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Billy never celebrated Mother’s Day before. He never had a mom. Now, he has Rosa, who is absolutely like a mom to him, but he also has his biological mom. Sort of. He knows where she lives and she knows he’s alive and not some drug induced, hyper realistic hallucination. Which is why he’s astronomically conflicted on celebrating Mother’s Day at all.
That question - to Mom or not to Mom - bores holes into Billy’s head until two days before Mother’s Day, when Mary asks if he’s going to visit his mom. They’re sitting on the couch together, watching Drake and Josh reruns, and Freddy is napping on the floor between them, tucked under one of Billy’s knees while his hand rests on Billy’s calf. The TV is loud enough to hear the laugh tracks, but quiet enough that the voices fizzle in and out of Billy’s focus, and he only picks up half of their words. Mary clears her throat, and Billy thumps his head on the back of the couch when he languidly turns to look at her.
“What’s up?” he asks softly, so as not to wake Freddy.
Mary chews on her lip in the way she does when she’s nervous. Billy almosts pesters her about it to try and get it out of her, but she opens her mouth before he needs to. “I was wondering about, um, your thoughts on - on Mother’s Day. If you’re doing anything for it.” When Billy looks at her with narrowed eyes, she babbles on. “We always do something for Rosa. Every year. If - if you want to, you can too.”
Billy nods. He’d been debating this for a little while, but hearing it out of Mary’s voice, he kind of feels like Rosa deserves something like this. Why shouldn’t Rosa have a day to herself? After all the shit she’s done for me, for us - why shouldn’t she?
But then guilt hits him like a freight trains, like it always does, and he says to himself, Marilyn is your biological mom. Doesn’t she deserve it too?
And it’s not that he wants to say no , but he kind of does. Just a little bit.
He sighs, and almost shifts his body before remembering Freddy is using it as a pillow. Turning his head more, he faces Mary to say, “I just don’t know what to do about my, uh, birth mom. Marilyn.”
Mary hums, and Billy is more than a little surprised that she appears to get it. “You’re allowed to have two moms,” she says, and before Billy responds, she adds, “but how much is Marilyn really your mom?” Billy can only shrug.
He tries to think about it that way. How much of a mom is Marilyn? Certainly not much. The only memories Billy has of her are tainted with the fact that she didn’t want him. Everything else, every good thing he’d thought of her, was and still is make believe.
On one hand, celebrating Mother’s Day with Rosa would be like finally saying goodbye to everything that has to do with Marilyn Batson. On the other hand, doing something nice for Marilyn - although she isn’t so much of a mom as she is an egg donor, nowadays - could definitely be some sort of betrayal to Rosa and all the good things she’s done for Billy. There’s also always the option he could play it like he’s done every year before this one: pretend it doesn’t exist. That’s the easy way out.
Billy’s not going to do it, but he… he kind of wants to. If Mother’s Day didn’t exist, life would be just that much easier for him; he wouldn’t have to feel this weird concoction of guilt and sadness and loathing and anger and love all at once. Maybe just one at a time, but none is good too.
That night, when the only light in the darkness of their room is Freddy’s phone screen, under Billy on the bottom bunk, and the rain is pitter-pattering all soft and sweet, Billy turns over to stare at the wall. His eyes trace up and over to the crack, only a few inches long and not wide at all, and he wonders, for some weird reason, if he could fit through it. If he could fold himself into quarters, maybe even eighths; if he could crumple up into a ball, like the sheet of math homework he gave up on the day before; if he could erase all the parts of him that were too big so all that was left was a sliver of the memory of who he used to be - would he fit? And if he fit, would he disappear? Stupid brain.
Some nights, the crack in the wall calls out to him. Stupid brain . He imagines peeling it open and crawling inside. Would it close behind him? Would he be gone forever? Would anyone look for him? Some nights, he wishes it would swallow him whole. Stupid brain.
Below him, muffled by his blankets, Freddy coughs lightly. He sniffles and whispers, “Billy?”
Billy doesn’t answer. He turns away from the crack in the wall and stares out the window. Maybe, rather than climbing into the void that sits in his bedroom, he could fly away instead. Maybe someone would look for him then. Maybe his mom would look for him then.
Billy throws a his middle finger to his stupid brain and listens to the storm outside instead.
