Chapter Text
”Here you go, sweetheart! Take these home to your mommy.”
Appearing flabbergasted, Asher can do nothing but accept the bunch of pink and yellow tulips that are handed to him unprompted. He simultaneously lets the lax hold of Michael’s hand go and looks down at the flowers with a slight frown, squeezing the stems in his hands. The grip of his tiny fingers is so tight Michael feels sorry for the flowers.
Asher’s wide eyes flick up to Michael, evidently confused. Next to him, Alex is pressing his lips together, wearing an indecipherable look as he stares past Asher and Michael. Asher’s right hand is still holding onto Alex’s fingers, and Alex tugs it gently, pulling Asher with him when he takes a couple of steps to the side. Pliantly, automatically, Asher goes with him as they make room for the people passing them on the busy sidewalk.
Michael looks over his shoulder, follows Alex’s line of sight. The old woman, who’d given Asher the flowers, stands next to her cart, talking to a customer. A huge sign on the cart that proclaims children can take free tulips for their mothers. Two young girls are elbows deep in it, conversing enthusiastically.
Another little boy around Asher’s age skips down the street, moving so fast his bright green baseball cap is a blurry spot in Michael’s vision. He’s followed by a man whom Michael assumes is his father. Noticing them, the woman grabs a bundle of tulips and steps into their way. The boy looks up, first as puzzled as Asher, but starts to smile slowly when he listens to the woman and takes the flowers. He waves at her until the man seizes his hand for them to cross the street.
Michael cannot help the sudden hot flash of anger mixed with frustration that floods him, burning next to his heart, sizzling down to his stomach. The feeling spreads through him like a droplet of ink in a glass of water.
Michael, Alex, and Asher are a family – it’s plain and simple; undeniable. The probability that the woman handing out flowers meant no offence is high, Michael knows this, but he’s tired of people not seeing the three of them as a family. If they were a man and woman, walking holding their child’s hands, everyone would without a question assume them the parents. But when two men walk with a child, people see two friends with a kid – a kid who has a mother at home.
There’s no beating around the bush – it hurts. And Michael… Michael tries not to let it hurt, tries to ignore it. Does it truly matter what strangers assume of them, people who they will most likely never encounter in their lives again? Their assumptions do not change the indisputable fact they are a family.
Yet, dismissing it as something inconsequential feels almost impossible. For a long time, Michael used to deflect his feelings, thinking he wasn’t entitled to them. But masking the hurt never made any affliction go away.
“Hey?” Alex says stepping into Michael’s space. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Michael breathes. “Just-“ His eyes flick to Asher, who’s let go of Alex, stroking the petals with a quizzical expression on his face. Alex looks at their son, as well, the line of his mouth hardening. He pats Michael’s shoulder, hand traveling down, caressing Michael’s arm until he twines their fingers. “It’s dumb.”
“Your eyes are burning holes to the pavement. Can’t be dumb,” Alex hums, squeezing Michael’s fingers for emphasis. Michael feels something warm ignite in his chest, like every time Alex shows how caring he is. He searches Michael’s face and Michael can pinpoint the exact moment he understands.
Turning around, he reaches to brush his fingers against Asher’s shoulder, “Ash?”
“Hm?” Asher replies, raising his head up to look at them. Alex smiles warmly before leaning to whisper something to him. When he’s done, Asher nods, eyes on the flowers again. The adorable little frown appears once again as he seems to be thinking very hard. Alex brushes Asher’s hair off his face before stepping aside, letting Asher approach Michael. “Dad?” Asher says quietly.
Instantly, Michael drops down, crouching in front of Asher expectantly. Pink and yellow petals smile at him from Asher’s small fist when Asher extends the flowers towards Michael.
“Oh? Thank you,” Michael says with genuine surprise, carefully pulling the tulips from Asher’s hold. “You sure?” Asher takes a step back, uncertain. Michael hurries to correct himself, “No, no, it’s fine. I love them. Thank you, Ash.”
Triumphantly, Asher looks at Alex, taking his hand. The smile Alex sends back is almost conspiratorial. “Let’s go home,” Alex finally speaks, beginning to walk away again with Asher clinging to him. Michael follows a step behind, a bit awkwardly, aware of the tiny bundle of bright flowers in his hands.
