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Henry Fox sips on his cup of tea and listens attentively to his mum as she describes her day exploring the white-sand beaches of Hamilton Island.
“Oh sweetie, it was beautiful,” she gushes down the line, voice pitched high in excitement. “It’s such a lovely little slice of paradise out here; the sky is bluer than I’ve ever seen, and the ocean is crystal clear.”
Catherine presses on, detailing the speed of the catamaran she, her best friend Lisa, their driver, and six secret service agents had squished into. Henry licks remnants of sugar off his lips and tries not to laugh at the image of the Queen of England sunburnt and running down the deck after her straw hat.
“... and of course, I’ve never been a fan of heights,” Catherine tells him, pausing briefly to yawn. “But how am I to pass up the opportunity for a helicopter tour?”
There’s a creak of a floorboard and the soft patter of footsteps. Henry hums in agreement as his mum tries to put her phone on speaker so she can send some photos, but his attention shifts immediately onto the barely awake and bedraggled Alex, who has appeared in the doorway.
Alex blinks sleepily and stretches his arms above his head, twisting side to side. He wears only long striped pajama pants that sit low on his waist, leaving his torso completely bare for Henry’s eager eyes to drink in. There’s a dusting of dark hair over his pecs and a trail that disappears under the band of his pants. Twenty years together and his physique still remains the same; lean but strong, with muscled biceps and forearms made for leaning in doorways.
It’s his hair catches Henry’s attention most though; dark, mussed curls hang over his forehead, some sticking up awkwardly over the crown of his head. He’s beautiful. Henry wants nothing more than to run his fingers through the curls, to comb them carefully and kiss Alex about just how pretty he looks-
“Did you hear that, darling?”
“Yes, mum,” Henry assures quickly, ripping his eyes away from his husband. “The view is gorgeous. You know, Alex and I have been there twice-” he holds the phone away from his ear as Catherine talks over him, possibly not hearing him, perhaps too caught on her thread to pay much mind to the fact it was Alex and Henry that had suggested her travel location to her.
“Your hair in the mornings,” he whispers to Alex as he comes closer, “Is truly a wonder to behold.”
Alex smiles sleepily and folds himself into Henry’s side, laying his head against Henry’s shoulder. Henry turns and presses a kiss to his curls as his mum yawns down the line again.
“Mum,” he says gently. “Would you like me to let you go? It’s getting late for you, and the children will be up soon.”
“Oh dear,” there is a clatter and a muffled exclamation. “You’re right, darling. I should let you go...” she launches into a summary of her day tomorrow as Henry lazily twirls a longer piece of Alex’s hair on his finger. “... I love you, Henry, my darling boy. Give my love to Alex and the children, alright?”
Henry says his goodbyes with a soft I love you too and have fun tomorrow, promising to look closely at the pictures she’d sent. When the line goes dead, he puts his phone on the side table and turns to his husband.
“Morning, love,” he says, extracting his arm only to wrap it around his husband’s shoulders.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Alex tells him, his voice still low and hoarse. “How’s your mom?”
“Having the time of her life,” he responds. “Relaxing as much as the Queen of England can. She wants to go sky-diving, but they strongly suggested she rethink that idea.”
“What did she say?”
“She said - and I quote - to hell with that.”
Alex laughs throatily. “That sounds like Catherine.” Above them, there’s the tippy tap of feet along the second-floor hallway. “We should probably get cooking,” he says meaningfully.
“Just give it a minute.” Henry kisses his hair again and smiles as Alex’s big brown eyes flick up to him, traces of sleepy dust in the corners and his under eyes a light purple. No matter how many hours of sleep they each get, lately, they can’t seem to get rid of the eyebags.
He’s about to say as such when there’s a click from the sliding door into the sitting room. Henry and then Alex had closed it behind them to contain their voices to the first floor.
“Hiiii,” Bel says as she comes into view. Henry can’t help but smile fondly; their children might not share genetics with them, but somehow, they each have messy bed hair, just like Alex.
Bel’s loose plaits have lost all shape, half falling out at the back and baby hairs curled up around her temple. She wears her favourite pair of hot pink silk pyjamas, a tad too long on the legs. Alex likes to joke with Henry that she’s a pajama snob, just like Henry. Henry disagrees; there’s nothing snobby about liking temperature-regulating and hypoallergenic material, after all.
“Morning Bels,” he says softly as she yawns again, plops beside Alex, and curls into his already open arm.
“Daddyyyy,” she says. “When are we going to the museum?”
“As soon as we’ve all had breakfast,” Henry promises as she wriggles around to find a comfortable position. “We’ll shower and get dressed and head off, alright?”
“Yay!” she butts her head into Alex’s shoulder. “Papá, you’re still making pancakes, right?” she juts her bottom lip out and fixes him with big brown eyes. It’s so reminiscent of how Alex looks at him when he wants to get his own way that Henry can’t help but laugh.
“Of course, Mija,” Alex promises, pulling lightly at her plait. “You know I don’t joke about pancakes. Especiallyyyy chocolate-chip pancakes.”
“YESSSSS!” Bel giggles and throws herself back, landing on the other end of the couch and putting her feet in Alex’s lap. “Callie and Walker are cominggggg!” she points up to the ceiling and traces her finger over the imaginary hallway where there are two sets of footsteps.