Then, it’s the day before Mother’s Day, and Billy makes his decision. Actually, Billy just listens to the decision made by Dream Billy, who delivered roses to Marilyn’s apartment. There was a lot of other weird, abstract stuff, because dreams are like that, but ultimately, Billy decides he’ll get Marilyn some flowers. Less of a thank you and more of a goodbye . When Billy bring it up to Freddy, he’s laying on the bottom bunk, body twisted so his feet are up on the wall and his head hanging off the side of the mattress, watching Freddy do his homework upside down. It’s a Saturday morning, and the rain from the night before has since subsided to sunniness, and the only trace of the storm is the water droplets trickling down the window pane.
“Hey, Freddy,” Billy calls quietly. Freddy hums his acknowledgement. “Will you, um, help me get something for my - for Marilyn? And for, uh, Rosa too.”
Freddy pauses before spinning around in his chair. “Today?” he asks. Billy only nods. “Sure,” he continues, “Rosa will probably cry though.”
Billy laughs wetly. “Good,” he sniffles. Freddy turns back to his homework and they bask in the silence for a little while, before Freddy breaks it with a suggestion that leaves Billy in shambles.
“Maybe you could write her a letter,” he says quietly.
“Who?” Billy rolls onto his stomach to look at him with furrowed brows. “Rosa?”
Freddy shakes his head, but his eyes don’t leave the Chemistry problem he’s working through. Billy takes note of all the numbers on the page, even from how far away he is; Billy’s barely passing Biology , let alone Honors Chemistry . “Your mom,” Freddy tells Billy, interrupting his thoughts. “Or Marilyn. Whatever you want to call her.”
Billy sighs, arid and girly. “Um-” he clears his throat when his voice comes out an octave high- “I didn’t really - well - I mean-”
“You don’t have to.” Freddy spares him a glance over his shoulder, saying, “But maybe it’ll be like, a goodbye, you know?” Billy hums and nods.
“Huh,” he says, almost to himself, his eyes flickering over to study the stains on the carpet of their closet. He thinks about the crack in the wall, how it swallows him whole some nights, how he’s desperate to escape, how he wishes he could fly away instead, how maybe then his mom would find him. But distantly, he can hear Rosa and Darla playing Just Dance downstairs, and Victor’s booming laughter seems to shake the house, and Billy doesn’t feel like he really needs his mom to find him. He thinks, maybe he’s already been found.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he finally responds. Freddy’s not facing him, but Billy can see his cheeks lift in a sad smile.
“Okay,” Freddy whispers. After a beat passes, Freddy adds, “What were you gonna get them?”
“Marilyn, flowers. I don’t know for Rosa yet. I want to do something, um, like, real for her? If that makes sense? Cheesy stuff is - it’s cute, but Rosa isn’t cheesy, she’s - she’s - she’s real. To me.”
Freddy turns and now Billy can see the smile on his face is fond and smug all at once, his lips and brows twitching in amusement. “I get it, dude,” he laughs, and then asks, “Hey, can you help me with this? I need your math brain.”
“You have the math brain, dude. I thought I was the dumb one.”
“Shush.” Freddy waves him over and Billy complies, because of course he does. “Just get your dumb self over here and help.”
Billy can’t figure it out either, so when Rosa comes upstairs, Freddy convinces her to help. To Freddy, it’s just what Rosa does, as a foster mom. To Billy, it feels kind of like a sign.
That afternoon, Mary drives them - and all the other fosters - to Safeway. The other kids run off to the cards section immediately, and Mary struggles to catch up to them. Before she’s gone, she turns to Freddy and says, “You got this?” Freddy nods, and Billy wonders if he’s being babysat.
“All good, Mary,” Freddy says. Mary looks at Billy with these stupid, heartbroken eyes, like she remembers what she said, How much is Marilyn really your mom? , and now she regrets it. She lifts a hand to brush through Billy’s bangs and push them to the side, but she leaves her fingers there for a minute. Billy holds his breath, doesn’t blink, and she doesn’t blink at him either. She smiles and waves.
“That was weird,” Billy whispers.
Freddy laughs, but it sounds kind of fake. He shrugs and pulls Billy to the flowers section while saying, “She’s just worried about you. You’re like, her favorite.”
Billy shakes his head as he stumbles towards the flowers. He runs his fingers over these white flowers and finds a tag that reads Daffodil. “Darla’s her favorite,” he retorts absently.
