Archive of Our Own ^beta

——— 2023, June ———

“Mamá?” Carlos asks one day. “Will you tell me about him?”

There are new floorboards in the hallway now — a honeyed brown that soaks up the mid-afternoon sun.

“I don’t mean right now. Just… someday.”

She keeps her eyes trained on a dark whorl in the wood. In her mind’s eye, it spreads like a stain.

She blinks, looks away. Into her son’s face, the eyes he inherited from his father.

“What do you want to know?”

Carlos folds her hands gently into his own. “Anything. Everything.”

——— 1983, April ———

“Andrea Gloria Delgado-Estevez.”

He stands at the bottom of her porch, beseeching.

“Will you do me the greatest honor of my life thus far, and allow me to take you out tonight?”

Ridiculous man, with that ridiculous hat. He holds it over his heart now, and sweat curls the hair at his temples.

“What,” she calls to him. “You’re not going to ask my father for my hand?”

He falters for only a moment. Andrea resists the urge to smile.

“Your hand is your own,” he calls back. “As is your heart. I can only ask it from you.”

Andrea descends, one slow step at a time. A breeze stirs the hem of her yellow dress, plays with the curls that frame her face.

“Good answer,” she says lightly, and holds out her hand.

He takes it with reverence, brushes a kiss to her knuckles. Andrea rolls her eyes, looks away to mask her blush. “Ridículo,” she mutters into the wind.

“I’ll take it,” Gabriel chuckles, and Andrea blushes harder, caught.

She takes in his face up close. The full lips parted in an awestruck half-smile. The rough stubble on his cheeks and chin that he rubs his hand over when he’s nervous. Ridiculous eyes, big and round and deep brown. Like a baby cow.

She lets him lead her to his truck and of course he opens the door for her, guides her to sit with a sweep of his arm. She suppresses a giggle. “Where are you taking me?”

Gabriel’s smile widens. “Do you trust me?”

——— 2027, August ———

“Line dancing,” Andrea says softly, placing another puzzle piece. Across from her, Carlos stills.

“Line dancing?”

She looks up at him, the shock on his face. “At a homecoming party in this big barn. I was a dancer, you know, when I was young.”

Does Carlos remember her dancing with him when he was a little boy? And Gabriel swooping in to pick him up, spin him in the air, his shrieking laugh… maybe that’s a story for another day.

“Your father was… well, he was okay at it.” She smiles at the memory. He was pretty terrible, actually, but oh did he try his hardest.

He listened intently to the caller’s instructions, executed the steps with his brow furrowed in concentration. It made her laugh. His hand was callused, but he held hers gently. He tripped over his feet when she swayed past him. That made her laugh, too.

“He told me on our first anniversary that it was because he wanted an excuse to hold me close. Qué escándalo,” she chuckles. Carlos doesn’t.

“Mamá…” Carlos’s voice is hoarse. “Line dancing. TK and I… that’s how we met.”

“Oh.” It’s soundless. That’s grief, even now, stealing her voice at the slightest provocation.

“I didn’t know you were a dancer, Ma.”

Her son hunches his shoulders, turns another puzzle piece over in his fingers. “Michelle,” he says after a moment. “She dragged me to this bar after a shift.”

“I’d seen him before, on our last call that night. I saw him again, and… I had to ask him to dance.” He shakes his head, smiles a little, just for himself. “He was pretty terrible.”

He places a piece beside hers, and another pink cloud takes shape in the growing sky. “But he made me feel… beautiful.”

Andrea runs her finger over the seam where their two pieces meet.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he says, looking back up at her, pained. “I never told you.”

Andrea shakes her head. “We never asked.”

In the silence, Carlos turns his attention back to the puzzle pieces, fingers drifting over them.

Anything. Everything.

She begins her story again.

“Your father,” she says. “Mi Gabriél,” she says, softer, just for herself. “He made me feel beautiful too.”

——— 1984, September ———

Andrea rises and is immediately waved aggressively back down by Teresa with a “Siéntate, siéntate!” She takes the tower of plates to the kitchen with admirable steadiness for a woman of 78. Rodrigo lumbers into the sitting room, waving at them all to follow. Gabriel’s parents both do, but Eliana follows Teresa to the kitchen while Paul follows Rodrigo. Andrea looks to Gabriel, who at least looks just as lost as she feels.

“I know the rule of thumb is to follow her and insist on helping with the dishes,” Lucy pipes up, “but I can tell you my mother will physically block you from the kitchen. It’s a lost cause.”

Andrea frowns, and Lucy’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “This isn’t a test, my dear,” she says. “I’m not saying that because I secretly hate you and I know my mother will be upset with you if you don’t go and try to help.”

“You would though,” Gabriel mutters darkly.

Lucy turns and sticks her tongue out at him. “I’m not,” she assures her, all seriousness again. “I promise.”

“Oh… good?” Andrea tries, looking between them both. This whole morning has been confusing like that, turning over the tone of their words in her head, trying to figure out if their compliments are backhanded, their laughter genuine.

“Trust me. The first brunch is for impressing Papá,” Lucy continues. “The second is when you insist on helping Mamá with the dishes.” 

“The second?”

“Oh, you’re already reinvited, trust me.” Lucy waves a dismissive hand, like this isn’t a big deal to Andrea. 

“You really think so?”

“Please, I’ve been doing these brunches since I was eight. It’s all in their faces. Mamá thinks you’re such a sweet girl, and Papá’s impressed that you can hold your own in a conversation.”

“You mean that she kept her head clear when he was grilling her,” Gabriel grunts beside her.

Were you a good student in high school? Gabriel said you're in college? What do you study? Where do you work? What do you like about it? Would you say you value family? The man wasn’t a top-ranking Texas Ranger for 35 years for nothing. 

Andrea did meet him at every turn, though. She holds her head a little higher.

Lucy ignores Gabriel. “Next weekend, you show Mamá you can go toe to toe with her too. That seals the deal.”

“Toe to toe?” 

“With the dishes. You stand your ground, and she relents eventually. You are good at washing dishes, right?”

“Um…” She’s never thought of that as a skill before. “I suppose so?”

“Good. I have faith in you,” Lucy nods. “You’ll do beautifully.”

“Thanks?”

“After second brunch is when they pick favorites. I have a feeling Papá’s going to like you, but he got Reina last time, so he might let Mamá have you. Paul’s still trying to impress them both,” she smirks again. “Now his dishwashing is pretty sorry.”