As they make their way through the street towards their car, Michael can’t help but notice Mother’s Day is everywhere. There are signs plastered to store windows declare discounts and events, heralding the sanctity of motherhood. The nearby notice board is covered with Mother’s Day related advertisements; in their midst, Virgin Mary herself smiles serenely, the ever-patient cover-girl of the church.
Michael is trudging forward like in a trance, following Alex and Asher’s voices. Asher’s bright exclamation snaps him out of his thoughts, “But it’s Mother’s Day!”
Raising his brows, Alex peeks at Michael over his shoulder. “You think Mother’s Day calls for dessert?” Alex asks Asher with a careful, calculated tone. Michael realizes they’ve reached their car and starts digging out the keys from his pocket.
Asher drops Alex’s hand and looks at him sheepishly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “We had cupcakes on Father’s Day,” he says. “It’s not your day today?”
“No, I mean yes, I mean- Sure, it could be,” Alex stammers, rubbing his chin.
“I don’t have-“ Asher begins, quieting instantly. He glances at the tulips in Michael’s hand, worrying his lip.
“Yes?” Michael encourages, stepping forward.
“I can’t celebrate?” Asher asks, backpedaling.
“Honey, you already did,” Michael reminds him. “We sent Grandma Mindy that nice card you made?”
“Yeah,” Asher says. Then he turns and starts to pull on the car door handle. “Desert?”
“Sure. I think we have some ice cream in the freezer,” Alex caves in when being fixed Asher’s beseeching eyes in their whole glory.
“Yippee!” Asher cheers, finally getting the door open and hopping in when Michael unlocks the car.
Alex hesitates before entering, turning to look at Michael over the vehicle. “Hey, do you think he’ll leave it at this?” he asks Michael quietly.
Michael shakes his head, crossing his arms on the car’s roof. “Nah, Ash doesn’t forget things like that. He’ll probably bring it up again at home.”
“Yeah. You’re right,” Alex breathes. His eyes catch on the tulips that are still clutched in Michael’s hand and smiles minutely.
“What did you tell him?” Michael asks.
“What?”
“Ash, before he gave me these.” Michael waves the flowers around. “Did you assign me ‘mom’ or something?” he chuckles.
Snorting, Alex shakes his head. “No. I just said to him, ‘I think the flowers weren’t for you.’ He could’ve given them to either of us. So-“ He looks at Michael a little mischievously. “-Ash assigned you ‘mom’.”
“Aw, he picked me?” Michael says, poking his chest.
“Hello? Are we going home? I’m really hungry!” Asher’s voice echoes from the car.
--
After lunch and a generous bowl of chocolate chip ice cream, Michael has nearly forgotten about Mother’s Day.
Truth be told, it has never been a pleasant day for neither Michael nor Alex. Alex usually texts his mother at some point of the day and that’s it – except this year, Asher had come from school with a glitter-infested Mother’s Day card and Alex had decided to panic-send it to Mindy. As for Michael – he usually tries really hard not to think about Nora and what could’ve been.
They sit on the couch in the living room. Alex is leaning on Michael, idly sorting through his emails on the phone. Michael’s half-heartedly paying attention to a space documentary he’s put on, arm comfortably looped around Alex.
On the floor, Asher is playing doctor with his toys. All of them are arranged in a neat row: colorful animals and cartoon characters and Pokémon alike. Asher kneels in front of them with a serious look on his face, holding a real stethoscope Kyle has given him.
“Let me listen to your heart, Clefairy,” he chirps. “Don’t worry, it’ll be alright.” Asher picks up the pink plush toy and presses the stethoscope to it, pretending to listen keenly, brows adorably pinched. “Hmm… Just what I thought. No need to worry. Here, have some medicine.” He opens a box of Tic Tacs and touches a piece of candy on Clefairy’s mouth before eating it himself. “Next patient! Oh, hello Piglet! Tummy hurting again? I have lab results from Aunt Liz.” Asher takes a piece of paper he’s set aside, where he’s drawn random figures, and looks at it in posed concentration. “Hmm… Let me have a listen…”
Michael forgets all about Jupiter’s moons as he watches Asher play engrossed in his role as a doctor. Each patient is cured with a Tic Tac Ashier – conveniently – has to eat.
“He’s so cute,” Alex suddenly comments,
and snuggles closer to Michael. He’s turned off his phone, focusing on Asher. “That’s our kid, Michael,” he adds, a tender look in his eye. He sounds a little light-headed.
