Chapter Text
Nochebuena: The Family Who Helps You Shine
Carlos hasn’t even finished unbuckling his seatbelt when – thwack thwack thwack – he hears knuckles on the windshield. Behind him, Paul’s smiling face appears inches away from Jonah’s window. He’s decked out in a navy blue cashmere sweater and black slacks.
“It’s Unc Paul!” Jonah cheers.
Marjan and Joe hover behind him on the walkway, bundled in wool and cashmere, smiling with bright expectancy.
“Dude,” TK calls, popping open the driver’s side door. “Were you guys just standing out here waiting for us?”
“Yeah, man,” Paul says. “Your family is intimidating. We gotta go in as a pack.”
“Like lions, Uncle Paul?”
“Exactly like lions,” Paul agrees, reaching into the car to give Jonah a high five, laughing when the boy smacks his hand a little too aggressively, uncoordinated but bursting with that confident toddler enthusiasm. “What it do, little man?”
“I hope you’re ready for karaoke,” Carlos warns, rounding the car for the tailgate so he can collect Jonah’s go bag and the box of little Nochebuena gifts TK put together for the nieces and nephews.
Paul claps Carlos on the back with a warm hand.
“After a little bit of liquid courage? I’ll be ready for anything.”
The house is already overflowing with people. Warm bodies, warm air, warm food smells. The scents of cinnamon and fried dough hang heavy in the air. Outside, Bad Bunny’s “PIToRRO DE COCO” pumps through the backyard speakers, indicating that the primos are in charge of DJing tonight.
Andrea greets them at the door, and from there it’s instant chaos. Carlos is immediately pulled in three different directions: Anita wants to give him all the chisme he’s missed in the couple hours since the party got started, Tía Carmela wants help syncing her new Bluetooth mics with the karaoke machine, Chuey wants TK to look at his elbow because “it’s making a creaking noise when I twist it like this…”
Carlos feels a tight squeeze to his hand, TK’s smiling back at him softly.
This is their family, it’s crazy and it’s loud and it’s full of characters. These are the people that made Carlos Reyes, for better or for worse, and he loves them deeply. Even if they can be overwhelming and invasive. Even if they don’t always know all the right things to say. It’s love. It’s always been love.
Jonah squirms in Carlos’s arms, begging to be let down. The second his feet hit the floor he’s off like a rocket, sprinting into the house.
“TÍA LOOOOCY!!!”
TK takes off after him, weaving through people with hastily given apologies, trying without luck to keep up. “Jonah! Buddy, wait!” he calls while Paul and the rest of the group follows at a more reasonable pace.
The kitchen is a sensory overload, every inch of counter space is taken over with dishes of food. Platters of tamales, taquitos and buñuelos. Pots of pozole rojo and frijoles steaming on the stove. Stacks of dishes and decorative paper napkins are already starting to dwindle.
And at the center island, Tía Lucy, forever the family bartender, stands stirring a huge bowl of sangria. Orange slices, lime wedges, strawberries and cranberries float in the red juice and dance around the ladle.
TK plops Jonah onto a stool so he can watch, he immediately reaches for a taquito.
“Alright, buddy,” TK laughs. “Let me help you make a plate.”
Carlos helps Joe clear a space to set the macaroni salad carbonara he brought.
“Ay Dios,” Lucy exclaims, pointing a sparkly manicured finger at Joe. “Who is this man? He’s tall, handsome AND he cooks?” She pinches his cheek. “Marjan, is this your husband? You married this gorgeous man before I could?”
Joe’s cheeks go pink. Marjan laughs and loops her arm through his.
“Yes, Tía Lucy, this is my husband Joe.” She smirks. “He’s off limits.”
“Oh honey,” Lucy scoffs. “That’s what you think.”
Carlos is fetching TK a glass of non-alcoholic agua fresca, the drink that the tías have insisted on having at every family get-together since TK started coming around, when Lucy grumbles a disgruntled “shit” under her breath.
“Tía said a bad word,” Jonah sings, always delighted when one of his grown ups does a swear.
Carlos barely has time to process what’s going on before the danger approaches.
Tía Linda bursts through the kitchen door, proudly carrying an emerald green dutch oven in mitt-covered hands.
“Mole’s here,” she announces.
Lucy groans, Paul plasters a smile that looks more like a grimace across his face. TK reflexively grabs his stomach.