Billy starts to study some purple flowers, and Freddy’s voice is far away as he laughs, “You’re probably rights.” Billy doesn’t respond, and instead, pulls the label free of the purple flowers to read Hyacinth. Someone, an employee, comes up from behind them and clears their throat.
“Those symbolize forgiveness,” the woman says. Billy’s eyes dart to her nametag, reading Alex. “And the white daffodils you were looking at are for new beginnings.” Her face is approachable, light with a polite grin.
Billy smiles back at her. “Thanks,” he tells her. Freddy pokes him in the side between his ribs, and Billy throws him an eye roll. “Can I get a bouquet with those two flowers?”
Alex sets up the flowers, along with other leaves and some stick things that are supposed to be pretty. Billy wouldn’t say they aren’t, he just doesn’t know anything about what is and isn’t pretty. He thanks her profusely, and just barely has enough money to purchase the bouquet. Unfortunately, that meant he wouldn’t have anything leftover to buy Rosa something. He frowns at his wallet, which somehow felt a hundred pounds lighter.
“You don’t have to buy Rosa anything. Whatever you’ll get her, she’ll probably cry.” Billy chokes out a laugh at Freddy’s reassurance, because - although it was weak - he can appreciate the attempt. Freddy wraps an arm around Billy’s shoulder and pats the side of his face.
Billy huffs. “I know,” he whines, “but I - I don’t usually do this. Like, the heartfelt shit. I have no idea how to.”
Freddy snorts at him and tells him, “You don’t have to know. It’ll work itself out.”
“That’s the worst advice ever,” Billy quips and Freddy’s soft pat turns into a petty (but gentle, because it’s Freddy) slap. “Hey!”
Billy turns his head, and Freddy’s warm brown eyes look a little bit like maple syrup in the white lights of the grocery store, and the freckles scattered along his nose and just beneath his eyes make Billy’s heart beat as fast as it would if he’d just run a mile. His breath gets caught in his throat, but he swallows it down and says, “Don’t abuse me.”
Freddy slaps him again, even harder than before (not that it was ever actually painful at all), and bites down his laugh. “It’s not abuse ‘cause I’m crippled, and you’re the big, strong, able-bodied guy.” Billy glares at him, but there isn’t any heat behind it. He doesn’t respond, but he wonders if the air between them tastes like honey and home to Freddy too.
When they make their way back to the house, Billy scrambles to hide in his and Freddy’s room. Rosa isn’t home - she’s out with her friends, or something - so this is the last chance Billy has to deal with not only his gift for Marilyn, but for Rosa too. He still isn’t sure what to get her. How do you say you love the only woman who's ever loved you ?
Billy’s never had a mom before. He’s always had Marilyn in some abstract, barely-there way, but he’s never had a mom , someone to brush his hair when it was matted with fever sweat, or to hold him when he cried from a nightmare, or to make him his favorite food when he passed the test he’d been fretting about for days or to tell him it’s okay when he didn’t. He’s never had that person, until he met Rosa, and now, in some ways, that’s all he has.
He’s afraid Freddy would hate him if he were to find out how Billy feels for him. He’s afraid Mary will leave for college and never come home, never visit. He’s afraid Victor will be ashamed when he finds out what Billy is, the kinds of people Billy likes. He’s afraid Darla and Eugene and Pedro might realize how undeserving he is of them. Sometimes, he’s even afraid Rosa will forget Billy like his mom did.
Except he’s not really afraid of that, because he doesn’t have the time to be; not when all Rosa ever does is love. Love Freddy. Love Mary. Love Victor. Love Darla and Eugene and Pedro. And love Billy, too.
How do you tell someone they’re the first person who’s ever held you like that; who’s ever wanted you like that; who’s ever chosen you like that; who’s ever loved you like that? How do you tell someone you love them when you’ve never met love before? What if it isn’t love? What if Rosa’s some replacement, some pseudonym to fill the mom-shaped hole in Billy’s heart?
