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He knew that music was frustrating. For a while, when he was a kid, long before Rosa and Victor and the whole family, he’d played the fiddle. 

It was something his father did. He knew that much. At this point, he wasn’t really sure if he had actual memories of his father laughing, grinning, and losing himself in klezmer dances and mournful lilts or if he’d filled in the gaps with his imagination. 

He had one for a while; the school he was attending was going to throw it out, and Mrs. McEllwyn, the music director and his only friend at the time, had saved it for him. It was tiny, almost like a toy violin, made to fit within a child’s hand. 

It was his pride and joy. He was lucky at the time to be staying with an older man with little hearing left, so when Freddy spent hours working out the kinks of each shrill squeak and scratching wail, he was met with little complaint. 

Before she retired and Freddy left for another county, Mrs. McEllwyn had given him some lessons after school as he waited with other latchkey kids. She’d taught him most of what he knew about formal music, how to read sheet music, how to tune the thing, how to make his fingers and hands obey the dots on the page, and who Bach was. 

They only had a couple months together, but she left him with a fine enough foundation to practice himself into fiddling with ease. He learned it was frustrating. He learned it could be beautiful after a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. 

There were days when he would drag himself back to wherever he was staying at the time with an entire day’s worth of frustrations underneath his skin and a million miniature failures hanging underneath his eyes. He would take up that fiddle only to find it refusing to cooperate with his hands and want nothing more than to fling it across the room and snap the bow in half. 

Other days, when he was home alone, he would pluck it from underneath his bed and start playing and playing and playing, feeling his consciousness start to stretch out and hum alongside the music pouring from the rivets in the violin. For all the frustration, those moments made it all worth it. 

He loved the fiddle, and he loved music. Before he came to live with Rosa and Victor, before “toughen up” Jim, he stayed with a couple who were nice enough at first. Then they oscillated wildly from way too nice to not nice at all. 

Some of the things that happened in that house he called Meena about and got their foster home license, as well as himself taken away. Some of the other things he swore he was going to take to his grave. 

But it started with the violin. It wasn’t a good day for music, his notes were squeaking, and he just couldn’t get it in tune. But his own frustrated sighs didn’t hold a candle to stomping feet that preceded the yanking open of the door. 

He didn’t really want to think about it, but he thought about it a lot— the yelling that was drowned out by the feeling of the instrument being tugged from his hands, everything rushing in his ears as all he could see was the broken violin on the floor. 

He still missed it. But after years, he eventually stopped wishing to hold the wooden neck and twist his fingers around the bow. He found new things, different things to occupy his hands and his mind. He got his music fix by drowning out the world through headphones and singing to Darla during her sleepless nights. 

That was until now when his fingers and his hands and his arms fought against him and stiffened up as he tried to draw or use a fork or brush his hair out of his face— maybe it was a little silly, frowning at himself after his brain wandered around, but thoughts of his old fiddle filled his mind as he feigned sleep, flexing his fingers instead. 

He didn’t have a violin, but he did have an idea. He waited until the house was empty and clear, turning down any invites to accompany his family on their various escapades. Both Rosa and Victor had tuttered and wrung their hands at the notion— “Just…if you feel faint, go to a couch, okay?” She’d pleaded to him, stroking his hands. “You’re not allowed to hit your head, alright?” 

He promised them he’d find a soft surface the moment he felt a shred of dizziness and got to work the moment the door closed. 

The Vasquez’s piano had never served its intended purpose. It had come with the house and quickly pushed into the corner, becoming a wonderful half-table, as a house, once purchased, instantly descended into a sunshine-bright chaos. 

It took a while, but Freddy was able to clear it, one by one, taking off the various picture frames and trinkets until it actually started to look like what it was. They didn’t have a bench, and his wheels blocked him from reaching all the keys, but he was able to push and drag one of their kitchen chairs into the appropriate spot. 

He sat down, winded and feeling honestly a little dizzy when all was said and done, and he hesitated. The violin took a long time and a lot of hard work to learn. Plunking at a piano was nowhere near the same thing and meant starting from complete scratch. 

But Freddy needed something, some kind of physio to bring his motor skills back to basics. Along with the general exercises, the doctor had suggested he find something he liked doing. And he liked music. 

Freddy sighed and closed his eyes, trying to see Mrs. McEllwyn’s flurrying face and hear her fading voice as she reached for the piano to demonstrate something during their lessons. He lifted his left hand, holding it in the air for a moment and twisting his wrist before placing on the keys. 

All he knew from his fiddling days was how to find middle C. He hit the key, getting the instant feeling that this instrument was a few decibels out of tune, and tried to work his way up from there. 

He knew that there were certain numbers that went with certain keys, and he was supposed to do it right: use one for one finger and two for another. They were all supposed to work together in a particular way. Only, he had no idea what corresponded to what, he knew the thumb was supposed to come into play in some way, but the old string playing instincts wanted that digit far away from any note-making. 

However, he still tried. First, he went for scales, having to say the name of the notes out loud to orient himself on the keys. After maybe five attempts, he was able to play a C major scale back and forth. With that under his fingers, he tried a few chords, having no idea how they worked on the piano but trying to pick through the pieces all the same. 

After an hour and a half, he could painstakingly slowly work through twinkle twinkle with the left hand and the right one, applying a few stilting chords. Once he played through it a third time, he was beginning to ache and his vision was starting to wobble. 

He shuffled himself off and returned the items, half back onto the piano lid and half on the chair, but he didn’t have the energy to move back. He sat back down in his wheelchair and stared at his hands. 

They’d done it. They’d suffered their way through a kind of elementary creation. He smiled. A week ago he couldn’t lift a thred, today he played twinkle twinkle little star on the piano. He smiled a monochrome wider; he’d bend these malleable days into a good summer with his own half-atrophied muscles if he had to, and he’d laugh, he’d grin, whoop, and holler the whole time. 

*** 

“What’s that noise?” Victor perked up from the box that had cornered him into a tight spot in the garage. 

“What?” Rosa cocked her head, slipping one gardening glove off with her teeth and wiping her forehead. “Have you found the orange trowel?” 

“Not yet,” he said. “But I did find these!” he waved his looted treasure above his head. 

“Oooh! Mary’s old school work!” She grinned and took them from him. “For Christmas, I want a microscope,” Rosa read from the green and red construction paper. “I like to spend Christmas with Victor and Rosa, who are my mom and dad.”She paused to press a hand to her heart and share a watery look with Victor. “And Pedro, who’s my new brother.” 