Henry tilts his head up too; the footsteps are quicker and heavier. “No racing down the stairs!” he calls out in warning.
As expected, their middle daughter is the next one to peek her head through the doorway, freckled cheeks flushed red with exertion and eyes wide with put-on innocence. “What was that daddy?”
Alex chuckles beside him as Henry lets out a fond sigh. “Come here, sunshine.”
She pops out from behind the door frame, curls wild around her small, angular face. Her hair tie holds on to the barest excuse for a bun as she skips over and sits cross-legged in front of the three of them. She likes being the focal point of attention, but also being able to see everyone. She smiles before falling into a somber look that has Henry raising his eyebrows.
“Dads,” she says seriously. “Can I please let Freddie in? Please, please, please, please, please, please, pleeeeeeeeeease?”
Bel gasps and sits up, “Dads!” she adds, “Please? Please, please?”
“After breakfast,” Alex says, straightening up and yawning loudly. “How about you help me make coffee and pancakes first?”
Callie’s eyes light up. “Can I press the buttons?”
“Can I froth the milk?” Isabel adds, tapping Alex’s leg and fixing him with wide, pleading eyes.
“Of course,” Alex assures them, grinning widely as they cheer and shoot into standing positions. Henry laughs as they tug at Alex’s hands, little golden balls of energy even at the godawful time of 6:30 am.
“Can’tttttt get uppppp,” Alex groans as they pull at him, sinking back into the couch. “Not strongggg enough-”
“Pull!” Callie yelps, her face screwing up in concentration as she tugs.
At eight years old, Isabel is the strongest of them both. Alex must misjudge the strength in her skinny arms for one particularly hard yank has him sitting up and bursting into laughter. “Fu-”
“Fiddlesticks,” Henry says loudly over the top of him, smirking as Alex shoots him a grateful look.
“Okay, okay,” he says, standing up with a put-on expression of great exertion. “Who wants to crack an egg?” Henry watches with soft eyes as his two little girls trail after his husband as he heads towards the kitchen, one hand in his hair as he yawns again. Henry honestly doesn’t want to know how many espresso shots are making their way into his morning coffee.
“Daddy?”
Henry’s eyes shoot to the open doorway, and another smile splits his face. Walker stumbles through, cute as a button in his R2D2 pajamas and … the winner of the worst bed hair contest atop his head.
He can’t help but laugh as he stands and scoops his son up into his arms, his heart squeezing in his chest as Walker throws his arms around his neck and buries his face into his shoulder. “Daddy,” he mumbles into his skin.
“Good morning, Walks,” he whispers, holding his son tight. “Did you sleep well? Hmm?”
Walker nods into his shoulder before resurfacing. Henry smiles as he takes in the way his hair stands up at all angles. He’s due a haircut, but Henry can’t find it in himself to take him. He cries and wails whenever a barber comes within a foot of him. Henry really must watch a few more of those home haircut tutorials.
“Papá?” he asks in his quiet voice, blinking his long lashes at Henry and tilting his head to the side. Henry all but melts as he adds, “Bel and Carrie?”
“Bel and Callie,” he enunciates softly, patting his cheek.
“Bel and Car-Cal-lie.”
“They’re in the kitchen, my little love.”
“I want, I want to see them.”
“See them? Alright, let’s go see them.” He carries Walker across the room and into the adjoining kitchen.
“Walkerrrrrr!” Calida shouts joyfully. She’s pouring the milk as her eyes flick up, and Henry winces as she misses the lip of the stainless steel milk frother and decorates the bench instead. “Oh, oops. Papá-”
“Callieeeeee-” Bel nudges her out of the way with a paper towel in her hand and begins patting down the bench, “Watch what you’re doing, silly.”
“I was saying hello,” Calida screws her face up at her big sister and sticks her tongue out.
“Sunny, come press the button, sweetie,” Alex says, fitting his mug beneath the coffee machine and putting a carton of eggs on the bench with the other. He turns as Henry approaches and takes Walker’s chipmunk cheeks in hand, brushing their noses together and grinning as Walker giggles.
“Morning Walks.”
“Papá,” Walker says, reaching out with a tiny fist and patting the side of his head. “Papá making pan-pancakes.”
“That’s right, sweetie,” Alex agrees. He glances up at Henry and whispers, “You distract them so we can actually eat within the hour.”
Henry gives him an amused look as he meets his husband halfway for a soft kiss, Alex’s lips warm and familiar on his own. He smells of home and sunlight. Of family and the future and a life full to the brim with love. “Leave it to me, darling.”
He readjusts Walker in his arms and clears his throat. “Alright, everyone,” he announces. “Let’s go wash our hands, and then we’re going to set the table, alright?”
Alex mouths a thank you to him as he takes out flour, salt, and sugar from the kitchen cabinet. Henry shoots a smile at him as he corrals their children toward the downstairs bathroom, his heart full to bursting inside his chest.
This. He never thought he’d get to have this — this love, this family, this life.
“Daddy,” Walker says suddenly. “Need to poo.”
He winces. The poo bit he could do without.