“Yeah,” Michael says, something warm glowing in his chest. Alex’s face is closer than he thinks when he turns his head, so Michael can’t be blamed for leaning in for a soft, lingering kiss.
When they pull apart, Asher has stood up and walked over to them, gripping Pikachu in his tight hold. He worries his lip, looking unsure. “Hey, what is it?” Alex asks gently, reaching to tilt Asher’s face up by his chin. “Do we need to call Uncle Kyle for a specialist’s consultation?” he asks.
Michael smiles to himself – they’ve had to do that a lot, let Asher call Kyle to ask his opinion on what’s wrong with Pikachu or Piglet or Moomin or whoever his “patient” happens to be.
Asher stays uncharacteristically quiet and climbs onto Michael’s lap, forcing Alex to detangle himself from Michael’s hold. He fiddles with his stethoscope, simultaneously squeezing Pikachu closer to his chest.
“Baby, is everything alright?” Michael asks. Alex reaches over and strokes Asher’s hair off his face, looking at him expectantly.
Asher huffs. “How did Mommy die?” he blurts out, looking at Michael with wide, earnest eyes. He puts Pikachu’s ear into his mouth, then remembers he hates the toy’s texture and removes it instantly.
“Ah,” Michael mumbles ineloquently. “Oh, kiddo…” He glances at Alex, who’s gnawing his lip, playing with Asher’s hair to distract himself.
“You said-“ Asher looks down nervously. “You said I could ask anything about Mommy.”
“We did,” Michael assures. He shifts Asher onto Alex’s lap, letting Alex hug him close.
Asher brings up his mother very rarely. But Michael and Alex had always known this day was coming, when the questions would become more frequent, specific, and harder to answer.
And talking about Ella’s death… Well, that would be the hardest topic to tackle.
And it’s happening now.
“Asher, your mother…” Michael speaks, trying to find the right words. When Alex sneaks his hand to touch Michael’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly, he knows Alex will catch him if he starts stumbling. So, Michael clears his throat and tries again. “Well, we didn’t know her, but your Aunt Celia has told us about her. Ella was like you. No – actually – she was like me.”
“Oasian,” Asher mutters. “Different.” He floats the stethoscope’s chest piece briefly, before letting it drop. “Secret.” He presses his finger against his lips.
“That’s why she couldn’t go to a hospital,” Michael continues. “Just like you and I can’t go there.”
“We have Uncle Kyle,” Asher points out.
“Yes, but your mommy didn’t have him.”
“Was she sick?”
“No, honey. She…” God, this is tough. Alex hand travels down to grip Michael’s fingers. “Sometimes when a mother gives birth to a baby, something goes very wrong,” Michael explains slowly, making sure Asher understands.
And it appears he does. “Oh,” Asher breathes, rubbing his cheek against Pikachu. Alex’s large hand runs up and down Asher’s back. “Like how? If baby comes out of mommy… Mommy shouldn’t die?” he frowns.
“No,” Michael agrees. “But it happens. It’s rare, it’s not supposed to happen, but unfortunately it happened to your mommy.”
“Because she couldn’t go to a hospital?” They actually had no idea know if a hospital could’ve helped Ella. Michael nods, nevertheless. “Uncle Kyle could’ve saved her,” Asher mutters.
Oh, the unwavering faith they all have in Kyle Valenti…
“Asher, your Uncle Kyle isn’t a miracle worker,” Alex says, a plaintive note in his voice. “The sad truth is… we don’t know.”
“Was it… Was it my fault?” Asher asks timidly.
“No,” Alex and Michael exclaim in unison. Michael continues. “Asher, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. And definitely not yours, okay?”
“Okay,” Asher repeats a little hoarsely. “Was she scared?”
“Probably,” Alex says after a little pause. “You’ll have to ask your Aunt Celia that. But don’t be offended if she doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s a tough subject for her.”
“Aunt Cece is sad,” Asher states. “She’s sad about Mommy. She misses her.”
“Yes, she does,” Alex admits.
“Would- If Mommy was alive-“ Asher states carefully, looking from Alex to Michael to Alex, and Michael already knows what’s coming. “-would I be with her and not with you?”
Michael watches Alex swallow visibly. Both of them hate this what-if, but they can’t deny it has never crossed their minds. Alex looks towards the ceiling and pulls Asher closer.