“If that doesn’t make you cry, I don’t know what will,” he said, taking them back and placing them on top of another box.“Wanna put them up?” 

“Yeah.” She nodded. 

“We could do a total art overhaul and put up all the kids’ old things,” Victor chuckled. 

“We might catch some resistance from those rascals who haven’t moved onto college yet. Plus, we don’t have too much from Billy or Freddy or Pedro.” 

“We can put up what we can.” He shrugged. “Put up some new family photos too? Make a wall-sized exhibit.” 

“Now you’re talking,” she said, sticking her gloves in her overall’s front pocket. “We can use that one we took last month, with all of us squished up on the couch.” 

“That noise.” Victor put his finger up and stuck out his bottom lip. 

Rosa frowned and leaned in. “Oh, yeah, I do hear something.” 

Victor stepped out from the boxes and opened the garage door, sticking his head back into the house. “Oh…” he half gasped. “It’s… it’s music. Listen.” He shuffled to the side to let Rosa tuck herself under his arm and listen in. 

“Is…is that Fred?” She looked up at him, eyes sparkling and mouth quirked into a half smile. 

“Well…” Victor raised an eyebrow. “Darla’s at swim practice, Billy and Pedro went to go get more birdseed, and Eugene’s at Lili’s house for another few hours… there’s only one more ragamuffin it could be.” 

“I forgot we even had a piano.” She shook her head, turning back to inch further inside. 

“I forgot he knew how to play it. Or is that…is that something we didn’t know?” 

Rosa shook her head. “Had no idea. Is that Für Elise?” 

“Think so,” he said. “Are you crying?” He tucked his chin downwards towards Rosa as she sniffed. 

She leaned further into him. “A little,” she sighed. “It’s just…sometimes it still replays in my head, him in the kitchen, in the hospital, I…there were so many moments where I really genuinely wondered if he was going to be alright and now…now…” she sniffed again. 

“Now he’s filling our house with music.” He squeezed her close to him.  

After a few more moments, the music stopped. The last few measures were played again, and the music ceased once more. A few arrant notes were plunked, and then the soft thud of the lid ended the impromptu concert. 

Both Victor and Rosa moved to push in at the same time, blocking each other in the vestibule. Rosa laughed and stepped back. 

“After you, Mr. Vasquez.” She smiled, sticking out her hand in invitation.

“Why thank you, Mrs. Vasquez.” He gave a small bow and led them inside. 

Inside, Freddy was half drafted away into the air of the room, leaning on the piano lid, chin resting on the back of his hand, and his eyes floating about as he just barely hummed the tune he’d been playing in the back of his throat. 

“Hey.” Rosa patted his arm, propping his chin up, making him startle a moment. “No leaning on your hands.” 

“Oh.” Freddy blinked and straightened his posture, all but catapulting his head up and off his wrist, bringing his limbs down to rest in his lap. “Right, yeah, sorry…” 

“No apologies,” she said and moved behind him to rest her chin on the top of his head. “Just breaking habits.” 

“Very natural habits at that,” Victor added and leaned against the side of the piano. “What was that you were playing? It sounded good.” 

Freddy shrugged. “It’s…my rhythm is all wooden and off-kilter.” 

“Well, I liked it,” Rosa said, kissing the top of his head. “It was Für Elise, right?” 

“Yeah,” Freddy said, leaning forward a bit and reaching up to adjust his sheet music. It was a little fuzzy and printed straight from the internet. “It’s, um…it sounds deceptively impressive.” 

“Well, I thought it was pretty.” Victor smiled. “Who wrote it?” 

“It was Beethoven,” Freddy said. “Like I said, the first half is…it sounds good cause it was written to be easy but sound impressive cause he had a student he was in love with who was pretty terrible, and he wanted to write something she could play and impress everyone with…but the second half, I can’t do that.” He shook his head. “When she rejected him, he wrote the rest of the piece to be super hard, so she wouldn’t be able to play it.” 

“Oof,” Rosa said. “Petty.” 

“No kidding.” Victor shook his head. “The last musical event with that much drama was Lemonade.” 

Freddy huffed and smiled. “I think Ludwig would approve.” 

“I didn’t know you played,” Rosa said. 

“I don’t really.” Freddy shrugged again. “I used to play…um…I used to be able to play some violin. But that was a while ago…so I can like read music, and I’ve just been…for my hands, you know…thought I’d… I don’t know.” 

“Well, I, for one, am thrilled that this old piece of equipment is getting used.” She patted the side of the piano. “We’re a bit deprived in the music department here.” 

“What could you possibly mean? You’ve heard Mary sing.” Freddy dropped his jaw in mock offense. 

“I love our self-proclaimed tone-deaf daughter.” Victor shook his head. “But man…headphones are a godsend when she showers.” 

“If um…” Freddy cleared his throat. “If it gets annoying I can stop or can ask me to whenever, I’ve been trying to just um play when everyone’s out so I don’t…I don’t know, just hum. I don’t really know how to play, so just let me know if it gets annoying.” 

“That will not be happening.” Rosa moved to stand next to Victor. “All I ask is that you don’t play at 5AM or 3AM, waking hours, other than that you can hammer on random keys all day long if you want?” 

“What?” Freddy chuckled. 

“I mean it.” Rosa shrugged. “If someone doesn’t want to hear it like Vic said, headphones.” 

“Oh.” Freddy frowned. “Um… Thank you. I’ll keep it to reasonable times.” 

“Is it helping?” Victor asked. “With your hands?” 

Freddy brought them up over the lid, palms up, and wiggled his fingers. “I think so? Some days are better than others, but… it’s getting easier. Either that’s just practice, or my muscles or nerves or whatever starting to get their act together. Who knows?” 

“Probably both,” Rosa said. “I can’t wait until you play me some Chopin for my birthday.” She grinned. 

Freddy shook his head. “I was doing Old McDonald’s not too long ago, but I think I’m a while away from Chopin.” 

“Well, then, you better get to work,” she said. 

*** 

“I thought I explicitly told you to turn this place into a farm or a tiny bonsai forest,” Freddy said, surveying the room after getting ready for bed upstairs for the first time since coming home. Really, it was much cleaner than usual, and Freddy’s side had barely been touched, with the exception of a made bed. 

Billy snorted and flopped down on his bed. “Sorry to disappoint, but welcome back, man.” 

