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“What the fuck are you doing?” Alex hears a voice behind him say. “Drop that right this second or I will call the authorities,” he turns to see Henry, frozen in his tracks, eyes wide staring at the object Alex is holding in his hand.
“I… I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I thought you were on your way to work,” Alex says, nervously putting the bottle of ketchup back on the table.
“Alex, you’re the son of the first female president of the bloody United States of America. What will people say?”
“I’m not proud.”
—
Alex thought he knew what happiness was. He had a happy childhood. He remembers biking to Congress bridge to watch the bats fly out at sunset. Dipping in Barton Springs with June and their friends on a hot Austin day. The first scoop of Amy’s ice-cream of the summer, always Mexican vanilla and whatever themed topping they were having that day. He thought he couldn’t be happier when his mother was elected the first female president of the United States of America, or when he got to work for Rafael Luna. Heck, he thought he couldn’t be happier when he had Henry lying on the bed right next to him in a hotel room, even for one night.
However, nothing had prepared him for the blissful happiness he would feel after moving in together with Henry. Not having to say goodbye for weeks, having his own side of the bed, the stupid discussions they would have over where to store the pots and pans. Everything he had dreamed of since Henry first kissed him at New Years was finally becoming real. He had spent countless hours watching Henry sleeping next to him, his hair tousled against the pillow, his face peaceful and lacking any of the usual worry it carried. He had spent many nights studying, only to snap out of his textbooks and find Henry on the couch next to his desk, keeping him company with tea and a book.
Ever since the day Henry kissed him, under the stars and that snow covered linden tree, they had seen each other at their best and at their worst, sharing their most intimate moments. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. However, even in the most perfect of relationships, and theirs was nothing short of perfect, there are bound to be secrets.
Alex spent his weekends growing up visiting his grandma, or playing with his neighbors, talking about the newest video games, watching the Star Wars movies on loop, and riding their bicycles all throughout Austin.
His summers were different. His dad wanted him and June to grow up immersed in Mexican culture. So, every summer his dad would send them to Mexico City for a couple of weeks to live with his sister Marisol.
Marisol was two years older than Oscar was, and met her husband Antonio in California when she was just seventeen. After they got married, Marisol found a great opportunity in Mexico City, working as an executive for one of the largest companies in Mexico. They relocated and had two children, Paloma and Marcelo.
Alex and June loved those summers. During the months leading up to their summer break, Alex would sneak into June’s room, and they would build a pillow fort and talk about their summer plans. They would collect different magazines, American candy, and the newest toys to bring to their cousins. All they wanted was to land in Mexico City, and see their tia Marisol at their gate, broad smile, arms open and a bag of their favorite candy in each hand ready for them to devour. Mazapán for Alex, which he would have to eat outside of the house and far away from June due to her peanut allergies, and Kinder Sorpresa for June. Alex still remembers writing a very strongly worded letter to his Congress members, Austin City Council, the state representatives, the Texas governor, the secretary of health, and the head of the FDA, arguing that hotdogs possessed a higher choking risk than the bright orange plastic egg-yolk looking toys his sister was so fond of.
Paloma and Marcelo, or Palo and Chelo, were a little bit older than June, and their eyes would glow when the Claremont-Diaz siblings arrived at their house. They would jump, mumbling and shouting things in Spanish and the four of them would disappear into Paloma’s room, not to be seen for hours.
Mexico City was their second home. In Austin, his dad would try to speak Spanish to them, and if they got tired they could easily switch to English, Oscar wouldn’t even bat an eye, and the conversation would keep going. At Marisol’s house, however, it wasn’t that easy. She would pretend not to understand their English and talk only in Spanish, so they picked up the language pretty quickly until it eventually became second nature. They learned the slang and how to conjugate verbs and they mimicked the chilango accent perfectly.
They were happy there, the busy sounds of Mexico City contrasting the peaceful and leisurely pace of life during the summer weeks. The perfect chill weather, compared to the scorching heat of Austin’s summer months. Every afternoon, they would hear the familiar sound of the elotero, June’s favorite man. Her eyes would open wide, she would stop what she was doing and start running out the door to try to catch him. ‘The only man I would ever run after,’ she would claim proudly.
They would enjoy their elotes, watching Spanish-dubbed cartoons with their cousins.
Alex always smiles back at the memories of those summers. During their parents’ divorce, Alex and June would spend more time in Mexico City while their parents sorted things out. Tia Marisol and her family served as a distraction during those uncertain times in his life. Instead of thinking about his parent’s fights, he would follow his cousins into the park in La Condesa, each of them with two ten peso coins in their hands, and would buy helado from a street vendor. Limón con chile for Alex and Paloma, and Mango for June and Marcelo.
—
“Okay,” Alex sights, “so, remember I introduced you to Palo and Chelo at my mom’s party last month? And I told you how I spent literally every summer down in Mexico City with them, and how they were the first to teach June and I how to curse in Spanish, so when my dad tried to teach us some curse words we had to pretend we were surprised and excited?” Henry nods, clearly not understanding where this was going, Alex wasn’t so sure himself.
“Okay, so the thing is… June and I spent so much time with them that we not only picked up slang and curse words, we also picked up some habits. Life changing habits. Okay?”
“Keep going,” Henry says, slowly.
“I really didn’t want you to find out this way. I wanted to sit you down and give you a heartfelt story about how my aunt and cousins helped me greatly during my parents’ divorce, how their house is my second home, yada yada. But yes, Henry… I…,” he stops for a dramatic pause, closes his eyes, as if he was going to confess to a murder. “...put ketchup on my scrambled eggs. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. After high school, I started hiding it. It’s like the pineapple on pizza debacle but on steroids. People don’t take it well. By the way,” he starts rambling, “speaking of pizza. Did you know that in Mexico City, if you go to a Dominos they’ll actually have ketchup bottles on the table”, he kept trailing off, “That one I didn’t pick up, that’s gross…”
“Yes Alex, how could someone dare put ketchup on their pizza but not on their scrambled eggs,” he says very sarcastically.
“Okay, but can I remind you of black pudding?” He says scrunching his nose.
“Okay, okay” Henry says, arms in the air. “I give up, please continue enjoying your eggs a la ketchup”
“Huevito con catsup” Alex whispers, Henry looks at him and kisses the top of his head smiling.
“You know we can afford to hire a Michelin star chef every morning to make you breakfast, right?” Henry says jokingly.
“I love you,” Alex says.
“Love you too” Henry kisses Alex’s head once more and begrudgingly takes Alex’s fork and has some of his concoction. He stays quiet, goes up to the counter and makes himself a tea.
Alex forgets about this conversation the next day. He’s never tried to hide his habits from Henry. He knows one of the things Henry loves the most about him is the width and depth of cultures inside of Alex. Alex has never been ashamed of anything about his heritage, and he won’t start being ashamed of a bottle of ketchup in the morning. But jabbing at each other’s countries is one of their favorite hobbies.
The week after, Alex realizes he left his wallet at home halfway to campus. He turns back, having a few hours to spare before his first class. When he enters the kitchen, he sees Henry having breakfast. Henry raises his head and meets Alex gaze, red as a tomato.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Alex says, in a broken voice.
“I… er… it was bloody good, okay? I will never judge your choice in weird food combinations again. I’m sorry.”
Alex can’t believe he gets to love this man, and that Henry loves him back. He sprints to the kitchen table and throws himself into Henry’s lap. He kisses him deeply, trying to convey all the love he feels. His lips taste like ketchup.
He can’t wait to introduce Henry to quesadillas con cajeta.