This is another thing they don’t know. Celia would probably have some insight, but they are hesitant to bring the matter up with her without her initiative, knowing how painful the circumstances around Ella’s death are. Even though Celia has recently begun to be more open, they still tread lightly for her sake. Thus, they have little to conclude about Ella’s potential intentions towards Asher. That she’d given Asher his name and begged for him to be looked after and cared for indicated certain type of love. But it didn’t tell the whole story and neither of them could put words in the mouth of a dead girl.
“Yeah, you might be with your mommy, Ash,” Alex says quietly to the ceiling.
“Would you have another boy?” Asher asks innocently. “Another Asher?”
“Your mommy named you, remember?” Michael reminds him.
“Oh, right,” Asher mutters, stroking Pikachu’s face.
“Asher, remember how we’ve talked about having foster kids – kids whose parents can’t take care of them – coming to live with us?” Alex returns to Asher’s initial question. Asher nods against Alex’s chest. “Before you, your Dad and I had been talking about being foster parents. So, we would probably have foster kids. In fact-“ Alex tilts Asher’s face up, smiling at him. “-you were kinda our first foster kid, in a way.”
“What do you mean?” Asher asks.
“You were a kid who needed somebody to take care you,” Alex explains gently. “Because your Aunt Celia couldn’t. But we wanted to. We wanted you. We weren’t-“ Alex hesitates, looking at Michael, who takes over,
“When you came along, we were only starting to plan on having children. But when I held you for the first time-” Michael touches Asher plump cheek, thinking about that moment. It had been magical. It had felt right, the small baby with impossibly blue eyes finally becoming quiet in his arms. Alex looking at them like he was seeing the most precious thing… “-I knew you belonged with us. You were a very wanted accident, Ash.”
Asher wrinkles his nose. “How can an accident be wanted?”
Michael and Alex laugh. “We call it ‘cosmic’,” Michael adds, winking at Alex, who looks like he wants to roll his eyes, yet there’s a fond twinkle in them.
“Cosmic…” Asher tries out the word. He glances at TV where they are now talking about Callisto. “Like… space?” He reaches out, wanting to sit with Michael in turn.
“Sure,” Michael says, letting Asher crawl into his lap.
“Dad?” Asher asks quietly, voice trembling a little.
“Yes?”
“I-“ He suddenly hiccups, sniffling, and round tears start streaming down his cheeks seemingly out of nowhere.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Michael asks, alarmed, brushing the wetness away with his folded sleeve. Alex’s hand appears, cupping the back of Asher’s head, rubbing soothingly. He shushes Asher, brows drawn together in worry.
“I’m sorry,” Asher mewls.
“Baby, I don’t understand, why are you sorry?” Michael asks, feeling a lump in his throat for witnessing Asher’s distress, not knowing the clear reason.
“I want to be with you,” Asher whimpers. “But she’s dead and I don’t want her to be dead.”
“Oh, of course not. Honey, of course. It’s okay to feel conflicted.”
It’s awful that his little boy has go through all this turmoil. It’s unfair that he never knew his mother. And it’s heart wrenching thinking about another reality, where they aren’t a family. Would they still know Asher, maybe be friends with Ella? If Michael can’t wrap his head around it, how can Asher?
“You don’t have to think about it,” Alex whispers. “You can be happy we’re your parents, Asher. And you can mourn her.”
“Ash,” Michael attempts to get Asher’s attention, since an idea has occurred to him, but Asher is busy rubbing his snotty, tear-stained face against Michael’s shirt. “Ash,” he repeats, and Asher makes a noise of acknowledgement. “Today’s Mother’s Day. Would you like to visit her grave?”
“Where is she?” Asher asks.
Clay, Alex, and Eduardo had pulled some strings and they’d moved Ella’s body from a grave in Missouri that clinically said ‘Unidentified Woman’ to the Roswell cemetery. Michael and Alex hadn’t been at the reburial – only Celia, Clay with his wife Cassie, and Dallas had been present.
“Here in Roswell,” Alex says. “We can go to the graveyard right now, if you want to?”
Without hesitation, Asher says, “Yes.”
--
Children cling to insignificant details and Michael has learned anything can lead to a tantrum. Among the most memorable reasons that have caused Asher to be upset to the point of tears are ‘Spotify won’t play the song I want on shuffle,’ ‘Daddy’s shirt is the wrong color,’ and ‘Woman on TV has Aunt Liz’s name.’ Getting older has, of course, made Asher react more reasonably to the small disappointments in life. But now, not knowing what flowers Ella likes has pushed him over the edge.