“Eh.” Freddy shrugged and sat down on his bed. The mattress welcomed him with open arms and whispered true and horrible things to him about the comfort and integrity of the couch downstairs. “It’s chill. Both of those options seem like way too much work anyway.” 

He leaned back, inhaled his pillow, and turned back around to Billy. “I’ve been practicing my snoring, just so you know, some real seismic honk shooing, just for you.” 

Billy snorted. “Oh boy, I can’t wait. I guess that’s better than sleep talking, I’m lucky you don’t sleep talk, I feel like you’d be trying to tell me about French empires for something.” 

Freddy grinned. “Oh, you just wait, kiddo. I’m about to lull you to sleep with both the rise and the fall of the Merovingian dynasty.” 

“Oh lord.” Billy grabbed one of his pillows and smooshed it over his head. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay on the couch?” 

“Take that!” Freddy balled up a loose sock and threw it at his brother’s face. 

“Oh, what the hell?” Billy removed the pillow, chuckling, and sat up, looking around. “Was that your sock? You really are better, better, and about to join the baseball team, apparently.” 

“Ha! Can you imagine?” Freddy flopped further down. “Here comes Freeman, limping his way around to first base!” He put his fist under his mouth to try and mimic a microphone to accompany his transatlantic accent. “Oh! And he’s tagged with the lightest possible touch, which seems to have shattered all of his bones. Fortunately though, folks, this has been a perfectly typical Mets game.” 

Billy laughed, screwing up his whole face and shaking with the sound. Freddy smiled, biting down on his lip as he watched. It’d taken a long time for Billy to laugh like that, and now it seemed like he gave out those moments of overflowing joy like they were going out of style. It was a good sound, a sound that helped glue the puzzle piece that Billy was in their family. 

“Let’s all be glad I can’t sleepwalk, I’d be doing somersaults around the room,” he added. 

“A blessing,” Billy said. “I think we’d be chasing you down the street every night.” 

“For sure,” Freddy huffed, shaking his head. He looked up at the familiar ceiling. Something hammering and shaking in him like an anemic woodpecker calmed itself at the familiarity of it all, the feel of his blankets, of his nightstand, adjusted just so, of the bed adjusted at the perfect height for him to slide in and out of. 

“Ribbons,” Billy said after a spell. 

Freddy turned to him, raising a brow. “Huh?” 

“Something Pedro mentioned, suggested kind of…Ribbons on the handles of the dressers. Would that help? Make things like easier?” 

Freddy looked at him for a moment, eyes still koi ponds and mouth tilted and stuck half open. Billy had a pensive dent between his brows and his gaze was fixated on the dressers. 

He couldn’t help himself, he let out a laugh half shock and half bark. His smile grew, and he pressed the tip of his tongue to the back of his teeth. 

“What?” Billy turned to him, frown deepening. 

“No, no! It’s-you’re-I.” He shook his head to try and clear it. “It’s a sweet suggestion. It just kind of shocked me, sorry.” 

“Oh.” Billy blinked and then smiled at him with a small sigh. “Oh, good. Um, it was just something Pedro mentioned…I don’t know.” 

Freddy hummed. “Sweet suggestion,” he repeated. “Maybe? We could try it.” He shrugged. 

Honestly, he didn’t think it would do anything. It was the difference between pulling on something and pulling on something. However, the thought of Pedro and Billy trying to think of things and talk about things that would make the world easier for him was equal parts endearing and embarrassing. He decided to lean into the endearing side— ribbons. He’d try it, though it seemed like it’d make no difference. 

“Awesome.” Billy nodded, a smile creeping quickly on his lips and solidifying Freddy’s decision not to push back. “We’ll do that tomorrow.” 

“Thanks.” Freddy smiled. For thinking of him, if nothing else. 

“Hey, um…” Billy began, his frown coming back full force. He leaned on his elbow and messed a bit with his fingers. 

“Yeah?” Freddy urged. “What’s up?” 

“Um…” He started again. “I, uh…Was there…” 

“Hmm?” Freddy tried to push him onward as Billy trailed off. 

“When you went to the hospital…the- when- in the kitchen.” He cleared his throat. “You were just up here like a second ago and then down there and…I.” He sighed. “Just…was there anything I could have done? To like help it not’ve happening?” 

Freddy blinked and pinched his lips, turning his head to study Billy’s taught face. “No,” he said. Plain and simple. “No, there wasn’t.” 

Billy cleared his voice again. “Sorry,” he said. “If I…” 

Freddy swallowed. His response must have been more blunt than he remembered. “No, you’re fine. It’s just how it was. There wasn’t anything anyone could do. Sure, I wasn’t really sleeping…my arms were uncomfortable, my leg hurt.” He sighed. “But, I thought I was just getting water. I wasn’t exactly planning on saying sayonara to my consciousness, ya know?” 

Billy nodded, biting on half of his lip. “I just…” 

“If you’re feeling a single ounce of guilt, I’ll clobber you with my new baseball bat.” 

Billy chuckled. “Alright, alright. I feel like if I offer to get you water, I’m gonna get another sock thrown at me, but-” 

“You’d be correct.” 

“ But, if you’re like…you can wake me up. If you’re like…in pain or need something or feel faint or weird or something.” 

Freddy picked his head up for a moment and squinted at Billy. The last time he was in a foster home with other kids, they were no different than the Byers, just picking on him, stealing his crutch, going out of their way to trip him, purposefully making ordinary things inaccessible for a quick and cheap laugh. He honestly expected Billy to be much the same when they moved in, even when he proved not to be a bully, there was no world in which Freddy would have imagined ‘you can wake me up if you’re in pain.’ 

He sucked in a deep breath and settled back down. “Thank you,” said. “I…That actually means a lot, I…thank you.” 

“I mean it,” Billy said. “Like I’d be a little peeved if you woke me up to tell me about the mariva-whatever dynasty, but not if you need a pain killer or Victor and Rosa or a fucking ambulance.” 

“Oof, let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” 

“Yeah, god forbid, but like Victor showed me where your pain meds are-.” 

“My horse tranqs, right.” 

“But like…I don’t know. Just remember I’m right here if you need someone or something.” 

Freddy smiled soft and a little wobbly, not in the battle against tears, but in the atrophy of small genuine smiles at small genuine acts. “Thanks,” he said again. “And don’t think the same doesn’t go for you. Yeah, I’ll probably not be the best person to ask to fetch you anything, really, but I can comfort the hell out of a nightmare or an anxious moment.” 