Andrea laughs faintly with her. She’s not sure she feels better, exactly, but she’s grateful to Lucy anyway. “So…” She looks over to Gabriel. “We go to the sitting room then?” 

“Don’t look at Gabito.” Lucy rolls her eyes. “He’s no help.”

“Lucy!” he snaps, but Andrea is already giggling.

“Gabito?”

“Oh yes,” Lucy grins. “They won’t call him that in front of you for a few more months. I, however, have no such principles.”

Gabriel scowls at her, and she just laughs as she stands. “For the record,” she adds, her smile softening again, “I really like you, Andrea. I know they do, too.”

“Oh, I… thank you, Lucy.” She touches her heart. “And thank you for your advice.” She nudges Gabriel’s knee beneath the table. “I can see why she’s your favorite tía. Gabito.”

“Andrea!” Gabriel protests. And no, she’s not going to let him live that down. She owes Lucy at least that much.

“Aww, Gabito!” Lucy pinches his cheek as he grimaces. “Such a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

“The sweetest,” she agrees, pinching his other cheek.

“Alright, I don’t like this.” Gabriel’s voice comes out muffled. He glares at them both as they laugh. “I never should’ve introduced you two.”

“Keep this one, Gabito,” Lucy says, squeezing his shoulder as she walks past to join her father and brother in the sitting room. “She’s good for you.” She winks at Andrea and beckons them to follow her before she goes.

She goes to stand too, but Gabriel stays seated, frowning absently at the grain of the wooden table.

“Hey,” she says gently. He blinks, looks back up at her. “We don’t have to stay. We can go now, if you want.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head quickly. “Not at all. I just hope you’re doing okay. Abuelo can be —

“An impressive man,” she cuts in. “He’s lovely. They all are. Your family is…” Intense. But still… “Wonderful. I’ve had a great morning, mi amor.”

“Good.” He clasps her hand and brings it to his lips, brushes a kiss across her knuckles. “You ready for round two?”

She smiles and pulls him to his feet. 

“Lucy said you should keep this one, no?”

“You’re definitely good for me,” he says, with that soft smile.

“Hmm… I wonder if she and your abuelo will tell me about the others?”

His face immediately falls and she laughs, ignoring his protests as she drags him to the sitting room behind her.

——— 1984, November ———

“Andrea Gloria Delgado-Estevez.”

He holds each syllable of her name like a treasure in his mouth. Ridiculous, beautiful man. He is on one knee on her porch, both her hands clasped in his, those big brown eyes shining.

“Will you do me the greatest honor of my life, and agree to become my wife?”

“Ridículo,” Andrea whispers, tears blurring the porch lights into a soft golden glow around his face. “Yes, of course, yes.”

——— 2023, December ———

The boys are no help. Andrea thinks that might be why she called them.

“I suppose it doesn’t make much sense, does it? Keeping all of this?”

“It makes perfect sense, if that’s what you want,” Carlos says patiently. “You don’t have to part with a single pair of his socks if you don’t want to, Ma.”

“Or the ties.” TK holds up a couple from the drawer he’s been rummaging through. “These are great ties. Very tasteful. Maybe we could keep them, and Carlos could wear them to work, right babe?”

Andrea sighs. They’ve been talking in circles for hours now, about his shirts, his dress pants, his hats. Oh, you definitely need these, Carlos, TK had grinned. You still only have the one.

“Which ones were his favorites, Ma?” Carlos offers, one hand absently twisting the ring around his finger. “You could just keep those, give the rest away?”

“I could keep his favorites,” she mutters to herself. The tie patterned with little diamonds. The pale gray shirt. The brown socks that were somehow softer than all the rest. Without fail at the end of every week, she’d find them in the laundry, even if she buried them at the bottom of their sock drawer.

Maybe she would keep them all, the shirts, the ties, the socks, and patchwork them into a quilt, someday. Maybe she’d pass it along to one of her grandchildren, all those small scraps of the grandfather they barely — or never — knew.

In the next moment, Carlos’s arms are wrapped around her, his chin coming to rest in her hair as her vision blurs with tears. She closes her eyes as she feels TK’s hand come to rest on her back.

“I didn’t want to do this,” she cries. “I didn’t want —” any of this. To bury her husband. To take that flag in his place. To watch him — oh god, oh god, she’d never understood that eyes could empty until —

“Mamá!” Carlos sounds alarmed and she realizes she’s sobbing, heaving up all her grief. Carlos clings to her but his arms are all wrong, and he’s shaking too, or maybe that’s just her —

“Andrea.” TK’s voice, clear and firm and saying her name like no one in her family says it. It brings her back to herself a little bit. “Breathe. Breathe.”

Her awareness finds his hand on her back, stroking between her shoulder blades in a steady rhythm. “That’s it,” she hears him say, and she realizes her breathing is starting to align with his movements, up and down, in and out.

“I held onto my mom’s stuff for a really long time,” he says, softer, less of the professional paramedic in his voice. “I gave some stuff away eventually, kept some stuff too, but… it’s not like I gave her away, you know? I’ve still got her.”

Up, down, in, out. Her breath hitches, but she keeps trying to match him.

“You can keep whatever you want. But either way… You still have those pieces. They’re always gonna be with you. You know what I mean?”

He’s right, she knows he’s right. But right now, putting all his things in cardboard boxes, it just feels like losing him all over again.

TK’s hand stays at her back, Carlos’s arms wrapped around her. She can’t tell how much time passes before she feels steady again.

“The brown socks were his favorites,” she says, finally pulling away from her sons. Carlos’s eyes are red. She looks quickly away. “I don’t remember where they came from.”

“They’re really soft,” TK says appreciatively, rubbing the material between his fingers. “A keeper for sure.”

“I always thought those hats of his were ridiculous, though,” she sighs. “If you want them, Carlitos, be my guest.”

——— 1985, May ———

As the sun sets and the dancing turns raucous, they catch each other’s eyes and, in silent agreement, fade to the fringes of the crowd. They find each other behind the head table and grasp hands and run to the far edge of the property. When they reach the treeline Andrea finally pulls Gabriel close and kisses him like she couldn’t kiss him in front of their families and God.

He makes a startled noise that’s muffled against her lips as she pushes him against the broad trunk of an old red oak. The next second, though, his hands are sliding down her back, past her waist and lower, and she laughs, nips at his bottom lip and licks eagerly into his mouth when it falls open in a gasp. His suit jacket is probably snagging in a dozen places on the rough bark at his back, and the hem of her dress has probably picked up dry brush and twigs and a decent coat of red-brown dust.