Billy’s frozen in the entryway of the room, the door closed behind him. He blinks and looks up at the crack in his wall. If it swallowed him whole, if it disappeared him, if he vanished and never returned, he’d never hear the dulcet tones of the Vasquez home again. Stupid brain, he thinks, because he likes the way the walls shake with excitement when Eugene’s voice cracks or Darla burns something, how the house dances with the musical lilt of Mary’s voice, the manner in which the rooms spin when Freddy walks through the door; but most of all, Billy would be lost, floating adrift inside the crack in the wall, if it weren’t for the steadiness of Rosa’s hands while his tremble, or the stability of her voice as his world tilts on its axis, or the regularity of her heartbeat when everything around him remains irregular.
He doesn’t thank her enough. Billy watches the crack in the wall as it expands over the entire room, and the floor sways underneath him. He reaches a hand out to steady himself, and when he shuts his eyes, the sound of Darla talking to Freddy through the room reminds Billy of everything he has to lose. But it gives him an idea, too.
He doesn’t thank her enough. He hopes this makes up for it. Even just a little.
Somehow, he convinces Darla to let him help make her Mother’s Day card. It’s actually not as hard as he was worried it would be; in fact, she’s more than happy to sit on his lap and stick a huge container of purple glitter in his hand while she spreads the glue. Billy lets her choose the music, because he’s a good big brother and refuses to play what he listens to in front of her, despite her insistence that she’s old enough to hear it. For a while, it’s just the two of them in the living room, and Rosa’s still out with friends and Victor says he’s going to the store so Billy’s not as nervous anymore, but soon, the other fosters trickle in.
Eugene sits on the couch and throws his headphones over his head, the volume up high enough that he’s dead to the world in two seconds flat. Pedro comes in later, props his feet on the coffee table and spreads out across the couch while he watches some reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Mary curls up beside him with her laptop in tow, typing furiously and staring at the screen with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. Freddy’s the last to come in, and he’s the first one that doesn’t bother pretending like he isn’t watching Billy and Darla intently as they laugh, quietly, off in their own world.
Billy notices Freddy looking at them. He pretends he doesn’t notice how Freddy swallows, how the room feels a million times lighter with him around, how he blinks furiously when his eyes start to look a little red, how he’s smiling, only a little sad, for a long time. Billy sees all of it out of the corner of his eye. He’s afraid if he turns to smile back at Freddy, one of them will be swallowed whole by the crack in the wall. For the first time in his life, he’s scared of it; for the first time, it’s less of an escape, and more of a danger.
After a while, when Billy’s resting his forehead on Darla’s back, in between her shoulder blades, and his arms are wrapped loosely around her while she sketches something out with a black sharpie, Freddy sneaks up behind Billy and puts a hand on his bicep.
“This what you decided for Rosa?” Freddy asks.
Billy hums. “You think it’s okay?” He lifts his head to look at Freddy, whose face is red and lips are twisted in the sweetest grin Billy’s ever had the pleasure of seeing. Freddy nods.
“I think it’s the best decision you’ve ever made,” he says. “Besides, like, staying.”
A beat passes before Billy laughs breathlessly and nods. “Yeah, that’s definitely still the best one,” he admits quietly. “Probably always will be.”
Billy’s never had a mom before. He’s never had a family either. He thinks, absently, while he tries to focus on how Freddy beams at him and how Rosa’s voice sounds when she opens the door and lets them know she’s home and how Darla scrambles desperately to hide her and Billy’s work, that of all the families he could’ve had, this one is the only one he’d want to keep. This one is his.
That night, Billy doesn’t sleep at all. He doesn’t watch the crack in the wall, though, either. He listens to the rain instead.
Freddy wakes Billy up before the sun even rises the next morning. The honey seeps into Billy's skin, and Freddy's breath smells of mint and mouthwash. Billy tries not to lean into the scent.
“We’re making breakfast for Rosa,” Freddy explains as they make their way down the stairs, Billy’s hand hovering cautiously near Freddy’s waist. Freddy doesn’t push him away. “Mary and Pedro do it every year. The rest of us just hang out in there and act like we’re productive too.”
Billy learned how to cook a long time ago. He had his fair share of foster families that basically just restocked the fridge and enrolled him into a school, and he had to do the rest. He can remember all the years he spent starving, too afraid to just screw it and try to cook without burning the house down, until he gave up and started living off of boxed ramen, like a broke college student. The only difference was that he’d been a nine year old and his foster parents had forgotten his name.
He doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to say it, though; to tell them he cooks pretty well. He keeps his mouth shut, mostly, except for when he tells Pedro the batter’s too thin just as he finishes mixing it, or tells Mary that the pan’s too hot and the eggs will turn out all rubbery if she cooks them at that temperature. He tries to bite his tongue, but the whole thing falls apart when Pedro finally says:
“Do you wanna take over?”
Billy hops off from his spot on the counter next to Freddy, where their elbows had been touching and the outsides of their pinky fingers had been pressed up against each other. He nudges Mary politely out of the way, and she grins while she hands him the spatula.
By now, Eugene’s woken up more, and his voice blends with Darla’s to fill the entire room. Freddy talks to Pedro animatedly, but still hushed in an attempt to let Rosa and Victor sleep a while longer. Mary stands next to Billy, leaning up against the countertop that Freddy isn’t sitting on. She lets Billy take control of the kitchen, talks to the other fosters when the conversations call for it, but mostly, she watches; Billy can feel her eyes, tender and warm, outlining the shape of his efforts while he flips some pancakes and cracks some eggs.
It isn’t long before Rosa comes downstairs. Freddy told Billy it was tradition to make her breakfast, but Billy figures that meant it’s tradition for Mary and Pedro to make breakfast while the others just sit around and talk. He supposes that’s why Rosa looks so surprised when she sees him cooking, even if it’s most likely because she knew as well as the others that he could operate a stove.
The breakfast is pretty fucking good, honestly. Billy’s mostly just proud he didn’t burn anything and embarrass himself in front of his favorite people. But breakfast ends (too quickly, Billy thinks), and before he knows it, Freddy’s telling Rosa that he and Billy are going to go drop off something at Marilyn’s apartment.
Billy grabs the flowers from their room. When he comes back down, he hears Freddy say to Rosa, “ It’s like he’s saying goodbye ,” and Billy doesn’t know if he’s ready to say goodbye. He spent the last decade searching for a woman who never wanted him. Something broken and childish inside of him wants to return to the fantasyland, where Marilyn would find him and apologize for losing him, and he’d apologize for running off, and they’d be okay; the bigger part of him, the smarter part, the older part, ultimately decides that it’s a pretty shitty idea to let himself fester in the lies he created.
Billy rounds the corner and nods at Freddy, who smiles at him. He lets himself grin.
It’s a goodbye, sure, but only to Marilyn; it isn’t a goodbye to his determination, or to his blind loyalty, or to his uncanny ability to love unconditionally, stupidly. Billy thinks it’s gross and cheesy and cliche, but he notes that this goodbye feels eerily similar to a hello, too.
Okay, so, yes, Billy had left the house with some previously untapped confidence, but now? Now, he has no idea what he’s doing. Now, he’s terrified. Now, he’s panicking outside of Marilyn’s apartment building; he’s not even in the lobby.
Freddy sees the panic in Billy’s eyes and puts a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “I’m coming in with you. I’ve got you.”
Billy shakes his head. “I - I can’t. I can’t go inside. I don’t think I can look at her. I’ll cry.”
“Crying’s not like, a bad thing,” Freddy says, and Billy glares. “Okay,” he relents, “it would be awkward and horrible if you started crying. I agree. Have you tried not crying?”
“I’m going to strangle you, Freeman,” Billy responds. “Let’s go home. I can’t do it.”
Freddy huffs and tears the flowers out of Billy’s grip. “Stay here. I’ll drop this shit off. Wuss.”
“I’m a wuss, and I’m proud,” Billy calls after Freddy as he walks through the front doors. Billy watches as he strolls up to the elevator and disappears as it slides shut. It takes everything in him to not run away, to plant his feet into the ground and stay , but if he did it once, after Marilyn shat all over his dreams and Sivana fucked him up royally, then he can do it again.
He squirms and pinches, taps his toes and kneads his fingers, but he doesn’t leave. He stays.
The elevator doors close in front of Freddy, and he can no longer see Billy’s face in front of him, but when he closes his eyes, the struck, broken look on his face bores holes into Freddy’s mind. He leans his head against the metal surface behind him, and closes his eyes. He wants to shout. He wants to scream. He wants to break something and to tear someone apart.
He can’t help but think about all the shit that’s happened to Billy and blame it on Marilyn. He knows he can’t blame her for everything , except, he kind of can; if she hadn’t abandoned him as a child at the fair, he wouldn’t have run away twenty or thirty times, trying to find her; he wouldn’t have all the issues he does have, the fear of abandonment, the fear of loving someone, the fear of being loved; he wouldn’t have had such shitty foster families, ones that beat him down and fucked him up.