Michael doesn’t say it out loud lest he upset Asher further, but he honestly thinks it doesn’t matter what flowers they put on her grave – it’s not like she’s going to know anyway. And Ella – the little Michael knows about her through second-hand accounts – seems like a person who’d be happy just to be remembered, not giving a single fuck about what kind of flowers are used to commemorate her. But of course, Asher has caught some of Michael and Alex’s stubbornness, and there’s no reasoning with him.
“I think he’s calmed down a bit. I’ll get him dressed and ready to go. Try to call Celia one more time. See if she answers this time,” Alex says. Behind him, Asher is sitting at the dinner table, coloring furiously. Tear tracks are still evident on his cheeks. “It’s gonna rain later, I checked the forecast.”
Not paying much attention, Michael lets the phone ring as he watches Alex coax Asher to quit his little art project and put on his jacket. It doesn’t register to him that his call has been picked up, until he hears, “Hello? Anyone there?”
“Shit,” Michael mutters. “Celia?”
“No – she’s asleep. Is this… urgent?” a woman’s quiet voice replies.
“Uh – you know what… No, it’s fine. When she’s up, can you tell her Michael called and that Asher is asking about his mom?” Michael says.
“Celia has a kid?” the woman asks with a cautious tone.
“No!” Michael hurries to correct. “It’s her nephew – her sister’s kid.”
“Celia has a sister?”
Oh for fuck’s sake…
There’s a rustling sound on the line, then muffled voices, until-
“Michael, hello? Are you there? Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, hi Celia. I’m here.”
“Is Asher okay?” Celia asks, an edge of anxiety in her voice.
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s- He’s just fine.”
“Then why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”
“It’s not the middle of the night?” Michael says, glancing out the window like he needs proof that the sun is still up.
“It is in Norway,” Celia says, sounding exasperated.
Norway – because that makes sense. Sometimes Michael secretly wonders if Celia is hiding some sort of teleporting ability. She zooms all around the globe with unbelievable speed.
“How was I supposed to know you’re somewhere across the pond?” Michael grumbles. “I was starting to think you weren’t on this planet.”
“Then why did you call me?”
“Did she pick up?” Alex whispers at Michael, coming towards him with Asher in tow. Michael nods.
“Cece?” Asher asks, making grabby hands at the phone.
“Hold up, Ash wants you,” Michael says, before putting the phone on speaker and placing it in Asher’s hands.
“Cece!” Asher yells into the phone. “Does Mommy like sunflowers?”
“Ash, sweetheart, I can hear you just fine. You don’t have to shout so loud.”
Asher ignores her pleas and repeats, if not even louder, “Does Mommy like sunflowers?”
“Honey, why do you need to know?” Celia asks.
Alex leans closer to the phone. “Hi, it’s Alex. We’re visiting her grave today. Mother’s Day.”
“Oh – right. You know what – Ella loved all kinds of flowers. Sunflowers will be fine.”
“You sure?” Asher asks.
“Yes. She’s gonna love them, Ash. Give her a kiss from me, okay?” The intonation of Celia’s voice is now matching Asher’s – she’s speaking just as loudly, the sudden increase of volume probably unconscious.
“Okay. Where are you, Cece?”
“I’m in Norway.”
“Where is that?”
“In northern Europe.”
“Where is that?”
“Across the ocean.”
“The big ocean or the small ocean?”
“The small ocean.”
It’s like they’re actually trying to communicate across the Atlantic with the way they’re practically shouting. Alex shares and amused look with Michael, then shakes his head.
“When are you coming back?” Asher demands.
“I don’t know.”
“Why are you there?”
“I’m- I’m with a friend.”
“A girlfriend? Can I say hi to her?”
“Can you give the phone back to your dad, Asher? Love you!”
Asher pouts when Michael takes the phone. “A girlfriend?” he repeats with a teasing tone. “What’s her name? How did you meet?”
Celia scoffs. “Her name is none of your business, Michael.”
“That’s a weird one.”
“Shut- You know what, teach your kid some geography.”
“Will you quiz him when you get back?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Michael?” Alex asks, standing by the doorway with Asher, who’s all ready to go in his ladybug patterned jacket, gnawing the sleeve unnoticed to Alex.
“Hey, we’ve gotta go, you know…” Michael says to Celia on the phone.