No matter. She and her husband can deal with it tomorrow.

Her stomach swoops as he pulls her closer, one of her legs pressing between his, and she has the dangerous urge to drag them both down into the grass, white wedding dress be damned —

“Oi!”

They spring apart, Andrea wincing as Gabriel’s head thunks against the tree trunk. Lucy’s striding toward them through the tall grass, Edmundo’s camera still looped around her neck, face caught between annoyance and amusement.

“You disappear from your own wedding reception and think no one’s gonna notice?”

“Did —” Gabriel swallows. His face is bright red, practically glowing in the fading light. “Did they notice?”

Lucy stares them down for an eternity of a second. “Nah,” she finally says, smirking. “But you’re lucky I’m the one who did. You owe me big time, Gabito.”

“Don’t call me that.” It comes out hoarse, and Lucy’s smirk breaks into a full evil grin.

“Oh, I think I can call you whatever I want, Gabito. And because I’m so gracious I’ll give you a few minutes to make yourselves presentable so we can send you off to your actual wedding night.”

She turns and stalks back the way she came. “Hurry, before someone else misses you!” she calls without looking back.

They watch her figure grow smaller for a long, unbearable moment. She finally turns to look at Gabriel, cheeks burning, just as he looks at her.

She bursts out laughing, gripping his shoulder for balance as he groans and slumps back against the tree. “That was a close call,” he says weakly. Something in his voice — or maybe the bright crimson of his face — makes her laugh even harder, burying her face in his shoulder to muffle it.

“It’s not funny, Andrea,” he protests. “If your father had found us he’d have my hide!”

She takes a deep breath to steady herself and looks up at him, raises an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitches up — and then he’s laughing too, both of them gasping with it, clinging to each other for support.

When they’ve run out of breath for laughing he pulls her close again, arms wrapped around her back, and rests his forehead against hers. She lets her eyes fall closed, breathing in the warm spring air and the smell of him, sweat and sugar and fading cologne. She feels like a live wire, giddy energy racing beneath her skin, electric joy.

“Hi, my husband,” she whispers.

“Hello.” His voice is rough and low in her ear. “My beautiful wife.”

“Mm.” She likes how that sounds, another spark zipping up her spine. “We should go back.”

“We should.” It’s a little wistful, and she opens her eyes to find him looking softly at her.

“I only wanted you to myself for a minute,” she murmurs, straightening his lapels in apology.

“Mi vida,” he says, all serious, brushing her hair back from her face, “you have me for the rest of our lives.”

——— 2026, October ———

She looks over at them from their kitchen, having successfully barred Carlos from entering and helping her cook.

“It’s our kitchen, Ma — the whole point was for us to make you dinner —”

“And how many times have you fried flautas before, hmm? Leave it to the pros.”

“We were just going to do tacos, Ma —”

“Do you not want my flautas?”

“I love your flautas, Andrea.” TK, with an amused grin on his face, gently tugging at Carlos’s arm. “They’re perfect. C’mon babe. Let her cook.”

“At least let us help prep them?” One last try. “It is our leftover chicken…”

She answers him with a glare.

“C’mon, Carlos,” TK laughs, pulling more insistently. “I wanna see those pictures. Andrea, thank you so much.”

“Muchas gracias.”

“Muchas gracias,” he repeats. He needs to learn to roll his R’s properly, but he’s not bad. She waves them away.

Now they’re pressed together in a corner of the couch, looking through the old albums she’d brought over earlier that day. She keeps her eyes on the oil, watching for that perfect golden-brown color. Their voices drift to her now and again, above the quiet sizzling.

“Baby,” she hears TK murmur. “I know. I know.”

Silence, the faint rustling of the pages.

“People always said I look just like him.” A slight pause. “The older I got, the more I just… resented it.”

Her heart twists viciously in her chest. She pulls in a breath through her nose, flips the rolled tortillas with her tongs, one, two, three, four.

“It’s the eyes,” she hears TK say. “You have his eyes.”

“What, the soulful, big brown cow eyes?” Carlos teases.

“A baby cow?” Gabriel frowns.

She laughs, smoothing a thumb across his cheek. “It’s a compliment, mi amor.”

“Exactly.” She can hear the grin in TK’s voice. Carlos laughs quietly.

“I think that’s what I fell in love with first.”

Carlos’s laugh turns into an outright snort.

“What?” TK says defensively. “It’s true!”

“Oh sure it is,” Carlos teases.

“Okay, fine, obviously the first thing I fell for was your substantial —”

“TK!” Carlos hisses as TK laughs. She deliberately turns away from the sitting room, carefully transferring the newly fried flautas to the paper towel-lined baking sheet to drain.

“But.” TK insists, a little quieter, still with that grin in his voice. “In terms of falling in love? Definitely the eyes.”

“Sap,” Carlos mutters.

One last batch. She lowers them gently into the oil, and they hiss and sputter for a moment before settling. The heavy smell of frying hangs around her, and she breathes it in deep.

She’s glad the boys invited her tonight, glad for the chance to cook for someone else. Cooking to feed only herself still feels vaguely wrong. Before, there was always Gabriel to cook for, at least, but ever since…

“They’re so young,” she hears Carlos murmur after a moment.

“And hot,” TK adds. “Like, damn.”

A bark of surprised laughter from Carlos, and Andrea smiles to herself, bending to place the tray in the oven for a final crisping.

“I’m serious!” TK insists. “Young Gabriel is smoking! And your mother, of course, stunning.”

“I know,” she calls out, closing the oven door and straightening up. TK laughs out loud and Carlos mumbles something underneath it that she can’t quite hear.

She sets the timer and joins them, leaning over the back of the couch as they flip through the pages. There she is in that puff-sleeved wedding dress, arm in arm with Gabriel in a bowtie, both smiling slightly at the camera.

“That’s one of the official wedding photos,” she says. “We have one like it framed in our bedroom.”

Carlos trails his fingers over his father’s face, silent. She squeezes his shoulder just as TK squeezes his other arm.

“Wait, what’s this?” Carlos stops TK’s hand before it can flip the page. He pulls something out of the sleeve from behind the wedding photo and her breath catches.

“Woah,” TK breathes, leaning into his husband’s shoulder to get a closer look.

“Oh. I forgot I put that there,” Andrea whispers to herself.

“Ma?” Carlos asks softly.