Tía Linda’s lethal mole is infamous in the Reyes Family. Two years ago it took out nearly thirty family members on one Nochebuena. TK was one of its victims. He was sick for almost two days, and the only thing that remotely made him feel better was Carlos rubbing his belly and kissing his head ‘til he fell asleep.
“Oh, wonderful,” Lucy says tightly as Linda plops the pot down on the island, nudging other dishes out of the way. Carlos lunges to save a plate of taquitos before it crashes to the ground.
“Who wants a bowl?” Linda asks cheerfully, oblivious to the uncomfortable vibe that’s taken over the room.
“Smells great,” Joe says, earnestly accepting the heaping bowlful she hands him. His eyes go comically wide when he sees Paul, standing behind Linda doing the throat slashing gesture and silently mouthing “Do not eat that!”
“Thank you, tía,” Carlos says, swooping in between her and Joe. “You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna find the perfect spot for this on the table. Okay?”
Linda smiles at him fondly, neck straining to make eye contact, and pats his cheek with a soft hand.
“Carlitos. You’re such a sweet boy.”
The entire room deflates in a collective sigh as she turns to exit the room. Marjan quickly swats the bowl out of Joe’s hands, dumping it back into the pot.
“Carlos just seriously saved your life, dude,” she mutters.
Carlos heads for the back door, trying to think of how he’s gonna discreetly dispose of five quarts of mole.
Double bag it and sneak it into the neighbor’s garbage like Mamá did last year? Compost bin? Dig a hole and bury it?
“You’re gonna need a hazmat suit, mijo,” Lucy calls after him.
—
The karaoke is in full swing when Carlos, along with Paul and Joe, is dragged out into the backyard by Chuey and some of the other primos to check the barbacoa.
Paul, fresh off a ridiculous, if not slightly off-key, Boyz II Men ballad with Carlos’s abuelita, is riding high on sangria and the whiskey he and Carlos had before karaoke got started.
“That’s it, baby!” Paul hollers, slapping a primo on the back as the smoker lid is lifted and a puff of savory smoke comes billowing out into the night. “Low and slow, that’s the name of the game!”
Carlos is basting ribs while Joe circles the grills like a documentarian, taking pictures of the setup so he can recreate it at home, when someone drops a cowboy hat on Paul’s head. He takes it in stride, planting his hands on his hips and breaking into a little two-step before someone switches the stereo over to an old Shania Twain song.
As the twangy fiddles of “Any Man Of Mine” start to ring through the back yard, Paul smoothly pivots into a perfectly choreographed line dance between the smokers.
“What’s Unc Paul doin’?”
Carlos looks down to find Jonah tugging on his pant leg. He scoops him up and settles him on his hip to give him a better vantage of the backyard action.
“He’s dancing, osito.”
“That’s a funny dance…”
Carlos laughs, presses a kiss to Jonah’s head and watches Paul spin under the string lights, joyful and unguarded and incandescently himself.
“That’s your Uncle Paul, mijo,” Carlos whispers.
—
“Feliz NACHO-Buena!!”
“Um,” TK says, shooting Carlos a ‘what do we do?’ look as one of the cousins teaches Jonah increasingly questionable Spanish phrases.
Carlos just laughs. His family adores this kid. He loves to see it.
“Your family is so sweet, mijo.”
Tía Carmela has slipped into the space beside him. She pats his forearm, warm and steady, when he smiles back at her. “You’re a good father, it’s easy to see.”
“Thank you, tía,” he responds, throat tightening despite himself.
She nods, eyes softening.
“Your father would be proud of you,” she continues, squeezing his arm. “He is very proud of you. He always told everyone how proud he was. You’re the best parts of him, Carlitos.”
Carlos swallows hard.
That’s what he wants to be. The best parts.
—
“What about a trip to Saint Lucia in the new year?” Lucy purrs, dancing two fingers up Joe’s shoulder. “You, me, mai tais on the beach?”
“Tía,” Carlos groans, grabbing a dazed-looking Joe by the arm and steering him out of the living room. “Stop flirting with my friends!”
“Bathing suits optional!” She calls after them.
“I’m sorry about her,” Carlos mutters.
“Your aunt flirts like it’s a competitive sport,” Joe says, still sounding dumbfounded.
“And Lucy is the undefeated champion,” Carlos deadpans.