Billy let out a small chuckle, not unkind or disingenuous, just spilling from an equally small smile. “Thanks,” he said. “I might wake you up if I have a particularly stupid thought.” 

“And I count on it.” Freddy grinned. 

Billy smiled back. “Okay,” he said. “Turning out the light,” he announced as he reached over to click and twist the switch of the lamp. “Night, Fred. Love ya.” 

“Night, Billy. Love ya, too.” 

*** 

Freddy loved his siblings. He really did. He would do just about anything for them, no scratch that. He would do absolutely anything for them, including running a marathon if he had to. If it was for anyone under the Vasquez roof, he’d find a way. 

That love had grown over time, and they had all learned to live and adjust to each other. At this point, they were all pretty good about the whole disability thing. 

There had been some growing pains. Mary, for one, was noticeably uncomfortable when he’d arrived, barely even looking at him. Afterward, she’d switched to babying him, which made him want to scream. However, sooner or later, she’d evened out and become one of his steadiest allies. 

Pedro didn’t say anything stupid, as he didn’t say much to begin with, but he did have a moment of sheer horror when he accidentally knocked Freddy down. Freddy watched his face completely still and go wide with shock. Only, he’d sprung back up and clapped Pedro on the back, pushing in the water beneath the bridge. 

Eugene, on the other hand, would ask about a million questions in under a minute. Out of sheer quantity, some of them were really pretty stupid and insensitive, but he didn’t seem to be perturbed when Freddy would chuckle and tell him so, just following up with an ‘oh, okay, sorry. Do you want to be Yoshi or Luigi?’ Freddy, of course, would choose Princess Peach and proceed to both beat Eugene and answer about three million more questions about anything and everything as he did so. 

Billy had been fine, said some stupid things, and did some stupid things. But he had a lot to get over in all things. Acceptance and general non-asshollery seemed to follow Billy’s coming to terms with his mother and letting them all in step by step. 

He was happy to answer a barrage of questions, he was happy to spring up after being accidentally knocked over, and he was happy to wait as Mary oscillated wildly and got used to him. He was happy to be patient as Victor and Rosa stumbled over themselves a million different times in a million different ways. He was just grateful none of them were cruel and that they actually believed him. 

Darla didn’t even seem to blink. She asked on multiple occasions whether she could put stickers and sparkly tape on his crutch, which he gladly accepted, but she seemed to take everything in stride, seeming to see his disability as nothing more remarkable than his nose, or chin, or eyebrows. 

That was until recently. 

Darla had leaped at him and hugged him when he returned to the hospital and a couple more times after that, even falling asleep tucked into his side when they all squished in to watch a movie. But that was the last time she had touched him. 

One day she was dispensing her hugs and hand holds affection to everyone, but the next day he was the only one excluded from that club. 

It sunk his heart. She stopped hugging him in the morning or at night. She stopped asking him to sing to her or do her hair. During another show, with everyone snuggled up together, she’d left his side and squeezed herself somewhere else. 

She was perfectly entitled to hug or not hug him; Freddy, of course, never said a peep about it; if she was done with hugging or cuddling or given any kind of physical affection, so be it. But she wasn’t, she was just as clingy to everyone else, but it was as if over night Freddy’s skin or self had become totally toxic to her. 

He would swallow and pretend he hadn’t noticed, but it all made him want to cry. After being so thoroughly poked and prodded like a lab rat in the hospital, her hand-to-a-stove reaction to him reawakened and bolstered the kind of hollow, dusty, damp, and cave-like sickness that came with the dehumanization he had been dragged through. 

He knew she would never mean to make him feel such a way. Darla led with a fierce kindness, but it was, unfortunately, the side effect, especially paired with the low, watery, and flickering gaze she would shoot at him, which would puncture right through his heart, which would spurt with shame. 

He racked his brain and achingly landed on the only change that had occurred was the level of his disability. He knew shewas only human, a very young one at that, and dealing with everyone in her own way, but it shattered his heart with infecting splinters of grief. He missed his body before the summer and missed her something awful. 

“Hey.” Freddy knit his brow and twisted up his mouth in a musing frown, turning to Billy and Pedro on the couch as they all fiddled with their own activities, scrolling through phones or flipping through books, lazily watching Eugene’s video game protagonist battle some kind of vampire monster. 

“Yeah?” Billy quirked a brow, not looking up from his phone. 

“Is she alright?” He gestured with his head towards the direction that Darla had gone running at Rosa’s beckon. 

“Darla?” Pedro blinked and craned his neck down the hall. “Yeah, why?” 

“I don’t know…” Freddy shrugged. “She’s just been kind of avoiding me recently, I guess.” 

“I’ve noticed that.” Billy finally looked up. “Weird. Did you piss her off or something?” 

“No.” Freddy shook his head, bottom lip protruding slightly. “Not that I know of. It was just like…she woke up and stopped hugging me.” 

“Maybe she was turning into a teenager.” Pedro shook his head. 

“Then why am I the only recipient?” Freddy crossed his arms. “What gives?” 

“Maybe it was that talk that Rosa and Victor gave us,” Eugene piped up, eyes still glued to his screen and thumbs moving a mile a minute on the controls. 

“The what?” Freddy scrunched up his nose and tilted his head. 

“Oh.” Pedro raised his eyebrows. “That checks out.” 

“Makes sense,” Billy added, going back to his phone. 

“Excuse me? The what?” Freddy repeated. 

“They sat us down when you got back from the hospital the second time,” Eugene supplied, not once breaking from his concentration. “Told us like not to lean on your arms or like put a bunch of pressure on you or your nerves would start going crazy. Also said the fainting was gonna keep being a thing so to not like let you hit your head on anything.” 

“Yeah,” Billy nodded. “In so many words.” 

“Oh.” Freddy blinked. 

“They didn’t give us a bunch of details,” Pedro said softly. “Just some not to dos and to dos.” 

Freddy nodded in slow, absent motion. He bit on his lip. He had no idea what exactly to make of that. He hugged himself a little tighter. There had been many moments in the past in which people had shared his medical information willy-nilly without his permission, something that always left him ill and stormy with the betrayal. His medical information was more or less written over his body for everyone to see. Ideally, he wanted to keep what was private as private as he could; it meant the world to him. 