“Lucy,” she answers. The photos in that album are mostly staged, static things. But this one…

“She brought her brother’s — your abuelo Edmundo, Gabriel’s tío. She took his camera, brought it to the wedding without him knowing. Brand new Minolta Maxxum 7000, his pride and joy.” Lucy was still something of a rebel back then, even at 35. Not that she’s mellowed out very much since then.

“He was so mad when he found out,” she adds, chuckling a little to herself. It had been quite a scene. Edmundo shouted at her for wasting a whole roll of film. And most of the photos were completely unusable.

But then there was this one. Andrea and Gabriel, arm in arm and mid-laugh. Gabriel’s eyes swallowed by crinkles. Her veil hanging down one shoulder, his bowtie undone. They’re grainy and blurry and —

“Beautiful,” TK whispers. He pinches a corner of the polaroid delicately between his fingers. “This one’s my favorite, hands down.”

“A gem.” Lucy beams as she presents it to her. She takes it gently, struck silent, looking at the two of them, frozen in that perfect moment. “You take enough chances, you’ll always find a gem.”

Carlos frowns slightly. “I’ve never seen it before. Did dad know you had this?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know if he remembered. We got the actual wedding pictures soon after, and obviously this doesn’t fit, so I just…”

Sometimes, in those early years, when he’d be held up at work or gone for days on end for a case, she’d remember it, and take it out and keep it with her, look at it when she missed him. But life kept happening, and eventually she forgot about it altogether.

“Keep it now, Ma.” Carlos hands it to her and her heart stutters as she takes it. “Maybe frame it next to the picture on your dresser.”

“No, this…” This isn’t for display. This is for her. “I’ll keep this with me.” She gives his shoulder another squeeze. “Thank you, mijo. I’m glad you found it.”

The oven timer goes off and that’s their cue to put the albums aside. TK and Carlos set the table and she goes to get the toppings out of the fridge, tucking the picture into her purse as she passes.

She glances at the clock on their wall, squints to make out the time in the faint light filtering through the window. It looks like it’s about three in the morning. His side of the bed is still empty.

She feels a little silly, but she kisses the tips of her fingers and brushes them across the photograph beneath her pillow. “Te extraño mucho, mi amor,” she whispers into the empty room. “Come home soon.”

——— 1987, February ———

He’d never been good at keeping secrets, at least not from her. She’d seen it in his face, no matter how casually he’d kissed her hello at the door and shrugged off her question of whether anything interesting had happened at work. And now he’d not even waited for her to set the table before he blurted it out.

“I got a job offer!”

“¡Mi amor!” She sets the plates down with a clunk and rounds the table to pull him into her arms. “¡Qué maravilloso!”

“I know!” he says into her shoulder. He’s still beaming when she pulls away. “Ranger Gordon —”

“The one you complained so much about?”

“The very one! He pulled me aside today, told me the Captain wanted to meet with me tomorrow about the drug case we’ve been working, but it’s really an unofficial interview for the Rangers!”

“And then he’ll offer you the job? Just like that?”

He frowns, only a little. “Well, I’d still need to formally interview, but Gordon thinks I’ll walk it, especially if I make a good impression on the Captain tomorrow…”

“I know you will, mi amor.” She smooths his collar with her thumbs. “I am so proud of you, mi Gabriél.”

He leans forward for a kiss, sweet and short-lived because they can’t stop smiling into it. She pulls back to take him in, his bright eyes framed by those deep crinkles from smiling so wide. And she was going to save it for another day, maybe talk to her mother first, but…

“I also have news,” she says quietly. Suddenly her heart is kicking in her chest because what if it isn’t true? What if her timing is wrong? What if — they haven’t even been married a year — what if he isn’t ready? She opens her mouth and nothing comes out.

“Andrea?” A frown creases his forehead. “Are you okay?” He strokes his hands up and down her upper arms. “Mi vida, tell me, whatever it is.”

He looks truly worried now, so Andrea puts a hand on his chest, to soothe him and herself. “It’s good news, mi amor,” she whispers. “I… I think I’m pregnant.”

Blank shock on his face. His mouth drops open a little. Andrea bites her lip, waiting for an eternal moment, and then suddenly she’s crushed to his chest, face buried in his neck as he squeezes her close, peppers the top of her head with kisses. She props her chin on his shoulder so she can take a breath and kiss his neck in return, the underside of his jaw, the shell of his ear.

“Mi vida,” he breathes, moving to kiss the side of her face. “Te amo tanto, te amo tanto… Te amo con todo…” He keeps murmuring — I love you, my heart, I love you — between every kiss, and she just clings to him, awash in relief and joy.

He finally pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together, and they sway a little on the spot, breathless and giddy. She feels the wetness of tears on his nose where it presses into her cheek.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispers, awestruck.

“We’re having a baby, mi amor,” she giggles.

She feels the shift before he speaks, the cloud that settles over him.

“I’ll tell Gordon tomorrow. I won’t join the Rangers.”

She pulls back sharply. “What?”

His eyes are overbright with joy, the line of his mouth firm and a little sad. “It’s a dangerous job, mi vida — much more dangerous than patrol.”

“Mi amor,” she shakes her head slowly, “that doesn’t mean —”

“No,” he cuts her off, resolute. “If something happens to me…”

“Gabriél.” She slides her hands from his back to his chest, holding them right over his heart. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll do it, mi vida,” he insists. “You can ask anything you want of me. Anything you want, I’ll give you — you and our child. Anything.”

He looks like he’s made up his mind, and part of her wants to leave it at that. It’s a selfish part of her, that wants to always keep him close, that even now hates to send him out into danger every day and aches when he can’t come home every night. But that little selfish voice only exists because she loves him down to her core, and knows him down to his.

“Gabriél,” she says again. “I know how much this means to you.” He’d be following his father and his father’s father, both of whom fought bitterly for the kind of respect that other men could simply command. He’d be serving his home, making it safer for people like his family.

“If you truly feel that you can give up this dream, I will not stop you,” she says. “But I could never ask you to. And… and I don’t think you should.” It’s true, even if that small, selfish part of her wishes it weren’t. “I am so proud of you, mi amor,” she insists again. “Our daughter will be proud of you, too.”

“Daughter?” he gasps. “We’re having a girl?” His eyes well with tears and she laughs.

“No, mi amor — I don’t know, it’s far too early — but I do have four sisters, so…”

——— 1990, January ———

“Andrea…” Gabriel tries again, softly. “Please. Just come to bed.”

“I can’t.” The funeral is in two days and they’ll all be here tomorrow, her mother and her sisters and their husbands and their kids, because she’s the only one besides their mother who was left in town and who was going to ask a grieving widow to host her own husband’s wake in their home?