“You know,” Joe says, voice contemplative. “It’s weird. I think I actually kind of like it.”
Carlos snorts. “That’s what everyone says.”
They’re halfway down the hall when a voice stops him dead in his tracks.
“CARLITOS!”
He freezes. Tía Carmela stands at the far end, her hands planted on her hips.
“Where is your husband?”
Oh no.
“What did he do?”
“He and Marjan loaded half my flan onto a plate and scurried away like a couple of rats!”
Marjan and TK have always been fiends for Tía Carmela’s flan. Last year they ate almost an entire pan of it between them.
“I… will find him.”
“Uh huh,” Carmela says, waving a dismissive hand. Her sigh is one of indignation, but the sparkle in her eye tells a different story. “Como si no los conociera. This is why I made a second pan this year.”
Carlos finds them sitting halfway up the staircase in the foyer, perched on the steps like a pair of conspirators. He doesn’t mean to overhear their conversation, but he does.
“I can’t really have more than a few bites anyway…” Marjan is saying.
“Are you feeling okay?” TK asks, brow furrowed in concern. “You’ve been acting kinda weird all night.”
“I’m fine,” Marjan says, then she pauses, dropping a hand to her stomach. “Actually. I’m pregnant.”
“With flan? Because I felt like that last year, but then Carlos rubbed my belly for like two hours and I felt so much better…”
“No you idiot,” she laughs, slapping the back of TK’s head. “With a baby..?”
TK freezes with his spoon halfway to his mouth, the flan wobbles precariously.
Carlos stills too, rooted in place on the third step. Marjan spots him before TK, whose entire face has transformed into wonder and pure joy.
“You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” Marjan says, eyes shining. She grabs TK’s hand and squeezes. “I know you’re supposed to wait until the first trimester is over, but... You guys are my best friends. If something happens to the baby, you’re the people I’d want to be here for me. You know?”
“Marjan!” TK cries, dropping his plate so he can wrap her in both arms. “That’s amazing.”
She lets out a half-laugh half-sob.
“It kinda is, isn’t it?”
“We’re gonna be parents together,” TK breathes.
TK and Marjan are going to be parents together. TK will probably be the baby’s godfather just like Marjan is Jonah’s godmother. Jonah’s going to be a cousin.
Their little family is expanding in ways Carlos never even expected. He already loves Marjan’s baby, he doesn’t even have to think about it.
This right here is what his dad wanted for him, he thinks. A life that’s good. One that’s filled with little joys and big moments. A life full of people to love.
—
“He’s out,” TK whispers, slinking out of Jonah’s makeshift room on socked feet.
The loft is quiet and dim, a drastic contrast to the Nochebuena party they spent their evening at. The only light in the house comes from the Christmas tree, its mismatched ornaments glowing in soft purple; gold, tin and clay catching the light and casting long, familiar shadows across the living room.
Carlos nods, his attention still fixed on the framed photo of himself with his dad that sits on the living room bookshelf. He’s been staring at it since they walked through the door while TK, with Jonah slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, headed straight to deposit him in his racecar bed.
“Any luck with the pajamas?” Carlos asks.
“No,” TK answers. “I didn’t wanna wake him. I got him into the nighttime undies and that was as far as I wanted to push it. He’s probably gonna sleep straight through.”
“We’ll have to wake him up for presents,” Carlos says fondly.
“It was a big day,” TK responds, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around Carlos from behind.
“It was,” Carlos agrees, leaning back until TK’s chest presses against him, warm and solid. TK hooks his chin over Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos threads their fingers together.
“For him,” TK adds softly. “And for you.”
“Yeah,” Carlos sighs, slow and heavy, and tips his head just enough to nuzzle his cheek into TK’s. He always knows what’s on Carlos’s mind, sometimes even before Carlos does. And he never lets Carlos carry it alone.
“What’re you thinking about, baby?” TK asks quietly.
Carlos exhales through his nose, eyes still fixed on the photo.
“A lot of things,” he says. “Our family’s expanding. Marjan’s having a baby.”
“Jonah’s gonna be such a good big cousin.” TK says, smiling into Carlos’s shoulder.
“He is.” Carlos smiles too, briefly. It fades as he continues his train of thought. “And… I’ve been thinking about my childhood. About my dad.”
TK’s arms tighten around him just enough to say ‘I’m here.’