He can’t blame everything on Marilyn. She didn’t tell him to run away. She didn’t want him to be afraid. She didn’t send him into those awful homes. But she’s where it all started.
The elevator dings and he blinks as the doors slide open to reveal a long empty hallway. Freddy wonders, as he steps out into the never ending corridor, if it’s as cold in Marilyn’s home, or if she can afford a space heater. He remembers Billy mentioning Marilyn has a boyfriend. Can he afford one?
His feet move on their own accord, crutch following by instinct, and suddenly, he finds himself in front of Marilyn’s door. He wants to knock, wants to barrel down the door and give her a piece of his mind, but he knows how deeply Billy wants to forgive her. Freddy is a lot of things, but he is not the kind of guy who would discourage closure for their best friend; he figures, if this is what Billy wants, this is what Billy gets.
He bends over to lay the flowers down, and pulls the slip of paper out of his pocket. As he’s kneeling to place the note atop the bouquet, the apartment door swings open, and Freddy’s about snaps his neck with the force and velocity he throws into looking up at the person standing there.
It’s Marilyn.
Freddy straightens up, and they look at each other for a minute. There are no sounds behind Marilyn, none of the things Billy described, the television turned up so high the bass shook the walls or some loser named Travis complaining about everything. Instead, the room is silent, and the chill Freddy felt as he stepped off the elevator can’t even compare to how icy and frozen the air is between them.
And the awful thing is, Freddy can’t help but think about how much Billy looks like her.
They have the same nose, and her brows, furrowed in confusion, are dark brown and arched like his are. She isn’t smiling, but something about her face makes Freddy think she has the same dimples as Billy, and their hair is the same color and their face is the same shape and Freddy’s almost nauseous when he realizes their eyes kind of look the same, too.
Freddy’s always loved Billy’s eyes. They’re kind of green, except kind of not, and they shift in tone depending on the lighting of the room; they, unlike Billy, who hides everything he feels from everyone all the time, have no secrets, and bubble up with emotions whenever Billy feels anything , no matter how big or small it is. But now, Freddy looks at Marilyn, looks at her eyes which are green and kind of not, just like Billy’s, looks at the empty, emotionless stare she provides him with, and wonders if Billy is ashamed. He wonders if Billy wants to rip out all the pieces of her from his body, if he wants to start over, if he wants to go back to the day he was abandoned at some fair and find a different mom to take care of him; Freddy wonders if Billy even notices how much he looks like her.
Finally, after Marilyn’s stared at him in silence for a few minutes, Freddy works up the courage to say, “This is from Billy.”
She exhales shakily and nods. “Oh,” she whispers, and bends over to pick up the flowers on the ground between them. “That too?” she asks, pointing at the note.
Freddy bobs his head feverishly and thrusts the paper out towards her. “Um,” he starts, eloquent as ever, “yeah. He forgives you or whatever.”
“Oh,” she says again. “Well, good. I guess.”
Freddy purses his lips and steps back, shaking his head and exhaling through his nose. Again, he wants to shout or scream or break something or tear someone apart, and again, the only thing that stops him from doing all of it is the gentle, ugly reminder in the back of his mind, Billy deserves closure . He doesn’t disagree, in fact, he’ll often be the first person to say that Billy deserves closure, but there’s something awful and unrecognizable inside of him, calling to him, saying, louder than the gentle reminder ever was, Billy deserves better .
Whatever was holding him back cracks in half, and the flood of anger comes rushing out in waves as he steps forward once more.
“I don’t though,” Freddy snaps. “He forgives you, but me?” He scoffs. “No. And he’s got a family now, so he doesn’t need you anymore.”
“He never needed me,” Marilyn defends, and Freddy clenches his fist to keep from throwing it out to her.
“That’s not true,” he hisses. “He needed you, and you left him behind. You fucked him up so bad. He ran away, like, thirty times, trying to find you. He’s been arrested more than once. He slept on the streets, even in the wintertime. He hated the foster families that were good to him, ‘cause they weren’t you, and the ones that were awful? That treated him like garbage? He thought he deserved it.”
