks Henry might have legitimate magic powers, some buried royal secret that got forgotten about along with the colonization and plundering. Alex had never known what people meant when they said ‘clear your mind’. That couldn’t actually be possible, there was no way anyone could just stop thinking.
It was like asking his lungs to stop breathing or his heart to stop beating, not something he had any actual control over. He had always figured it was like taking deep breaths, asserting some sort of control over the function, but not the whole thing. Like perhaps his brain would have 50 thoughts instead of 100.
Henry is the only person he’s ever known to get his brain to actually stop, or at least focus on just the one thing. It happens most often when they’re having sex, but there’s this too, when they’re simply existing together, David curled at their feet.
‘You can tell me to shut up, Hen.’
‘And when have I ever done that, love?’
‘I’ve been talking for ages.’
‘There’s no time limit on it, Alex, I love listening to every word that falls from your mouth, you talk as long as you want, tell me every detail of your day.’
Alex’s heart flips something funny in his chest and heat flares into his face, as he buries it in Henry’s chest. This isn’t new, Henry letting Alex know how much he loves listening to him talk. They’ve been living together eight months now, and they’ve both been in therapy throughout.
Alex has been working through it, his need to be everything for everyone, the way he burns himself out doing his upmost to be the best. His constant consciousness of how to act, and when to shut up, the ability to tell when others are tiring of him. He knows Henry loves him, loves every part of him, but he’s had a lifetime of trying to please others, and it’s taking time to believe that he is not too much, is actually exactly enough, especially for Henry.
Alex doesn’t mean to cry, but this is new too. He’s cried more since he and Henry started out, than he ever has. His therapist had had to have a stern word with him, when Alex saw it as wasting time during a session, when he could have been talking, rather than weeping. It was all, according to his therapist, part of the process. Crying was normal, was entirely expected, was truthfully actually quite important for working through his issues.
Henry doesn’t interject with consoling words as his t-shirt dampens under Alex’s tears. He kisses the top of his head, keeps running his hand through Alex’s hair, and simply says softly, again and again
‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’
-------
‘What do you think of this one, Papa?’
‘That’s lovely, El, should we add it to the pile?’
Eleanor nods firmly and places the leave very delicately on top of the others in the tote bag Alex is holding open. It’s a project for nature class, collecting different leaves off the trees.
So, Alex is following his daughter around their vast tree-lined yard, taking pictures of each tree and leaf, least they get muddled up, as Eleanor deliberates over the leaves under every different tree, before selecting one with much care and consideration.
Eleanor skips to the next tree and sits down on the ground to examine its pile. She starts to hum to herself as she picks one up and twirls it between her fingers. Alex sits down beside her, puts his hand on either side of her head, and kisses the top of it repeatedly. Alex doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, the onslaught of love that washes over him daily, the overwhelming affection he feels for their daughters.
Eleanor giggles and climbs into his lap, cuddling into his chest. Alex wraps his arms tight around her and kisses her head again, before Eleanor tips her head back, and scrunches her face. Alex kisses the tip of her nose and her forehead and her cheeks and she giggles delightedly, before kissing Alex’s cheek with a loud ‘mwah’ and climbing out of his lap.
‘Beckett at school didn’t believe I could have a hug whenever I wanted’ Eleanor says as she selects her leaf, and puts it carefully in the tote bag.
‘You can have a hug whenever you want, my darling.’
‘Whenever I want?’ Eleanor checks as she reaches for Alex’s hand and he takes it, joining her in skipping to the next tree.
‘Whenever you and I are in the same place, at least’ Alex says, realising the caveats of whenever.
‘What if you’re asleep?’
‘You know you can wake me and Daddy up if you need us, mija. Just remember-‘
‘I have to knock.’
‘You do’ Alex says ‘it’s important to knock.’
‘Because privacy is important.’
‘It is, my love.’
‘But if I knock, I can have a hug?’
‘You can’ Alex affirms.
‘Can I have a hug now?’ Eleanor asks, looking up at him, as if she didn’t have a hug a moment ago, as if he will say no to this one, as if she just wants to make sure.
‘Of course you can.’
Alex kneels down next to the pile of leaves at the tree they’ve just reached and opens up his arms. Eleanor wraps her arms around his neck and squishes her face in there as Alex holds her tight and kisses her head again, swaying with her for a moment, before Eleanor pulls back and plonks herself next to the leaves.
Eleanor starts to hum again and picks her leaf with a grin. They work their way around the yard, Eleanor reaching for Alex’s hand each time they move on to the next one. She hums to herself and peppers her Papa with questions, and is in raptures when she comes across some butterflies in their wildflower garden.
