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The house is quiet when Trevor gets home, free of the running footsteps and screaming children he’s gotten used to over the last, goodness, almost half a decade. It sparks a tiny bit of panic in his chest for just a moment, his mind automatically flitting to worst case scenarios as he lays his briefcase on the kitchen island and toes off his shoes. His suit feels constricting, his dumb tie too tight, as he scans the empty living room, Carrie’s toys spread across the floor, a full basket of laundry sitting unfolded and unattended on the couch. He swallows past his slightly sore throat, tries to garner up the energy to even call out, much less go through the whole house looking, but before he gets the chance, Rose appears at the top of the stairs, a finger raised to her lips, her eyes bright with warm, calm affection.
Trevor instantly relaxes, his breath coming easier, his jaw loosening, and he lets a smile tug at his lips. He still doesn’t know how a house with six people living in it can be so quiet on a Thursday evening, but the look on Rose’s face, and the way she rubs her thumb and forefinger together at her side, tells him that nothing’s wrong.
“Finally got Carlos to sleep,” Rose says, fixing the child gate back into place behind her and then coming downstairs to greet him. Her voice is soft, soothing, like she knows he’s had people shouting at him all day, can tell he’s got a bit of a headache just by looking at him. “How was your day?”
Trevor doesn’t answer, just ducks his head, straightens the cuffs of his suit jacket, glances dolefully up at her through his lashes.
Rose winces sympathetically. “That bad, huh?” She reaches him and stands on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. Immediately, she gives him a disapproving frown and tugs gently, questioningly, at the end of his tie. He smooths it out, just brushing the back of her hand with his own, and she relaxes. “Come sit down, you must be exhausted.”
She heads straight for the stove, putting a kettle on for tea. Trevor settles himself on a stool at the island, undoes his tie, takes off his suit jacket, and drapes them both over his briefcase. Removing the layer, and taking some calming breaths he’s not totally convinced he needs, cools him down considerably. When Rose circles back to palm his forehead, she gives him a satisfied smile and perches on the island, her feet balanced on the stool next to him.
Trevor taps a finger against the counter. Rose raises an eyebrow, waits patiently, but Trevor’s not sure how to ask the question still burning inside him without actually asking it, and his paranoia won’t let him get away with not asking it at all. So he clears his throat, meets Rose’s eyes, and croaks, “Where are the girls?”
His voice is rough from overuse, and a little shaky from the effort of speaking after such an emotionally draining day of meetings with the label, where he had to put on a happy face and be not just put together but Full Celebrity Material. Rose tuts a little, leans in to undo the top few buttons of Trevor’s dress shirt, like that’ll help him feel a little less choked.
“Ray just left to pick them up from Jim’s,” she explains, patting his chest until he drags in a deep breath. “They wrote a song together that they wanted to show him. But they’ll be home soon.”
Trevor nods, resists the urge to go to the window and watch until Ray’s car pulls into the driveway. He trusts Ray with his life, and with his daughter’s, every minute of every day. Schaefer’s Music Store is less than ten minutes away, off of back roads that don’t receive a whole lot of traffic. They’ll be fine. They’ll be safe.
He just won’t be able to completely relax until they’re home, that’s all.
Rose pats his chest again, drawing Trevor’s attention back. He breathes, and she smiles, and when she glances down at his hands held tightly in his lap, he makes sure to rub his fingers together, assuring her he’s okay.
The kettle whistles, a little too loudly. Trevor flinches. Rose hops off the island and hurries to take it off the stove. She doesn’t talk as she pours two mugs of hot water, steeps two bags of caffeine-free chamomile, and puts too much milk in one, not enough sugar in the other. But she’s not silent either, knows that too much quiet will just give Trevor too much of an opportunity to get stuck in his head, so she sings, hums under her breath and mumbles half-formed lyrics Trevor doesn’t recognize. It might be an original, or it might just be some Puerto Rican folk song she hasn’t taught him yet.
“Drink,” she says when she returns, placing his cup in front of him. She punctuates the order with a gentle flick of her finger against his jaw. It means No arguments, and Trevor knows better than to disobey.
He’s barely finished his tea when a key turns in the lock and the front door slowly opens. Julie appears first, pushing at the door with one chubby hand, and grins at him, waves her Hannah Montana doll in the air. Trevor smiles back, wiggles his fingers in greeting, but there’s still a fist clenched around his heart that doesn’t loosen until the door opens all the way to reveal Ray, shuffling little Carrie along in front of him.
“Now, remember girls,” he cautions, placing a hand on each of their heads so they know not to go running off, “it’s Daddy’s quiet time, so be gentle, ¿me entienden?”
Julie and Carrie both nod, curls bouncing, and then Ray lifts his hands and they take off. Trevor moves his mug farther from the edge of the island just in time to catch Julie as she clambers up the side of his stool. She presses a kiss to his cheek, rubs her nose against his, and then hops down again and runs to her mother to show off her doll. Carrie instantly takes her place, climbing all the way up so that she sits firmly in Trevor’s lap, back against the counter. She doesn’t have a toy with her, but she reaches for Trevor’s shirt, tugging it loose and out of his belt so that she can rub the fabric between her hands.
“I know it’s your quiet time, Daddy,” she says in an unconvincing stage whisper, “but can I tell you about my day?”
Trevor nods, smiles, lets her fidget with the hem of his shirt as he gently cards his fingers through her tangled hair. All the panic that gripped him just a few minutes ago is gone now, replaced with intoxicating warmth at knowing that his daughter is safe and happy and here in his arms.
Carrie starts to ramble, just below the volume Trevor can stand after long days like this one, about the song she and Julie wrote about ice cream, and the piano Mr. Schaefer let them play with, and the goldfish crackers Papi gave her as a reward for sleeping through her whole entire nap time. Trevor listens, but out of the corner of his eye, he also watches as Ray returns from hanging up his jacket, kisses Rose on the lips and Julie on the head, and then heads for the fridge to doctor up a third mug of tea. Julie plays silently with her doll on the floor at her mother’s feet, occasionally reaching up to tug at the hem of Rose’s pant leg until Rose buries a hand in her hair and scratches idly. Ray and Rose signal to each other, whisper the occasional word, as they start gathering the ingredients for dinner, but for the most part, the only sound in the kitchen is Carrie’s voice, bubbly and enthusiastic. For the most part, it’s quiet and calm.
“Daddy!” Carrie puts her small hand on Trevor’s cheek, and when he cuts his gaze back to her, she’s pouting. “Daddy, you’re not listening.”
Trevor gives her an apologetic smile, cups her cheek with his own hand, nods for her to keep going. She huffs out a sigh, but continues with her story like she never stopped.
When dinner’s ready, they eat in silence, the five of them, with baby Carlos already fed and sleeping soundly (for now) upstairs. Rose puts the radio on in the background, the volume low, and Carrie bops her head to the music while Julie kicks her feet rhythmically against the legs of her chair. Trevor eats slowly, breathes deeply, and looks from each member of his family to the next, reminding himself how much he loves his life, even when parts of it are stressful or hard.
Rose smiles at him from across the table. Ray reaches a hand over to ruffle his hair. Julie pushes her plate toward him when all that’s left are the vegetables, and giggles when he pushes it right back. Carrie bounces in her seat and says, “Mama, louder pleeeease,” when her favorite song comes on. Rose looks to Trevor, waits for his nod, then turns the radio up a notch.
Trevor sits back in his seat, rubs his thumb and forefinger together, makes sure his hand is raised high enough that they all can see. His family grin back at him. They know what the signal means. That everything’s okay.