“To see my sister,” Celia finishes a little wistfully.
“Yeah. Okay, then… Bye?” Michael trails off a little awkwardly. He ends the call after Celia says her goodbyes, then skips over to Alex and Asher. Leaning down, he pulls the sleeve from Asher’s mouth and takes his tiny hand into his. “Ready to go?”
--
The next obstacle is Asher taking his sweet time to select the “right” sunflowers. Michael keeps glancing at the sky where gray looming clouds are coalescing. When Asher is finally done and sitting in the car’s backseat with the flowers on his lap, Michael thinks they might actually be able to escape the rain.
“Please tell me you remember where her grave is,” Alex whispers to Michael when the pass through the gates, Asher running ahead with such elated, springy steps Michael suspects particularly devout witnesses might get offended. He halts for a moment, uncertain, trying to map out the cemetery in his mind.
“I got it,” he sighs in relief when the gravesite comes back to him. “Ash, come on!”
Asher, who’d been inspecting statue next to some old grave, skitters to him and takes Michael’s outstretched hand. One of the flowers drops from his hold, scattering petals. “Oopsie!”
“Here you go,” Alex says, picking it up. He takes the rest of the flowers from Asher, putting them in the crook of his arm. “Hey, actually… Maybe let me carry these so you don’t completely mangle them, okay?”
“Will I be buried here?” Asher asks as they start walking, hand in hand all three of them. He sounds way too cheerful, swinging both Michael and Alex’s hands to and fro.
“If you want to – but not for a very, very long time, Ash,” Alex replies rather tersely.
“I want a pretty grave,” Asher declares. “Ooh! Maybe a statue? Wouldn’t that be cool. Do you think there are ghosts here? What do you think ghosts do? Must be boring to be a ghost. I don’t wanna be a ghost. Where do we go when we die, Daddy?”
“We don’t know,” Alex answers truthfully.
“Is Heaven a real place? Like Norway?”
“Again – we don’t know,” Alex says. “Uh – about Heaven, not… Norway. You can decide what you believe.”
“If Heaven is a real place, will Mommy be there? And Grandma Nora?”
“Listen, I hate to break it to you, but we don’t know that either,” Alex sighs. “But if you want to talk more about Heaven, you’ll have to ask Uncle Dallas.”
“Okay. Would he know, like, if you can’t go to Heaven then you become a ghost?”
Michael smiles, imagining Dallas trying to come up with solid answers to Asher’s theological pondering. Alex, too, sounds amused when he says, “He’s just the guy, Asher.”
And just then, they reach their destination. “Here we are,” Michael says quietly, halting at the end of a row of headstones. Ella’s stone is quite simple and impersonal; light gray with dark carvings.
In front of it, desert flowers bloom, light wind fluttering the petals.
“Pretty flowers,” is the first thing Asher says. He’s let go of their hands and the sleeve has made its way into his mouth again.
“Want to add some more?” Alex asks, offering the sunflowers back to Asher. Asher takes them, but doesn’t move, just stares at the stone.
“Ella Ma- Marg-“
“Margaret,” Michael helps.
“Ella Margaret,” Asher says. He looks at them. “Who’s Margaret?”
“That’s her middle name,” Alex tells him. “But her grandma was named Margaret, I believe. Your great-grandma.”
“Great-grandma,” Asher repeats quietly, turning his attention back to the grave and the words carved to it. Asher’s birthday. Daughter, sister, mother. “’You were bigger than the whole sky’,” Asher reads, leaning closer. He smiles widely, turning to look at them. “Like the song?”
“Yeah,” Michael says. Celia had gone all in.
Asher hugs the sunflowers to his chest. One of them is about to fall, hanging along only because it’s gotten entangled with another flower. Petals tickle Asher’s pink cheek as he considers the grave.
Then, he says, “Mommy, I look like a ladybug. Aunt Izzy bought me this jacket. I was small when you saw me last time but I’m big now. I’m already five!” He thrusts his hand forward, holding all five fingers up. The brave flower that had been barely clinging falls to the ground. “Whoops,” Asher mutters, leaning to pick it up. Then, he steps forward, looking determined. “Five flowers,” he mutters. “All for you, hope you like them. Cece said you would. Cece misses you.”
Carefully, Asher places each flower one by one amongst the purple alien flowers that permanently reside on Ella’s grave. Then, he takes a step towards the stone, slaps his hands against it so audibly a nearby bird startles and scurries away, and before Michael or Alex can intervene, he kisses the gravestone.