“Looking at those pictures earlier brought some stuff up, huh?”
“I forgot about a lot of that stuff,” Carlos swallows. “For the longest time, whenever I thought about my dad when I was a kid, all I could remember was discipline. His expectations. His disappointment.” His voice trembles. The rest coming out choked and clipped. “I don’t remember him teaching me how to throw a football or throwing us down the slip n’ slide. I don’t remember him letting me play hooky so he could take me to the movies…”
TK makes a soft wounded sound and releases his embrace so he can turn Carlos around and cup a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing gently under his eye.
“Baby,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”
“I think–” Carlos blinks, breath stuttering. He’s not trying to hold back his emotions. Not anymore. Not with TK. “I think somehow I was trying to repress those bad memories? But by doing that, I think I somehow shoved all the good ones down too?”
TK nods.
“I think that makes a lot of sense,” he says, steady and sure. He takes Carlos’s hand and pulls him over to the couch.
They sit perpendicular, TK facing Carlos with his legs crossed, knees brushing Carlos’s thigh.
“What are you thinking, baby?” TK asks.
“I want them back,” Carlos says decisively. “I want to let go of the pain and the fear, and I want to reclaim the good.” He takes a steadying breath. “There was a lot of joy in my childhood, a lot of love. I want to find a way to get those memories back, and let go of the rest.”
TK smiles, that proud look on his face that he gets sometimes. Like when Carlos received the commendation for his work taking down an organ trafficking ring. Like he does when he watches Carlos with Jonah sometimes. When he thinks Carlos doesn’t notice.
He runs his fingers through Carlos’s curls, stopping to scratch small circles in the crown of his head. A move that’s always guaranteed to diffuse all the tension from Carlos’s body in an instant.
“I think that’s amazing, baby,” TK says. “Really amazing. You deserve those good memories. You deserve everything that’s good.”
Carlos leans into TK’s touch and sinks back into the cushions. He tilts his head to look up at TK, and that’s when he sees it. The bit of hesitation. The carefulness in his expression.
“What is it?”
TK inhales and holds it for just a minute before he speaks.
“I think… maybe it might help to talk to someone.” He bites his lip. “Someone who can walk through it with you.”
Carlos stills.
“You mean like a therapist?”
“Yeah,” TK shrugs. Says more quietly, “I think it could help.”
Carlos considers it. He’s always hated the idea of therapy, of going into a stranger’s office and paying them to poke and prod at him until he spills his guts about things he’s been working hard his entire life to keep buried deep.
But TK’s always been a strong believer in it. He’s been seeing a therapist since he was a teen, and having regular sessions is a big part of his ongoing recovery. Carlos would never dismiss something that’s been such a pivotal component in TK’s sobriety, which Carlos believes in with his whole heart.
They still see Dr. Mun once a month. They speak to each other better because of her. Love each other better.
It’s something he’s seen the value in but still.
“What if I’m scared?” He whispers.
TK’s face softens. He takes both of Carlos's hands in his, thumbs brushing over his knuckles.
“Oh, baby,” he says. “It’s okay to be scared.” He dips his head to press a soft kiss to Carlos’s hand. “Fear isn’t failure. It’s honesty.”
And Carlos knows that’s something he’s learned in therapy.
“Plus,” TK adds firmly, “you don’t have to do any of it alone. I’m right here. Every step.”
Carlos leans forward, resting his forehead on TK’s chest. The treelights glow softly, purple and gold flickering across the walls.
“I want this to be Jonah’s childhood,” he says eventually. “Warm lights. Safe spaces. Surrounded by nothing but love.”
“It will be,” TK responds. “Because we’ve got him.” He smiles, burying his nose in Carlos’s hair and pressing a kiss to his head. “We’re gonna help him shine.”
Later, they’ll pull all the presents from their hiding places, setting them under the tree with love, in anticipation of a joyful little boy finding them on Christmas morning. They’ll pull on their own family Christmas pajamas so Jonah can match them when he wakes. They’ll go to bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms, quietly reminiscing over their favorite moments from the day.
But for now, they stay here on this couch. Carlos’s head on TK’s chest. TK’s face buried in Carlos’s hair.
Their family. Their future. It all starts right here. On this couch, in this home. In these arms.
It’s love, Carlos thinks. The kind you can’t get away from.
The kind he would never want to get away from.