“Andrea, mi vida…” he’s choosing his words so slowly, carefully. It makes her itch. “I don’t think the oven needs to be cleaned for tomorrow…”

“Aileen called. She’s bringing empanadas.” She scrubs viciously at a stubborn grease stain. “And if Amy sees the state of this…” she scrubs harder, gritting her teeth.

“Okay.” She imagines him holding his hands out cautiously, like she’s a scared dog. “Okay, Andrea, then why don’t you let me help you? I don’t want you straining yourself —

“I’m pregnant, not helpless!” It tears out of her, completely unexpected, stunning them both into silence. She listens for the sounds of the baby stirring, but the house remains quiet. She tries to take a deep breath, but all of a sudden it won’t come.

She nearly falls backwards pushing herself out of the oven, but Gabriel is there to catch her and pull her to her feet, and then she’s sobbing into his neck. He says nothing, only wraps one of his arms securely around her back and strokes her hair with the other hand.

“I’ll make you some cocoa, if you want,” he murmurs when she’s a little calmer. He’s still stroking his fingers through her hair, still reminding her that he’s solid and real and isn’t going anywhere. “Or I can rub your shoulders, your feet. Tell me what to do, mi vida. I’ll do it.”

She’s exhausted all of a sudden and she leans into him, looks up, wordless. He searches her face and nods, kisses her forehead, and guides her to bed to finally sleep.

——— 2024, March ———

The last time TK showed up on her doorstep alone was to tell them that Carlos had been kidnapped. Maybe he’s thinking about that too, because when she opens the door this time, he’s standing there with a too-bright smile on his face.

“I dunno,” he says. He rocks in place, hands clamped tight behind his back. “I didn’t wanna just sit around on my day off, so I figured I’d come visit and — and see if you wanted help with anything? Around the house? I don’t wanna impose —”

“First of all,” she cuts him off. “My children could never be an imposition, so you strike that nonsense from your mind right now.”

TK nods, cheeks pinking.

“I’m glad you’re here, TK. And I have plenty you could help me with — oh! And I could teach you how to make my green chile posole!”

“That would be perfect!” TK beams, his shoulders slumping with relief. “I’ve been craving that lately, we both have, it’s been too long since we came for dinner —”

“But first.” She says it gently but firmly, what Ana calls her “mama bear voice.” TK winces, caught. “You’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on with you and Carlos.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he says to his knees, once she’s steered him to the couch. “We were supposed to have a day off together today but…”

“He went into work,” Andrea finishes for him, sighing.

Lo siento, mi vida. Kiss the girls goodnight for me.

“He went into work,” TK repeats. Now that she’s said it, everything comes pouring out of him. “And I love him, and he calls me every night, and I make sure he’s eating, and I really want to give him the space and time he needs to solve this damn thing if it’ll help him, but I don’t know that it’s even helping him! And I know he loves me, of course I do, but… like I don’t even remember the last time we had — had a day to ourselves,” he stammers. “And now I don’t know when we’re gonna get another one.”

“You miss him,” she says simply, when TK pauses for breath. “That’s not unimportant, mijo.”

“I know,” he says in a small voice. “It…”

“TK?”

He looks back down at his knees. “It feels unimportant though.”

“How so?”

When he looks back up at her, there are tears in his eyes. “He’s working to find the person who murdered his father,” he says softly, and it stops the breath in her lungs. Yes, murdered, because that’s what it was. Not a loss, but a violent taking. It’s been a while since she’s confronted that thought.

“What am I supposed to say?” TK goes on. “Stop searching for justice for him, closure for your family, for us, and come home because your husband misses you?”

——— 1992, July ———

It’s almost three in the morning when the door finally cracks open, letting in a sliver of moonlight. She watches him turn and close it slowly, soundlessly behind him, set his bag gently on the floor beside it, and take careful steps down the hallway.

“Gabriél.”

He jumps, hisses as he collides with the wall. She flicks on the lamp beside her, finally, illuminating her wild-eyed husband, rubbing his elbow and biting down on his lip so as to not wake the girls.

“Andrea,” he says when he’s somewhat composed himself. “I told you not to wait up for me.”

“You did,” she acknowledges, “but I haven’t seen or spoken to my husband in six weeks.”

He winces a little, lumbers over to his armchair, drops into it with a heavy sigh. It, at least, still remembers the shape of him.

“Andrea…”

“One week.” She says. “You told me it would take one week. Then I get a call from Gordon telling me two weeks. Then another week, and another, and —”

Her breath hitches and she curses herself. She was going to be calm, detached.

“And that I’m not allowed to speak to my husband, all that time.”

“It was to keep you all safe, Andrea, I couldn’t —

“We’ll see in the morning if your daughters even remember you,” she snaps, and suddenly she’s breathing heavily, fighting tears.

Gabriel sits there, stricken, for a long moment. Andrea thinks he might try to argue, again, and braces herself. Then his face softens and he just looks exhausted.

He stands and crosses the room to her, takes her hands and pulls her to him. Relief crowds in, pushing her anger aside.

“Mi vida,” he mumbles into her hair.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” she murmurs back. “I just missed you.”

——— 1994, August ———

He looks down at the bundle nestled in his arms. A boy, a baby boy. His son, wide-eyed and staring up at him in quiet fascination.

“Mijo…” he whispers. “I have no idea what to do with you.”

Same here, his son’s gaze seems to say. Andrea stifles a laugh.

“Andrea, mi vida.” Gabriel looks up at her, eyes serious and filling with tears. “¿Qué hacemos?”

“Ridículo,” she murmurs, mustering the strength to roll her eyes. “We love him, of course.”

——— 2029, January ———

She watches Carlos as he watches TK gently bounce the baby in his arms, whisper sweet things only the two of them can hear. The pure adoration on his face. She looks at her son’s face, and he’s close to tears. Overwhelmed, terrified. She knows that look.

“Does he have a name?”

Carlos blinks and focuses on her.

“Um,” he swallows. “His mom named him Leo. Before she…”

“Leo,” she whispers. “Leo Strand-Reyes?”

Carlos takes a deep breath, squeezes her hand. “Leo Gabriél Reyes-Strand.”

“I hope that’s okay, Andrea.” TK comes to perch beside Carlos, still cradling his son.

“Oh, mijo,” Andrea whispers, her heart squeezing. “Of course.”

“Carlos?” TK asks gently. “Hold him?”

She steadies him on one side, TK on the other, as he takes the baby into his trembling arms.