Alex snaps some pictures of his sensitive girl beaming at the butterflies, the combo of her colourful outfit, the butterflies, and the flowers, making everything a riot of colour. He sends one of them to Henry along with the message: ‘miss you x’, the reply coming within seconds.
'I can literally see you out the window’
Alex turns around and catches Henry’s eye through the kitchen window, from where he is at the bottom of the yard. He blows Henry a kiss, and Henry rolls his eyes but catches it, and blows one right back, which Alex catches.
Eleanor has found some worms in the soil and is saying hello to them and asking them about their dinner.
‘We have dinner soon, darling, so we might have to hit pause on the leaves.’
Eleanor looks up towards the left side of their house, at the trees with leaves not yet chosen.
‘But we can keep going until dinner, Papa?’
‘Sure, El, we just have to make sure we wash our hands when we go in.’
They go over the Spanish words for bugs (one of the first things Eleanor had ever asked to learn, and in French too of course) and the flowers and the trees, and they’re at the last two trees when Henry calls them in.
‘We’ve just got two left, Hen’ Alex calls back.
‘Ok, my loves’ Henry calls back ‘see you in a few.’
That is one thing Alex is adamant about with their parenting, timing was not the be all and end all. Of course, punctuality was important, as was consideration of others’ time. But he felt that children too often got chastised for ‘just let me finish this level/chapter/leaf selection’ whereas adults could delay and fire off one last e-mail or text without it being a big deal.
He did not want to be the parent who simply said ‘no, now, because I said so.’ He and Henry may be the grown-ups, but that doesn’t mean their daughters don’t deserve reasons for why they have to do things, just like an adult would. Being parents didn’t mean yielding unfair power around. They were their daughters’ guides to the world, not the dictators of everything they did.
Once the last leaf has been selected, they head inside, and wash their hands at the sink. Victoria is sitting at the table, in full flow to Henry, but she grins at Alex and Eleanor when they walk into the kitchen.
‘And then Daddy, we did reading, and we were each taking turns, and I got to have two gos, and Ms. Ramos says I did so good and I got two gold stars, Daddy, two!’
‘That’s brilliant, my darling, well done.’
Alex bites his lip as he goes to kiss Henry, who is standing at the stove, the food just out of the oven, ready to be dished up.
Victoria had been telling Henry about her day, when Alex and Eleanor had gone outside, over fifty minutes ago. Henry is looking at her with such fondness, affection on every inch of his face, in every word that comes out of his mouth.
She’s telling him now, about class tidy up and how Ms. Ramos let her refill the pot of pencils. In her breath of pause, Henry kisses Alex with a grin, and turns back to Victoria and listens as she recaps when Alex collected them from school.
‘That sounds like such a great day, Victoria’ Henry smiles as he walks over and places her plate in front of her, kissing the top of her head ‘you’re so good, precious girl.’
Victoria beams at him and thrills a thank you, as Henry puts the plate down.
‘Daddy made dinner, Papa’ Victoria tells him as Alex places Eleanor’s plate in front of her, with a ‘thank you!’ exclaimed, and sits down with his own plate.
‘I can see that, mija, it looks yummy, doesn’t it?’
‘Uhuh’ Victoria nods ‘I helped!’
‘You did? Well done, mija.’
Victoria’s beaming smile doesn’t leave her face as Henry sits down at the table, and they all tuck in. She tells them all about how it’s called shepherd’s pie and why that is (Alex loves that Henry obviously just told her about it, and she’s repeating it like it’s new to him), and then there’s some confusion on all sides when Henry’s says ‘red sky at night, shepherd’s delight.’
Henry is gobsmacked to realise even after twelve years of living in the States, that he is still learning differences. The rest of them are gobsmacked that it’s not ‘sailor’s delight’ in England, and the girls add this to their mental lexicon of ‘Daddy’s funny words’, the existence of which still makes Alex giddy, with how much he can wind Henry up over it.
It leads to a discussion about Henry sailing and how maybe they’ll try it the next time they’re in England. It’s been too long since Alex has seen Henry sailing. He loves watching him, his confidence, the assured way he ties knots and unfurls sails, how beautiful he looks with the wind blowing through his hair, his skin flushed and cold.
Here is good too though; Alex looks around at his family, at his beloved husband, at their content quiet girl, and their chatty exuberant one, their old dear dog, and their excitable young corgi. It blooms in his chest again, that feeling. Of the warmth and gentleness of their home, the love that permeates in every corner.
Alex has never felt anything but loved here, he’s never not felt safe, and warm, and cared for. He never worries about what he is coming home to, or that those waiting will be anything but happy to see him. And it’s so easy the way they all love each other. Alex had for years, those when he had so few friends, and was doing his upmost to make others happy, felt like he was hard to love.