This wasn’t that, Freddy assured himself, though the fortressing instincts wanted to start building immediately. There was no betrayal here, Rosa and Victor were just doing their jobs and caring for both Freddy and his siblings, they couldn’t help the things people had done to Freddy in the past, especially if he never said. 

It was an odd idea, envisioning their parents trying to explain Freddy’s new fragility. Maybe they did so kindly and with as much respect as possible, but it was still an odd thought. He was glad for it, really, he would rather them know than accidentally hurt him. Still, it was…strange. 

Somewhere in the back of his head, he thought he remembered Rosa asking him if she could say something to the rest of them, but everything was so thick and gray and foggy from that day, and he just wanted to go to bed. Certainly, he’d agreed, but he just remembered being tired. 

“Huh,” he said. He blinked and shook his head a little. He had absolutely no idea what to make of that. His brain puttered and buzzed at the thousand things it could mean. “I’ll give five dollars to the first one who can pronounce my entire condition.” He smirked. 

There was a moment of silent contemplation before the room erupted in garbled nonsense, each of them throwing out a butchering of unrelated and random medical terms and pure gibberish. Freddy grinned, which spilled quickly into a belly-shaking laugh. 

*** 

“There, look at that.” Rosa pocketed her level and took a step back to gaze at the wall in front of her in the space between the kitchen and the living room where everyone else scattered about. “Perfect.” 

“What is it?” Eugene ducked from under her elbow, dragging in everyone else. 

“A family wall,” she said. “It’s got the picture of us we took last March. It’s got old drawings, old assignments, everything.” 

“Is that my ancient Rome essay?” Pedro frowned. “I got a B on that. Why is it framed?” 

“You got an 87%! That’s amazing.” She snaked her hands around his shoulders and leaned her head on the side of his. “It’s framed ’cause we’re proud.” 

“It kind of looks like a shrine,” Eugene said. 

“It’s a family wall,” Victor said, putting his arm around his. “Look, we put up your bank robbery drawing.” 

“Some of my finest work.” Eugene nodded. “I’ll forgive you that it’s not in a gold frame.” 

Victor chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “We’ll save the gold frame for the double robbery.” 

“My life cycle of a frog!” Darla grinned and pointed. “I forgot about that. Oh, third grade, those were the good old days.” 

“It’s good work,” Billy said. “I like that the frogs have eyelashes.” 

“Yesh, Mrs. Davis didn’t like that.” She shrugged. “She thought eyelashes were only for mammals. Which is odd cause she always wore fake eyelashes…so why couldn’t the frogs.” 

“That’s a fantastic point,” Freddy said. “The world just wasn’t ready for you yet.” He smiled, trying to catch Darla’s eyes and failing. 

“Let’s all play a game called ‘which Santa drawing is Freddy’s’,” Billy said. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess it’s the one with the giant blue menorah drawn over his face.” 

“I stand by that decision.” Freddy grinned and crossed his arms. “If they weren’t going to give me a dreidel to color and force me to look at that catholic guy’s mug all class, then they’re getting that.” 

“I like it,” Rosa said. “It’s an apt commentary.” 

“Why’d you have to put up my report card?” Billy scratched the back of his neck. “Now, I gotta look at the C I got in chem for the rest of my life.” 

“We put it up,” Rosa said, moving from Pedro to Billy. “Because, like essays and construction paper scribbles and bank robbery drawings and Jewish Santas, we’re proud.” She kissed the side of his head. “But we can always put something else up if you want.” 

“No…” Billy said, tilting his head. “No… it’s nice.” 

“Good job, love.” Victor pulled Rosa from Billy and kissed her cheek. “It looks great.” 

“Thank you.” She leaned against his chest and put her hand over a large yawn. “But, I’m wiped out, I’m gonna head to bed. 

As she was in front of him and on the side not resting on his crutch, Freddy hedged his bets and placed a hand on Darla’s shoulder. She instantly shrugged it off and skipped forward to follow Rosa. 

“Me too,” she said. “Good night, everyone.” 

Freddy muttered a goodnight and turned back to the picture, sitting proudly in the middle of all of the chaotic schoolwork and drawings. They were all pressed up together, Freddy’s arm was around Eugene, whose arm was around him, Billy was smiling carefree as if in mid-laugh right in the middle, and Mary was grinning so bright and bold her smile threatened to fly right out of the photo, Victor’s arms seemed to embarrass them all under his wingspan, Darla happily seated in Rosa’s lap and Pedro tucked right under Victor’s hand. 

It grabbed at his throat. Nothing was perfect then, but looking from where he was, it seemed pretty close. The familiar grief from his more abled self and Darla’s affection gnawed at his very bones. Something needed to give, and Freddy wasn’t going to be cured any time soon, so it would have to be his little sister. 

*** 

“Hello.” Freddy knocked on Darla’s door, right beneath the curly pink letters labeling it as so, and entered at her affirmative. 

“Hello.” She gave a small, tight smile over her book. 

“May I?” Freddy gestured to the end of her bed. 

She hummed and nodded her head. Freddy smiled back, sitting down by her feet, and leaned his crutch against the wall. He sat for a moment before scooting himself further up the bed, closer to her, and leaning against the wall. 

He placed a hand on her shin. “What are you reading?” 

“ The Outsiders ,” she said. “It’s for school next year.”

“You like it?” 

She shrugged. “It’s alright. Kind of sad.” 

“I remember that.” He nodded. “So.” He started. “Care to tell me what’s going on with you?” He squeezed her leg a little. 

“What do you mean?” She crossed her arms and looked down. 

“I mean,” he said. “Why you stopped hugging me.” 

She didn’t respond but hugged herself tighter, seeming to cease breathing. Freddy moved his thumb on his hand, resting on her shin in a steady few motions. 

“I don’t know exactly why,” he went on. “But I have a theory.” 

She looked up at him, brows knit up, and it seemed like they were trying to meet each other. He held out his other hand towards her, palm facing up. 

“Here,” he said. “Grab my hand.” He nodded. 

She pursed her lips and raised her own hand, hovering it slightly above his hand. He gave a smile, hoping to encourage another nod. She took it with the lightest touch she could, just barely holding it between her fingers. 

“Now squeeze it,” he said. “Not as hard as you can. You’re pretty darn strong. But like you’re shaking my hand, come on.” 

She swallowed, deepening her frown and just barely increasing the pressure in her fingers. 

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he said softly. 

She looked up, mouth shaking. He smiled again. 