“He’s too small,” he whispers, breath catching. “He — TK, please —”

“I’m right here, baby.” TK presses his forehead to Carlos’s temple. “I’m right here. You’re doing beautifully. Just hold our son.”

——— 1997, April ———

“I come home after a week and he’s speaking in sentences, mi vida. Ana’s braiding Luisa’s hair! If I were a teacher, or a — a florist, I could be here to see it.”

“A florist?” Quiet surprise.

Slumping shoulders, softening face. “I wanted to be a florist when I was young. Really young. His age.” A gesture to the little boy sprawled across her lap, sound asleep. A bitter sigh. “I had a tío who never let me hear the end of it. On his deathbed, ‘Oy, Gabito, remember when you wanted to be a florist?’”

“Don’t go, then. Be here. Be with your family. With me.”

“Mi vida —”

“Am I, Gabriél?”

Carlos chooses that moment to stir in her lap. He whimpers as he wakes, rubs at his eyes with an awkward fist.

“Shh, Carlitos.” She strokes a hand through his messy curls, trying to soothe him. He needs another hour of sleep at least, or he’ll be melting down by dinner time.

One bleary eye opens and immediately finds the most important thing in the room.

“Papá?” His voice is froggy with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Carlos,” he says quietly.

Half-asleep, Carlos wriggles out of her lap, somehow manages to plant both feet on the floor, and walks unsteadily across to Gabriel’s armchair, eyes still half-closed.

Gabriel sighs and scoops his son into his lap, where he immediately falls asleep again, face smushed against his shoulder.

“I think my point is made,” Andrea says.

——— 1999, September ———

“I said I was sorry, Carlitos!”

“No!” Carlos wails, fighting against her arms. “You broke it! You broke it!”

“Luisa.” Andrea tries to keep her voice neutral. “Please go to your room. I’ll come talk to you in a minute.” She gives her daughter a look that she hopes says you’re not in trouble, but I need to deal with this one first. Luisa screws up her face and stomps off.

One mess at a time.

“Carlitos, shh, shh.” She smooths her thumb across his red cheeks, but tears fall faster than she can wipe them away. “Esta bien. We can fix it.” Likely she’ll just buy him a new toy train. She doesn’t think all the little electronic bits survived the fall from the countertop.

“She broke it!”

“Carlitos —

“What is going on out here?”

Andrea winces as Gabriel comes striding out of his office.

“Everyone’s okay, he’s just…” she gestures helplessly at her baby boy, still gasping and crying.

Gabriel sighs. Then he plucks Carlos from her, stands him atop the coffee table so they’re closer to eye level.

“How old are you, Carlos?”

“L-Lulu,” he stammers, “S-she broke my —”

He grips his son’s shoulders, gentle but firm. “How old are you?”

It seems to surprise him enough to slow his crying. “Um. Five?” He holds up his fingers.

Gabriel nods. “Exactly. So you’re old enough to understand that crying? Doesn’t solve anything. Right?”

“But —”

“Will crying fix your train?”

“N-no…”

“Will crying help you talk to your sister?”

Carlos sniffles, considers this. Shakes his head.

“No. So,” he squeezes his shoulders. “Save your tears for when you really need them. Ok, son?”

Carlos nods, frowning a little, and Gabriel wipes a stray tear from his cheek. “Good man. Now, use your words. Tell me what happened.”

Andrea leaves them, one crisis averted, to deal with the other.

She finds Luisa facedown on her bed, pretending not to cry.

“Luisa mija?” She knocks lightly on her open door.

“Go away,” comes her muffled response. She sighs and steps inside.

“I’m not angry,” she tries. A tiny scoff. “Es verdad!”

She rolls over, glares at her through a messy curtain of hair. “Then why do you always take Carlos’s side?”

“Oh.” Andrea perches beside her on the bed and lays a hand on her back. “Luisa… I’m not taking his side. I just need to calm him down first, that’s all. He’s still so little. He doesn’t understand.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” she sniffs.

“I know, mi querida,” she soothes.

“He’s gonna hate me, mamá!” She buries her face in her pillow again. Ah. So that’s the real problem.

“Papá is talking to him. He won’t hate you, mija. And if you go play something else with him in ten minutes, he’ll probably forget all about it.” At least she hopes that’s true. Ana and Luisa were never the type to hold onto things like that when they were younger.

Luisa sits up and Andrea pulls her daughter into a hug. Worst case scenario, she’ll pull some ice cream out in another hour and they’ll forget any of this ever happened.

——— 2031, July ———

Carlos launches into her arms the moment he sees her. She holds him tight, lest he shake apart.

“It was awful, Ma,” he whimpers into her shoulder. “He just… he just got all quiet, and his cheeks were so red, and then TK heard his breath wheezing and just… he just dropped everything and we rushed him here, I’ve never wished for my patrol car more in my life —

“Breathe, Carlitos” she whispers, soothing a hand along his back. “He’s okay now, right?”

“He’s okay.” He relaxes a fraction in his arms. “They gave him epinephrine and he was laughing when I left him, and TK, he was talking to the doctor…”

She pulls back and gestures, and he leads her to the room just as the doctor is leaving. “He’s all good to go home,” she says with a smile. “Mr. Strand is perfectly capable of monitoring him for the night. But you can call if you have any problems.”

They go in and TK is cradling Leo in his arms. The baby’s eyes are overbright and his cheeks are still a little splotchy, but otherwise he seems okay. He lets out a full laugh as TK tickles his feet and Andrea relaxes a little.

Carlos takes Leo from him carefully and gently plants a kiss on his forehead. Leo babbles something and Carlos settles him against his hip as Andrea pulls TK into a hug.

“I can’t believe we had no epipens in the house,” he mutters. “I’m a paramedic, and for what? I couldn’t do anything to help him, I —”

“Babe.” Carlos puts a hand on TK’s shoulder as Andrea tightens her arms around him. “This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s a common allergy,” TK continues. “We should’ve been prepared, we should’ve given him a tiny bit of peanut butter first, we should’ve had epinephrine on hand in case —”

“Listen to your husband, mijo,” Andrea says. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t know this would happen, and as soon as you realized, you did everything within your power. And your baby is okay. That’s what matters most.”

She’s had plenty of terrifying moments with her own baby. Even more so once he grew into a man with his father’s ambitions. She knows because of that that neither of them will sleep tonight.

They don’t protest her driving home behind them, nor do they protest her suggestion that they get some sleep while she feeds Leo dinner and puts him to bed, and she can wake them up for their vigil over him in a couple more hours. And when she looks in on them later, they are indeed asleep, tangled together.