Marilyn steps forward, tries to close the distance that seethes with anger and hurt between them, and reaches her arm out, but Freddy yanks his away. “He doesn’t need you anymore,” Freddy whispers, his eyes welling up with tears even as he tries to blink them away. “He has four new siblings to take care of him, and a really awesome foster dad, and the best foster mom in the entire world, a-and me. You left him behind, but we’re sticking around for him. He’s never gonna be alone again. And he doesn’t need your approval or love or attention, and - and you don’t deserve him.”
For a moment, Freddy is overwhelmed with guilt. Everything he just did is exactly what Billy didn’t want, doesn’t want. Still, Freddy’s glad he said it all, since Billy never would, even if he felt it, because he feels bad for Marilyn; Freddy, on the other hand, doesn’t have the space in his heart to pity her, since his entire makeup consists of a million other better things. Billy can cry for her all he wants. He can feel bad for her and pity her and want the best for her. But Freddy has Billy to worry about.
Marilyn turns her body to creak the door open and side-steps through the entryway. She looks down at her feet, her face over her shoulder just enough for Freddy to see the frown that overtakes her features. She blinks up at him, her chin still downturned, and quietly responds, “I know.”
She closes the door behind her, and it’s gentle, but Freddy can feel the floor shake and swears there’s an ocean sweeping him away; although, he supposes, it might just be him.
When Freddy returns, Billy is no longer frozen solid, and instead, pacing the blacktop anxiously. He bounces on his feet, unaware of Freddy’s eyes watching him, and stuffs his hands in his pockets while he kicks the rocks in front of him in a futile attempt to distract himself. He doesn’t hear Freddy walk up at first, not until he rolls in closer and his crutch scratches on the concrete louder than either of them anticipated. Billy jumps in surprise and turns to face him.
“Hey.” Billy swallows nervously. He bites his lip. “Um-”
“No one answered,” Freddy lies smoothly. “Just left it in front of the door.”
Freddy’s pretty sure that Billy knows that isn’t the truth, seeing as Freddy’s the shittiest liar known to man and has been told by Billy himself more than a dozen times that he naturally looks awfully suspicious, but if Billy knows, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he nods, and flashes Freddy a smile that is disgustingly congested with fondness and heartbreak.
“Let’s go home?” Billy asks, and Freddy is struck with the beautiful reminder that Billy has a home, now, and he doesn’t have to run away or try to escape any longer; instead, he can simply stay.
Earlier, Freddy thought Billy looked a lot like Marilyn. Now, though, Freddy can see everything, with the way the light falls on Billy’s face, how his irises are a cloudy gray and his smile leaves lines around his eyes and chin, and Freddy realizes how different they are. Billy has this foggy sweetness all over him, suffocating Freddy in all the best ways possible, and his head is turned in the direction they need to walk to get to the subway. Marilyn was cold, unwelcoming and sad, and it made Freddy’s stomach turn, but Billy is warm , friendly and full of an immeasurable love that made Freddy’s head spin and heart thump and gut fill with butterflies.
“Home,” Freddy finally agrees, and as they walk, he’s close enough that their biceps brush against each other, and if he wanted to, he could reach down, thread their fingers together and hold Billy’s hand. When he wraps his pinky finger around Billy’s, Billy doesn’t pull away.
Rosa answers the door when they get back. She wraps an arm around Billy’s neck, and the other around Freddy’s, and drags them in close, so both of their faces are tucked into her neck and shoulders. Billy puts a hand on her back, and a second later, Freddy’s fingertips slide up over his. They freeze for a second, and Billy inhales sharply through his nose until the smell of Rosa’s perfume seems like it’ll swallow him whole, so his heartbeat steadies. He, slowly, hesitantly, locks their fingers together, and Freddy doesn’t flinch. They stand there, the three of them, holding each other with an intensity Billy’s never felt before.
Rosa lets them go after a while. The first person to break the silence is Freddy, when he says excitedly, “Billy got you something!”
Rosa’s lips turn up in a smile and her cheek flood with pink. She looks at Billy, who blushes too. “You did?”
He shrugs. “Kind of,” he mumbles. “I helped Darla make you a card. I think my bodily makeup is now 3% glitter.” Rosa barks out a laugh, bright and wonderful and good , leaving Billy’s heart clenched and chest tight.
“Will you show me?” she asks quietly. Billy bites down on his lip and almost shies away from the attention, but Freddy’s hand on his shoulder brings him back down to Earth. He nods.