“I promise you’re not going to hurt me,” he repeated. She held a little tighter. 

He twisted his hand to properly hold hers. He gave a single squeeze and let go. “Is that what this has been about?” He asked. 

Darla’s shoulders dropped along with her face. She pooled against her pillows. “Yeah…” she said so soft that he almost didn’t catch it. 

“It’s just…” she went on, sighing through her words. “Rosa said that too much pressure could…it could stop your hands from working again. That…that…I don’t want to hurt you.” She looked up. “What if I hug you wrong, and your arms stop? What if I lean against you, and you stop being able to walk?” Her eyes welled, and her bottom lip trembled. “What if-” 

“Well.” Freddy returned a hand to her shin. “I already can’t walk, so no worries there.” 

“You know what I mean.” She glared. 

“Yes.” He nodded. “I do. Look here.” He twisted around a little to face her more. He folded his right arm forward, his hand coming to grace his shoulder. 

“This,” he said, pointing to the spot beneath his elbow. “Here is called the ulnar nerve. It runs down the arm and up the fingers. You know when you bump this area and your whole arm like freaks out?” 

“Yeah, the funny bone.” She nodded. 

“Right. So that nerve right here. If I lean on it for too long then it’ll cause nerve trouble in my arms and hands. If someone were to lean on my arm for a while, then yeah, my arms might decide to give up. Which is annoying, but how it is, I guess.” 

She nodded again, shifting a little as she listened. 

“But you can’t hurt me by hugging me. You can’t hurt me by touching my arms. You can’t hurt me by touching my hands. And with my legs, it’s not like anyone is ever going to sit on my lap, but you can still rest your head on me, no problem. Capisce?” 

He watched as she bit on half of her cheek, considering. “Yeah,” she whispered and nodded. “Yeah.” 

The smile Freddy gave her was tired, he knew that, but it was real. “Can I hug you?” He asked, extending his arms a bit. 

“But what if…” She trailed off. “What if…” 

“How about this, hmm? If you’re ever hugging me or snuggling or anything, and I think a part of me might go kaput or hurt, I’ll let you know, okay?” 

Darla drew in a breath that sounded a bit stuttering and then launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso and smashing her face into his chest right where his wayward heart was thankfully cooperating with him and beating steadily. 

He hummed and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve missed you,” he said. 

“I missed you,” she said into his shirt. “I hated not hugging you, I hated it so much, but I didn’t think I was allowed to anymore.” She sniffed. 

He squeezed her tighter, rocking them subtly. “I’m sorry things have been so…so crazy lately. I’m sorry everything got all muddled up.” 

“Not your fault,” she insisted. “Just glad to have you back. Properly.” 

He craned his neck down and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna avoid it as much as I can, but there’ll probably be another day sometime when my nerves go rogue. And it’s never gonna be anyone’s fault or anything, my body just has a mind of its own. And even then, I’m gonna want Darla hugs, probably extra.” 

She buried her face deeper into him for a moment before untangling them and smiling up at him, a real wide smile that reached up to her eyes. She leaned back, crossed her legs under her, and looked down, fiddling with the little bow on the ankle of her socks. 

“I’m a little worried,” she said. “That if you faint, I wouldn’t be able to catch you.” 

He reached out and landed a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I think they’re mostly worried about me hitting my head on the edge of a table or something. So really, if that’s gonna happen,  then you’re more than welcome to just shove me really hard.” 

She looked up and frowned, decidedly not finding his joke funny at all. “Pedro said he caught you.” 

“Yeah.” Freddy nodded. “He did. But I more like leaned against him and he put me on the floor. Pedro’s strong, but I don’t think he had to use any of that strength to do that. Also, I’m getting better at recognizing the warning signs, so I think most of the time I’ll be able to get to like a chair or the floor or something.” 

She nodded slowly, pinching her mouth to the side. 

“Plus,” he went on. “I bet you could.” He smiled. “You’re Darla Dudley, famous strongwoman, right?” He nudged her. 

She smiled and looked up. “Yeah…yeah. You’re right. You’re pretty weak, so I probably could.” 

“Hey,” he chuckled. “Fair enough I guess, but why the left hook out of nowhere?” 

She just giggled and waited a moment before leaning in and hugging him again, a touch more relaxed and softer this time. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” she said. 

“Me too,” he said, rubbing her back. “It’s getting late. I’ll let you go to bed. Thanks for talking with me.” 

She let go and tucked herself back into the covers. “Will you stay and sing a little?” 

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

*** 

“Come on in.” Mary poked her head out of the water, hair falling behind her like a mermaid. 

She’d come up for another long weekend, spurring her siblings to rattle off things to do with her to fill their summer with as much fun as possible while she was around. Eugene, who’d been making strides on the swim team, had them all swimming suits and on their way to the local pool. 

Freddy didn’t particularly like to partake in swimming— he’d never learned how having much bigger fish to worry about at that age than trying to become one. Even now, he didn’t really care to try. Being wet from head to toe was nowhere near his idea of a good time. Plus, he was pretty certain you needed to be able to kick to swim. Plus, he’d been feeling like his arms were moving deep underwater for a while now, he had no desire to recreate the experience. 

He didn’t mind, however, to sit by the pool and read or heckle his siblings while they jumped in. At the moment, he was enjoying himself with a book on Alaric of the Visigoths and dripping his feet into the corner of one of the less populated pools. 

“Hmm?” He looked up from his book. “I’m alright, thanks, though.” 

Mary pouted and flicked water at him. It hit him on the side of the face and rolled down his neck to soak the shoulder of his shirt. 

“Hey!” He tried to wipe some of it off. “What gives?” He closed his book and slid it a few paces from the water. 

Mary giggled and splashed him again. She moved a little closer on the edge and put her hand on the ankle of his good leg, giving a tiny tug, gentle enough just to barely move his foot. 

“Come on,” she repeated. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Mar, but I can’t swim. Actually, that was really easy to tell you.” 

“I know that,” she said, putting her elbows on the edge by where he was sitting. “I’m not saying you should do laps. I’m saying you should get into this relatively shallow part of the pool where I am and where I’ll make sure you don’t drown.” 

“I don’t know.” he crossed his arms. It still sounded like he’d need to kick or balance or something that would be unpleasant. Beyond that, in much simpler terms, he just didn’t want to take off his shirt.  The scar from his knee peeking out from the hem of his shorts was more than enough. 