“You have the best papás, Leo Gabriél,” she whispers to him as she rocks him in her arms. “You’re in the best hands.”

——— 2003, November ———

At the sound of the door opening, the kids leap up from the living room floor and run into the hallway to pile onto their father. Andrea watches from the kitchen, smiling.

“Papá! Papá look!” Ana wiggles her fingers excitedly. “We did our nails!”

“Oh, so that’s what I’m smelling,” Gabriel chuckles.

“It smells like grapes!” Luisa shows off her smudgy purple.

“It… sure does. Very nice, girls.”

Gabriel’s encouraging grin collapses into a grimace as soon as his girls run off. He drops the bag from his shoulder with a sigh.

“Papá!” Carlos is just as agitated as the girls are excited. “I want blue nails! But Ana and Lulu won’t let me!”

Oh, Andrea muses. So that’s what all that yelling was about.

Gabriel’s eyes flick up to meet hers for a moment. “Men don’t wear nail polish, son.” He says it gently but firmly. His son’s face falls.

“But that’s not fair!” Carlos’s voice pitches up. “Ana and Lulu get to! Ana and Lulu get to do everything! Why can’t I —”

Gabriel stops him with a hand and a look. “Fair or not, no son of mine is painting his nails in my house. Do you understand?”

Carlos steps back, his eyes narrowing. “I. Want. Blue. Nails.”

“Do you understand me?”

Andrea half-rises, sensing a brewing fight. Instead, Carlos turns and runs to his room. Her shoulders relax at the same time as Gabriel’s.

They meet in the living room, Gabriel settling into his armchair. “That boy is determined to push me,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Andrea says nothing, just perches on the arm beside him. He leans into her, and she accepts his weight.

It’s been like this lately, stubborn child and unyielding father. Almost daily fights. The little boy who used to cling to his father keeps growing, pushing, changing.

“If he resents me, so be it,” he says under his breath, as if reading her thoughts. “I’m doing my job.”

“I know, mi amor.” Andrea smooths a thumb over the curling hairs at his temple. “He knows that too.”

“Does he?” Gabriel asks bitterly.

Andrea sighs. “Growing pains, mi amor. That’s all it is. Your son sees everything you do for him and for this family. He knows, mi Gabriél. I’m sure of it.”

——— 2006, October ———

She is staring at his face when his eyes drift open. She watches intently as his eyelids flutter, struggling against the pull of drug-induced sleep.

“Gabriél,” she says quietly. She waits for his eyes to find hers. They do, and his face relaxes for a moment into a small smile, before the realization of where he is and what’s happened hits him.

“Andrea…” he croaks. “Andrea… lo siento, mi vida.”

She leans closer, brushes her fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. Gabriél relaxes again, leans into her touch, eyes falling closed.

“Idiota,” she says sharply. His eyes snap open again.

“La doctora te dijo que tuvieras cuidado. Yo te dije que tuvieras cuidado. Te dije que hicieras más ejercicio, te dije que controlaras el colesterol — cociné especialmente para ti. Todo para evitar esto.”

“Yo sé,” he whispers.

“Oh, ¿sabes? Lo sabes ahora. Después de asustarme, Después de hacerme pensar que —” she cuts off, unable to finish the sentence.

“The kids?” Gabriel says softly into the silence.

“With Lucy,” she says, clipped. “She’ll bring them by tomorrow.”

He nods against his pillow, his eyes drifting closed, then open again. “How long…”

“Hours.” Getting the call, calling Lucy frantically to get the kids, driving to the hospital in a daze, listening to doctors tell her it’s a heart attack and we’ll do our best but there’s no guarantee…

“How long…” he starts again. “How long can you stay?”

“Oh I’m staying,” she says. “I asked the nurse to bring a cot by. I let her know you were waking up.”

“You don’t… you can go,” he says. “Hug the kids for me.”

“I’m staying.”

He’s too exhausted to argue. She leans closer as his eyes fall closed again, strokes her fingers through his sweat-damp hair again, kisses his forehead.

“There are a hundred reasons you can’t promise me a long life together, mi Gabriél,” she says quietly, and sees her words hit the softest part of his heart. “Don’t let this be another.”

“I won’t,” he says. “Andrea, I promise, I won’t.”

——— 2025, March ———

“Oh, good, you’re awake.”

“Ma?” Carlos’s voice is scratchy. “What —”

“You’re okay, Carlitos,” she soothes. “You’re in the hospital. But you’re perfectly fine.”

“TK?” Is his next word.

“I told him to take a walk. He’s been here for hours.”

“Hours?”

“They gave you a mild sedative. You needed the sleep. They said they’ll discharge you once you woke up.” She helps him as he tries to sit up, props up his pillows at his back. “He’ll be back any minute.”

She tips a plastic cup of ice chips up to his face so he can suck one into his mouth. The fog in his eyes begins to clear.

“What…” he tries again. “What even happened?”

“A panic attack.” Carlos jolts at the sharpness in TK’s voice. He’s standing in the doorway, still in his uniform, a paper cup in hand. “A severe panic attack.”

Carlos looks back at her, and she only nods. His cheeks flush red.

“Oh… That’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it?” TK slams his cup onto the little table beside his hospital bed. A bit of coffee splashes over the side.

“I thought I was…” Carlos shudders a little, shakes his head. “I guess we’ve both been through worse. At least it was only that.”

“Only that?”

Carlos winces.

“Campbell couldn’t bring you out of it!” TK drops into the chair across from hers. “You were lost to the world. You were refusing to breathe. I had to come back from a call to multiple voicemails saying you’d collapsed on scene. And if you’d just taken a fucking break from work and called the therapist Cooper recommended months ago, none of this might’ve happened at all!”

Carlos looks to her like she might back him up, but she just looks coolly back. “He’s right,” she says softly.

“This was supposed to stop.” TK’s voice cracks on the word. “You found him. You got justice for your father. You were supposed to stop doing this to yourself.”

Andrea rises, knees popping after hours in a chair. “I’ll go talk to the nurse.”

“Ma, you can stay —”

“No, mi amor.” She shakes her head. “You and your husband have a lot to talk about.”

“Baby, please.” She hears TK’s broken voice as she retreats into the hallway. “I can’t lose you too, I can’t.”

——— 2009, February ———

“What’s going on, son?” Gabriel sets the report card back down with a quiet slap. “What’s distracting you? Are the other kids picking on you or something?”