“Asher-“ Alex says. “That’s not-“
“What?” Asher asks innocently, turning around to attack them with his wide blue eyes. “Cece asked me to give her a kiss?”
“I don’t think she meant it like that,” Alex tells him gingerly.
“How did she mean it?” Asher asks, stepping forward. His foot accidentally lands on one of the desert flowers, crushing it.
The constant blip in Michael’s radar that is Asher, the incessant presence of his son Michael can feel with the barest stretch of powers, suddenly disappears. It feels like plummeting from the sky. And he can see his child standing right in front of him, crushed flower under tiny sneaker, fingers still touching Ella’s gravestone. Yet – Michael thinks his world collapses for a second.
“Dad?” Asher says with wavery voice. Next to Michael, Alex jolts, confused by the scared tone. “Dad, where are you?”
“Come here,” Michael says, beckoning Asher. “I’m right here, come.”
“Michael?” Alex asks nervously, unaware of what’s happening.
Asher runs to Michael and lets out a relieved breath when Michael catches him. The connection flickers back open and Asher’s sheer terror slams into him. Michael shudders, rubbing Asher’s back as Asher’s sniffles against him.
Alex’s hand appears, petting Asher’s hair. “What’s going on?” he asks.
“The pollen,” Michael says, nudging his head towards the grave. “Blocked his powers.”
“He couldn’t feel you,” Alex understands.
“It’s okay,” Michael whispers, cupping Asher’s face. He wipes the tears away and keeps sending reassurance to Asher. “It was just the flower.”
“Flower?” Asher asks.
“The little purple flowers,” Michael says, turning Asher around. He explains, lowering his voice, “They grow on Oasians’ graves and their pollen blocks our powers. That’s why we couldn’t feel each other, okay? It was only that.”
Asher fiddles with his sleeve, looking at the flowers with open curiosity. His distress is dissipating fast. Alex is still stroking his hair with slow movement, concern etched onto his face. When Asher steps forward, Alex’s hands stutter after him for a brief moment, before letting him go.
Asher kneels in front of the grave, plunging his fingers into the dirt, only inches away from the flowers. Slowly, a frown takes over his face.
“What are you thinking so hard?” Alex asks him.
“Felt like…” Asher mutters. “Felt like… Gone.”
“I don’t understand,” Alex admits, glancing at Michael, who honestly has no clue, either.
“Did it happen before?” Asher asks.
“Did what?”
“It felt like it happened before,” Asher turns his head, almost pleading at them to understand.
“It… hasn’t,” Michael says carefully. “Your powers or my powers haven’t been blocked. Not while we’ve been together.”
“She didn’t come back,” Asher whispers, eyes on the grave. “Gone. Didn’t come back. You came back. And Cece comes back. Mommy-“
“Oh my god,” Alex says, incredulous. “Ash, do you remember her?”
“No,” Asher replies but he doesn’t look so certain. “Felt like I’ve felt it before. Felt alone.”
“Is it possible?” Alex asks Michael quietly. “He was a newborn, but could he-“
Being a parent of an adopted child, Michael has spent his share of time reading through articles about what may come with it – attachment issues and infant trauma and all that. Babies don’t magically forget things that happen around them. Asher had spent his first months with someone who could barely care for him, who only had the energy to do the bare minimum to keep Asher alive. Michael knows Celia had done her best – frankly, it was a miracle she’d managed to get Asher to safety – but her detachment from Asher had made Michael almost paranoid of it having a lasting effect on his child. Asher’s clingy tendencies towards Celia only proved the point.
This was one of the main reasons he had absolutely dreaded the idea of being away from Asher even for a couple of hours and even now, when Asher’s older, he’d rather not do it. Asher had been used to Ella’s constant presence for nine months and then suddenly, she had disappeared, leaving him alone. Add alien powers and biology to the mix, Michael doesn’t even find it far-fetched that there’s a memory of her somewhere deep within Asher. A bond may have been forged during those nine months, a bond that had snapped when she died.
The brief separation from Michael could have made that feeling of desolation surface. Even though Asher had been able to see Michael and know he hadn’t left him, his feelings of panic had been enormous.
“I think yes,” Michael replies. Asher is playing with the dirt, drawing patterns on it. “Why not?”