She pushed off the wall a little and turned over on her back, suspending herself in the water. “What if I promise you you won’t have to do anything at all? Just float. Like this.” 

Freddy pulled his lips inward between his teeth. It did seem peaceful. But he still wasn’t sure. “I don’t know if I could do that either.” 

“You don’t have to do anything but breathe,” she said, going back to her feet. “Or even that, I’ll keep you afloat.” 

Freddy cleared his voice and glanced around. Other than some other women who were happily engrossed in conversation with one another and a couple of other kids in their own pool toy fetching game, there wasn’t anyone else in this particular section. 

He drew in a deep breath through his nose. “Okay,” he said. “Alright…” 

“Great.” She smiled. “Come on.” 

“Alright,” he repeated, hesitating as his fingers fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. It was fine, he told himself, it would all be fine, no one cared, Mary shouldn’t care, it was all fine. The mantra did nothing for the rumbling pit of nerves in his stomach. 

He pulled another quick and merciless breath before pulling his shirt over his head. To his shock, the world didn’t immediately stop and shatter into a million pieces. Everything just carried on as if nothing could possibly be amiss. 

Freddy swallowed and pushed himself to where Mary was waiting. He saw as she racked her gaze up and down his chest before shaking it off and returning to her simple smile. 

He was grateful she didn’t mention any of it or let any thought show on her face. He knew he was a bit of a sight— down his sternum and hook around his right rib cage was a large sprawling skin stretching scar over bones that were a little too flat and figured into a concave approximation of the proper bones, over which was a long smooth clinical scar from where a scalpel had opened him and attempted to reconstruct what had been crushed by the bookshelf. The other side wasn’t too much better, long straight scars showing where his spine had been examined and stitched back up. 

Some of the most unpleasant parts of his life’s story were etched into him for him and the entire world to see and never forget. Which was part of the reason he tried to keep himself thoroughly covered up, layers of shirts, long pants well into the summer, even down to hats, he tried to avoid small children pointing at him and running away, he tried to avoidanother sigh as he caught himself in the mirror. 

“I’ve got you,” Mary said. 

She caught him the moment he hit the water, tucking one hand under his knees and the other on his shoulder blades. Her touch held barely any pressure, just hardly holding onto him. 

“Extend your legs,” she said. “Nice and easy.” 

His motions were a little stuttering, water lapping over his body and his forehead. He twitched a bit in the effort to do so and relax at the same time. 

“Breath in,” she said. “Deep. Even. Close your eyes.” 

He did so and gladly, the water on his forehead feeling dangerously close to his eye and nose. He felt his breath quiver a bit on the release. But he went again in circles, breathing in and out. 

Mary moved them a bit, her feet bouncing on the pool floor. Her own body was close to his as she held him up with light hands, he could hear the low soft hums coming from her. 

As he floated, focusing only on breathing, the vague annoyance of being in the water started to slowly transform into an ease— an ease he hadn’t felt in a long time, an ease that was reserved for his best days. All of his muscles, who usually wailed and moaned against his joints, seemed to loosen their trembling white knuckle hold bit by bit. 

He sighed. It wasn’t painless, but as if the constant thumb was muffled, its usual blare thrown deep beneath the water. 

“See, it isn’t so bad,” Mary said. 

He could hear her smile through her words. “Helps,” he hummed. 

“With some of the pain, right? I read something about that.” 

“That’s how you should have stated your pitch!” Freddy smiled, keeping his eyes closed. “I would’ve been cannonballing in!” 

She chuckled, disrupting the tranquil balancing. “Yeah, probably.” 

“Damn, can’t believe I have to go live on land again, sucks to suck, I guess.” 

“Oh, I bet Rosa and Victor would bring you here any day. And it looks like you certainly wouldn’t get any complaints from the rest of those hooligans.” 

“Then I’m certain I would drown.” 

“Oh, come on. This is easy. It’s just floating. Keep breathing like you have been.” Slowly, with steps arrested in fluidity, she stepped away from him, allowing him to simply float. 

“I guess,” he said. “A lot more fun with you, though.” 

“Awww.” Mary swam back up to him. “You miss me.” 

“Obviously,” he said. “Drop out of school and stay here forever.” 

“Oh, that I could. But I have to go study so I can clone a bunch of sheep for Eugene.” 

“A noble cause, I suppose. I think you’re gonna have to airlift me out of here.” 

“I’ll call the helicopter.” 

*** 

“Are you sure about this?” Victor turned to Freddy on the couch and placed a steady hand on his shoulder.  

“Yeah.” He nodded. He wasn’t, not really. But the moment that Rosa had mentioned dismantling the wheelchair and returning it, he agreed. She was already wrench in hand and one wheel off. 

His leg twinged at the very thought of saying goodbye to the chair, but it had to go. Just like he could feel his legs complaining, he could feel the emptiness of the change jar by the fireplace that he remembered as filled before his trip to the hospital. He knew they would do the same for any of their children, but he still felt guilty, by nature of existence his medical insurance was more expensive. 

It was a temporary goodbye, he assured himself, if he started saving now and hustled a bit, he could probably afford one, a really low quality one maybe a year. It wouldn’t be a proper investment, a good manual one could be about five hundred dollars and even a relatively cheap automatic one could be in the thousands. 

But he could use his crutch now. Sure, it was nice not to when he was in more pain than usual, and he did worry about the pressure on his wrists and arms paralyzing them again, and on top of that, he was much less worried about fainting when he was sitting, and even then it was so nice to be able to almost effortlessly keep up with anyone he was walking with. 

He brought up his good leg to his chin. A temporary goodbye, he assured himself, a temporary goodbye. He glanced at the crutch lying against the coffee table and glared at it for a moment. 

“Cause we can wait.” Victor frowned. 

“That won’t make a difference,” Freddy said against his knee. “It’s not going to be any easier to walk next month or the month after that or the year after that or the year after that.” 

Victor rubbed his back. “You say the word,” he said. “And we’ll re-rent it or buy one-” 

“They’re expensive.” 

“And there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for any of you.” 

“With all due respect.” He turned his head to Victor, squishing his cheek on his knee, and flashed a small smile. “I’m not stupid.” 

“No one thinks that.” Victor knit his brows. “Why…?” 

Freddy sighed and put his leg down. “I know you’d do anything for any of us. I know that I don’t doubt that. And you couldn’t imagine how grateful I am over what you’ve already done….but…” he sighed. “You have five mouths to feed, not including yourselves. You’ve already got a kid in college, and we already know Darla’s a supergenius, so she’s probably headed to Harvard. I know…I know doctors are expensive, I know tests and blood drawing and prescription painkillers are expensive, and I know mobility aids are expensive.” 