Then came Henry, who couldn’t believe Alex loved him just for who he was, and Alex couldn’t believe Henry loved him just the same. There was David, who accepted Alex as his second dad, readily. Bea who always greeted him with bright smiles and hugs, and Pez who pulled Alex into their tight circle without a second thought.
And then there was their daughters. Their daughters who when they were babies looked at their daddies like they were their whole world. Their daughters who sought them out for cuddles and comfort, reassurance and praise. Their daughters who held their hands and climbed into their laps, who asked them countless questions, and told them endless stories. Their daughters, who loved them so easily, who were so easy to love.
Alex looks at Henry listening so intently to Victoria, his expression rapt and adoring. Victoria reminded Alex so much of himself, and he thinks, well if he finds it so easy to love her, then it must mean he’s easy to love to.
‘And I got to write a new name badge for my cubby hole and I did it with a glittery purple pen, and I got to put gold stars all around my name and it’s so pretty!’
‘That sounds wonderful, V’ Henry says as Alex says ‘it really does, darling’ right after him.
Alex leans over to Eleanor at his side, quiet but smiling at them all, swinging her legs as she eats. Alex runs a hand over her hair and kisses the top of her head, and she smiles at him before taking another bite.
In so much as Victoria is like Alex, Eleanor is like Henry, introspective and quiet and passionate. She loved everything with her whole heart, felt everything so much. Alex loves so much that in having Henry as their daughters’ biological father, but raising them in Texas, they were the perfect blend of their dads. They look like Henry, but sound like Alex, and they’ve somehow ended up with one mini me each, their perfect happy little family.
-------
The night passes as it always does, with a bit of TV before bed, and then bathtime, and story time. The girls were getting more confident at reading, but they still loved being read to too, and all four of them are happy to keep that going. Alex and Henry tuck the girls in, last hugs and kisses and loves you, wishing them sweet dreams as they always do.
Later when Alex and Henry head to bed themselves, there is an aching need in Alex. Henry takes him apart slowly and methodically, and Alex gasps at the ceiling with each press of Henry’s fingers, feeling himself unfurl, every muscle tensing and relaxing as his husband loves him.
After, Henry peppers his body with kisses and Alex lies prone and spent, his mind honeyed and peaceful. Once they manage to clean up and get ready for bed, it feels a great effort to pull words up from where they’ve been waiting.
Alex spoons Henry, running his fingers over the ridges of his spine, kissing the spot behind Henry’s ear, tucking his hair behind it.
‘You know-’ Alex says as he moves to hand to move up and down Henry’s chest and Henry takes his hand and kisses it.
‘Yeah, love?’
‘I always think of us reclaiming your childhood’ Alex says softly ‘giving the girls a private life, like you never got to have. It hit me tonight that we’re reclaiming mine too. You listened to Victoria tell you about her day for over an hour.’
Henry turns his head to look at Alex, but says nothing, clearly waiting for him to continue.
‘I can’t remember either of my parents ever listening to me tell them about my day for more than a few minutes.’
‘Oh, my love’ Henry says gently, turning in Alex’s arms and kissing him softly ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what, H?’
‘For ever feeling that you weren’t listened to, for ever feeling like you couldn’t share as much as you wanted to. You can now’ Henry says with another kiss ‘you can always tell me.’
‘I know I can, H’ Alex says, taking a deep breath.
Henry leans in and kisses him on the forehead, muttering a quiet ‘always’ in Alex’s ear.
‘You know how easy our daughters are to love, don’t you Alex?’
Alex nods minutely, marvelling for possibly the millionth time at how Henry can read his mind.
‘You’re the same, Alex. Loving you is as easy as breathing. Loving you feels as big and all-encompassing as all the stars in the night sky, as endless and breathtaking as far as the galaxies can reach. I love you so much.’
Henry swipes at the tears falling from Alex’s eyes, drifting like a gentle stream down his face.
‘I will tell you I love you every day for the rest of our lives, Alex. I will show you how easy it is love you for all of our days. I never won’t feel lucky that you’re mine.’
There was that magic of Henry’s, emptying Alex of thoughts, and leaving him nothing but feelings. He feels lighter as he wraps his arms around Henry, as Henry holds him tight and kisses him wherever he can reach.
Alex falls asleep soon after, his half drowsy thoughts wondering if he’ll ever feel fully healed, ever truly accept how loved he is. His somnolent brain comes to the conclusion, that to ever feel nonchalant about how lucky and happy he is, is not the end goal. At the end of the day, at the end of all his days, to feel grateful for his life, to feel encompassing love every moment of it is worth all the tears and lingering aches he has.
He is so warm as he falls asleep, pressed up against Henry, his husband, Daddy to their daughters, the love of his life, his soft place to land.