Alex steps closer, brushing shoulders with Michael. He takes Michael’s hand, looping their fingers together before pulling it against his chest. The air around them is condensing. If Michael squints, he can see the rain already coming down in the distance.
“Ash,” Alex calls out, also noticing they’re about to get soaked soon if they don’t move. “Ready to go back home?”
Asher stands up and automatically wipes his hands on his pants. With certain hesitance, he looks back at the grave, but then nods and walks to them. “Up?” he requests, pulling the hem of Michael’s sweater insistently, leaving behind tiny fingerprints of dirt.
“You’re getting so big,” Michael sighs, but obeys, hoisting Asher up – just this once. He can smell Asher’s apricot shampoo when Asher’s hair brushes against his face. From Michael’s arms, Asher reaches towards Alex with his dirt-stained hands.
“What?” Alex asks, stepping closer. He dodges Asher’s touch, wincing. “Sorry, baby, you need to clean your hands. I think we have some wipes and hand-sanitizer in the car.” Reassuringly, he cups the back of Asher’s head and leans to press a kiss to his forehead.
“Hand-sanitizer smells bad,” Asher complains, picking the caked dirt from underneath his nails. Michael adjusts his hold of Asher. He’s been growing like crazy, which makes Michael wistful. “Daddy?” Asher asks. Alex hums as an answer. “Is it raining?”
And then, the shower hits them, cold water falling from the sky in large droplets. Michael gasps in surprise, hugging Asher closer, but Asher only giggles and squeals.
“Oh my god, we need to go back to the car, right now,” Alex says.
“No shit,” Michael laughs. Asher’s giggles are very contagious. His arms have turned slippery around Michael’s neck. “Okay, Ash, you need to say goodbye to your Mommy.”
“It’s just rain,” Asher says, pulling back to look Michael in the eye. His hair sticks to his forehead and eyelashes clump together. Michael’s arms are straining from holding him very awkwardly, but he doesn’t dare to place Asher down.
“I don’t want you to get sick,” Michael insists. “Say goodbye.”
“Bye bye, Mommy,” Asher says, waving at the grave. “Happy Mother’s Day. Love you.”
They start walking through the cemetery with quick steps, Alex setting the pace. The rain feels uncomfortable on Michael’s skin, gluing his shirt to his skin. He shivers.
Asher, on the other hand, is delighted, sticking his tongue out to catch the droplets. “Put me down, Dad,” he insists. “Now, put me down.” The moment Michael sets him on the ground, he dashes off.
“How is he so fast?” Alex murmurs. “Ash, be careful not to fall!” he calls out after Asher when Asher stumbles a little.
“Catch me!” Asher squeals. Alex shakes his head and grabs Michael’s hand. Michael goes with him as he gains on Asher, grabbing his hand, as well.
“Caught you,” Alex says, rubbing his thumb over Asher’s small knuckles. He holds both their hands all the way to the car. The shower of rain has turned into a gentle drizzle when they reach it.
When Alex has pushed Asher into the backseat, he halts, looking at Michael. He breaks into a wide smile and surges to kiss him, making Michael sway on his feet. Michael’s face has gone nearly numb with the cold water pouring all over him, but Alex’s mouth his warm. The kiss pours heat into him, making Michael feel it all the way in his toes.
“Dad, Dad, come sit here with me,” Asher insists from inside the car. Alex pulls his mouth back with a gasp. His smile is even wider now.
“Very romantic, kissing in the rain,” Michael quips, cupping Alex’s face.
“I know,” Alex replies, looking at Michael like he’s a wonder.
“Dad!” Asher insists sharply. “I don’t wanna be alone here!”
“You okay with me leaving you by yourself in the front seat?” Michael asks Alex just to humor him.
“I’m always okay with whatever Ash needs,” says Alex.
Michael loves him; he loves him so much his chest feels tight with it. He leans forward to slot his lips against Alex’s. “Have I told you how great father you are?” he says once the kiss is over.
“Right back at you. You better obey our little menace and go sit with him.”
Adding one more kiss to Alex’s cheek, Michael slips into the car. Inside, he fastens Asher’s seatbelt and accepts his hand, holding it tightly. The rain has washed away all the dirt except what remains underneath his fingernails. Alex sits behind the wheel and turns to look at them before starting the engine. “Home?” he asks, smiling at them.
Asher leans against Michael. Michael can feel his thrumming happiness.
“Yes,” they say in unison.