“Fred.” Victor put a hand to the base of Freddy’s neck. 

“Listen, I’m not saying never spend a cent, but I’d much rather like you to be real with me. I know how this works, so I know when you’re keeping me in the dark.” 

Victor sighed and pulled Freddy to rest against his chest. “I know, kid…We don’t want to deny you a thing, especially when it’s something that’s going to make your life easier. But you’re right, this country’s healthcare system is shit and it’s not easy. But the moment we can actually buy a chair or-or anything you need, no hesitation.” 

“Like I said, I’m grateful, I’m grateful for what I have, really.” Freddy let himself melt into Victor’s side. His dad’s arm came around to gently wrap around him. 

“Not to be disrespectful to ol’faithful, but it’s one crutch that’s not exactly sparing you any pain.” 

Freddy chuckled. “Oh, you have no idea. There was a time without, ‘ol’faithful’ as you put it. It’s not much, maybe, but it is everything to me. It’s like my fantasy portal into being able to get out of bed.” 

Victor hummed. “How about a deal, okay?” 

“Four bucks on whether or not Rosa forgets a screw.” 

“No.” He flicked the side of his head. “Her work is flawless, you know that. But a deal, as in— you asked me to be real with you. And we’re happy to do so. But you also have to be real with us, okay?” 

Freddy hummed and nodded against Victor’s chest. 

“As in, if you feel like your arms are numb, you say something, okay? If you’re in pain you say something, okay? If you feel faint, you say something, okay?” 

Freddy frowned. What he was proposing was a lot easier said than done. But he assumed it was a sensible enough ask, swap real for real. 

“Okay,” he whispered. “Alright.” 

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’m proud of you. I’m proud of everything you push yourself to do, I’m proud of every time you know your limits, I’m proud of you for taking breaks, I’m proud of it all.” 

Despite himself, a heavy tear ran down Freddy’s cheek and down to Victor’s shirt. He buried himself a shred further into the warm embrace. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thanks.” 

*** 

Freddy couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t collected a single wink all night. He shifted a bit and sighed through all of his breaths. 

He wasn’t really sure how to sleep anymore. Usually, he tried to do so on his side to remove all pressure from his leg, but he was too nervous to put pressure like that on his arm. Which left him on his back, which had his hip and leg groaning. 

He blinked in the sticky dust-like film that coated his eyes with sleeplessness. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gulped. 

He could feel his pulse hammering in his neck and his heart fluttering. Certainly, laying down was a kind of purgatory made especially for him. 

“Billy?” He whispered. 

Nothing answered him but his brother’s steady breathing. 

“Billy!” He insisted a little louder. 

There was a low grumble and a heavy shiting in the other bed that all evened out into the same deep sleeping breathing. 

Freddy sighed. He twisted a bit and grabbed a sheet of scribbled leaf paper, balled it up, and tossed it at his brother. At the nothing reaction, he tried it again. 

“Huh?” Billy blinked. “Huh, what?” 

“William Baston, wake yourself,” Freddy said. 

“Huh.” Billy rubbed his eyes. “What’s up, what’s going on?” 

“The consequences of your own actions, buddy boy,” said Freddy. “Can you go get me a painkiller? Please and thanks?” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Billy gave a final rub to his eyes. “Of course.” He swung himself out of bed and zoomed out of the room. 

Freddy leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe it was the pain and discomfort clouding his head, but the whole ordeal of waking Billy and asking for help turned out to be a lot less painful than he thought it was going to be. 

“One pain med for you, sir.” Billy tapped Freddy’s forehead. 

Freddy blinked and opened his eyes, removing his hand and taking the pill from him. “Thanks,” he said, scooting a little bit up. “Alright, back to sleep, you, young man.” 

Billy chuckled and crawled into bed. “Night, get some sleep.” 

“Will do.” Freddy smiled. “Will do.” 

***

“Freddy, honey, will you set these on the table?” Rosa handed him a stack of napkins and silverware. 

“Yep!” He grabbed what he could in a single hand and laid them on the table as Victor placed the water. 

He’d rested on a stool, helping his parents tend to the potatoes— it felt good, like finally breathing clear light air to be able to properly help. After the first night back from the hospital, as he watched, exhausted from blood tests, he begged them to give him something to do. 

He found it almost impossible to explain how he didn’t only want, but needed to be a part of all hands on deck, even if helost both hands, he wanted to be able to pitch in. Even when his brain was filled with fog, or he was hobbling in pain, he needed to do something , even if it was setting napkins. 

He knew, logically, that he didn’t need to do physical tasks to be a part of the “team,” but that didn’t clear the itching that came with others taking care of all of the moving parts that came with keeping their home working and moving. 

Rosa and Victor, in turn, had begged him not to push himself and be honest. That, he thought he could at least try to manage. 

Today, he couldn’t stand all too well, so Rosa dragged one of the island stools over to the stove. She, Victor, and Pedro worked around the rest of the kitchen. On his best days he could have helped with the waters, but the day before he’d worked his hands into fatigue with hours on the piano, this one, he only trusted himself with lighter and unbreakable things. 

Which was fine, more than fine, and good. It was a job someone had to do, so why not him? 

“Mmmm.” Mary came into the dining room, carrying Darla on her back. “This smells amazing.” 

“And it better taste amazing, too,” Rosa said, moving the final bowl to the table. “I got this recipe from Gina at the Rec center, and if she steers me wrong one more time, I swear to all things holy.” 

“Well, I’ve been tasting this whole time and I think Gina was right about this one.” 

“We’ll see,” Rosa grumbled and sat down. 

“Okay, okay, everyone at the table,” Victor called. 

Freddy sat down in his usual spot next to Eugene and looked around at all of his siblings. Sure, Mary was going back to school the next day, but for this dinner, they were all exactly where they were supposed to be, laughing and smiling like not a thing had changed, and he supposed, at the end of the day, nothing really had. 

“All hands on deck!” Victor leaned over Freddy’s own chair so he wouldn’t have to get up to throw his hand into the mix. 

Everyone piled on, all of them nestled in the perfect weight, each hand not doing a single thing to effortlessly support and cradle the others. 

“Thank you for this family, thank you for this day, and thank you for this food.”