“Darla has it,” he answers, “if you wanna see it right now.” Rosa beams at him and the way the world shifts on its axis almost makes Billy see stars.
She takes his hand, and Freddy takes his other. Darla comes rounding the corner and wraps her arms around Rosa and Billy’s legs, pulling them side to side and burying her face into their stomachs with a muffled, “Hi!” Billy watches as Rosa cups the back of Darla’s head lovingly.
“Hi honey,” she says. “Can you and Billy show me your card?” Darla nods against their torsos before pulling away and pivoting in the direction of the living room. Freddy drops Billy’s hand as he and Rosa stumble after Darla, trying to keep up. Billy glances over his shoulder to look at Freddy, who grins sheepishly at him. Billy smiles, zeroes in on making his face convey a silent message about love and safety and home, and Freddy steps forward. He doesn’t take Billy’s hand again, but he does follow them with a renewed confidence Billy loves the sight of.
Darla pulls Rosa over to show her the card on the craft table. Best Mom Ever!!! is written in large, glittery, purple letters, and when she shifts the white paper back and forth, it shines in the glare of the sun coming through the open window. Darla lifts the card and holds it out for Rosa, who slowly takes it and flips it over. There’s a message there from Darla that Billy hadn’t read for the sake of her privacy, but he can see it’s surrounded by doodles: hearts, stars, flowers. Rosa bends over and presses a kiss to Darla’s head.
And then it’s Billy’s message. It’s longer than the note he wrote for Marilyn, which was just some bullshit about forgiving her and wanting the best for her; this one is all about Rosa being the best for him . Rosa opens the card, Billy’s message on the backside of the glitter letters, and drops her grip on Billy to hold the paper with both hands.
Dear Rosa,
Happy Mother’s Day! :)
I was so stuck on what to get you as a gift for seriously weeks . What do you get a mom for Mother’s Day when you’ve never had a mom before? But I kind of had an idea and it’s not a great one but it’s an idea anyway, right?
There’s a crack in my wall right above my bunk bed. When I first started living here, I imagined shrinking myself down to fit through it and run away. I was scared. Families are really scary for me and I kept thinking I was inevitably gonna disappoint you guys, so I should run away before I do. But you never made me feel like I was a disappointment or a burden or anything. Instead, you remembered my favorite foods and classes and movies and when I passed my math test you put it on the fridge next to Pedro’s and on my birthday, you told me you loved me.
Recently, I’ve been thinking about the crack in my wall. I don’t want it to swallow me whole anymore. I’m really happy here. I’m not afraid anymore. And obviously the other kids have been a part of that, and Victor too, but the thing that’s really made me feel brave is you. I’ve never had a mom before, so I’m totally biased, but to me, you’re the best mom in the entire world.
On my birthday, you told me you loved me. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. I was afraid then, but I’m not anymore.
I love you too, Mom
Billy
After a while, with a crackly voice and tears trickling down her face, Rosa finally says, “We should fix that crack in the wall, huh?”
Billy tumbles towards her and engulfs her in a hug, her arms darting out just as quickly as his to throw themselves around his shoulders. He tucks his face into her neck and cries quietly against her skin with his hands pressed flat to her spine. She buries a hand in his hair, holding his head like how she had held Darla’s only a few minutes before, and squeezes his body tight against hers.
“I love you so much, my sweet boy,” she whispers. Billy nods furiously, bunching up her shirt in his hands and tightening his grip on her.
Finally, he croaks, “I love you too.”
He knows that neither Freddy nor Darla understand it. He knows that as they watch it all happen, their eyes must be swirling with pity and hurt. He knows the air between him and Freddy tastes like honey and between him and Darla shines like glitter and between him and Mary smells like flowers and between him and Pedro sounds like music and between him and Eugene feels like sunshine but between him and Victor and Rosa, him and his parents, it’s everything; all the things he couldn’t say before, all the things he still can’t say now. Billy is thin and broken, a shell of a boy, half empty like a cookie cut-out. Victor and Rosa - his parents, his family - fill the spaces in Billy’s room, the holes in Billy’s chest, the crack in Billy’s wall. The air between him and Rosa is everything to him.
He knows Freddy and Darla don’t understand it. But Rosa understands. That’s all he needs; for now, forever.