“No, dad,” Carlos says quietly. He’s grown too tall to be hunching in on himself like that. There’s something he’s not telling them.

“Are you sure? Because you tell me if they are, and I’ll —

“Dad,” he says, sharper this time. “It’s fine.”

A B- in Precalculus and another in Chemistry. A big slip from the straight A’s he’d had just last semester. “Whatever’s on your mind, you can tell us,” she tries. “We just want to help you.”

(They didn’t know then, of course, that what was on his mind was Ethan Villar, who sat next to him in both classes, crammed close enough at the same long desk for their knees to brush now and then).

“It’s okay, Ma,” Carlos says, softer. “I’ll handle it — I mean, I’ll do better. I promise.”

“We just want you to succeed, son,” Gabriel insists. “We want to see you do your best. That’s all we expect.”

“And what if I told you this is my best?” The sharpness is back. “What then?”

Gabriel bristles in return. “I could do without the attitude, son. And I know that’s not true. I expect better from you because I know you’re capable of better.”

Something flares in her son’s eyes, but he tamps it down just as quickly as it came. “Sorry. I will do better.”

“Thank you.”

“Sir.”

“Son —” Gabriel begins, but Carlos has already leapt from the couch and stomped off to his room.

Gabriel scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m trying, Andrea,” he murmurs.

She squeezes his shoulder. “I know, mi amor.”

——— 2011, June ———

“He looked so scared, Gabriél,” Andrea murmurs. Tears well in her eyes yet again. She tries to quell them, before she’s openly crying again.

She turns to face him. “He was scared of us, Gabriél.”

Her husband stares resolutely at the ceiling. “He knows we love him,” he says firmly. “He knows we accept him as he is.”

Carlos had kissed her on the cheek and said goodnight, as always. He’d seemed lighter, relieved. Nothing had really changed, except that everything had.

“What do we do?” she whispers into the dark. “How do we help him?” She’d thought she’d worry more about her girls in this world, but somehow it’s her boy she’s always worried for the most.

“He needs to be tough,” Gabriel mutters. “He’s always been soft, I’ve always said so.”

And now we know why, neither of them say.

Silence. Andrea hesitates, then ventures, “Your father —”

“I know.” Gabriel cuts her off. He shifts beside her, heaves a sigh. “And Tío Edmundo.”

“Fernando,” she murmurs. “Angelina…”

“Lucy will be thrilled, though,” Gabriel adds, faint amusement in his voice. “She’s always wanted a — a gay in the family.”

Silence again. Andrea turns to stare at the ceiling too. How many of their family ties will be strained, even severed, all for his sake?

It’s not a choice, Carlos had said, desperately. It’s who I am, Papá. I need you to accept that, both of you, or — or — you can’t… you can’t be a part of my life.

How could he have ever thought that? How could he have ever imagined that one day his parents wouldn't be a part of his life? What had they done, where had they gone wrong, that he would ever think that?

“He’s our son,” Gabriel says with finality, again reading her thoughts. “He’s our son.”

And that’s the matter settled.

———2028, May ———

“Remember the time he brought home a lizard he dug out of a man’s leg?”

“He did what? Carlitos, you never mentioned —”

“Ugh, not at the dinner table!” Carlos pulls a face.

“He was so cute though! Lou the original,” TK beams. “I miss him.”

“One year we went upstate for a weekend vacation,” Owen continues, “and I dropped him back at Gwyn’s after. She calls me half an hour later, furious.” He pauses to stifle his laughter. “Apparently — apparently, TK had three frogs in his backpack.”

“They needed a home!” TK says defensively as the rest of the table erupts in laughter. “They almost got squashed by that truck!”

“He sends me pictures of creatures he finds on calls sometimes.” Carlos shudders. “Remember the guy who kept tarantulas, babe?”

The conversation meanders as the sun sets, through the time Carlos’s cousin Andrés got a walloping from his father, Tío Fernando, for putting a spider in Carlos’s bed; the time one of Andrea’s sisters had burned off another’s hair with a curling iron; the time Owen had pranked his brother Tyler by pinching him so hard underwater he thought he’d been stung by a jellyfish.

“Your father,” Andrea says at one point, pausing for dramatic effect, “wanted to be a florist.”

“A florist?” Carlos is incredulous.

“A florist.” She nods gravely, suppressing a smile. Lo siento, mi amor, she thinks with a twinge, glancing at the empty chair beside her, one of the two at this table for six. I’m giving away all your secrets.

“And he gave me so much grief for wanting to be a writer,” Carlos murmurs, shaking his head. “A florist. C’mon, papá.”

When they’ve finished dinner, they migrate to the couch for coffee and Gwyn’s famous kitchen sink cookies. After a while, Carlos stands and insists on doing the dishes, and TK follows, leaning over to whisper a question in his ear as he goes.

Owen turns to her and asks, likely, the same question.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Tears gather behind her eyes again. All day, they’ve lingered there. “Five years,” she says. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know,” Owen nods.

“He should be here.” She shakes her head. “He tells these stories better than I do.”

“Gwyn was a real storyteller.” Owen smiles to himself. “She had such a gift for it. I do my best.”

Andrea sighs, rubs her thumb absently over her wedding band. “I miss him.” The words are not enough, not nearly enough.

She’d spent so long, in the aftermath, thinking, my heart is gone. My whole heart is gone. But that’s not true, is it? She can feel it tonight, heavy in her chest, and full, so full.

——— 2012, August ———

The door swings shut and Gabriel crowds her against it, right there in the hall. He braces himself, with hands splayed out on the door on either side of her head, so he can lean in and kiss her, in that deep, insistent way of his. She arches up, meeting him with equal insistence.

“Impaciente,” she laughs, pressing her hands against his chest when he comes up for air and tries to dive in again. “We have a perfectly good bed down the hall.”

“We have a perfectly empty house,” he counters, smiling. “I’m only taking advantage.”
He leans in again, and she lets him kiss her slowly, like they have all the time in the world. Which they do, she guesses, now that Ana’s getting married and Luisa’s starting grad school in a new state. Now that they’ve dropped their youngest at his dorm, and who knows when any of her children are coming home next…

Gabriel pulls back. “¿Qué pasa, mi vida?” He brushes a thumb across her cheek.

“I miss our children,” she says softly. “I miss Carlitos already.”

He gets a mischievous glint in his eye. “I could take your mind off that for a little while.”

“And then when you go to work,” she continues, “I’m going to be all alone here.”

Gabriel sighs. “Andrea…” he begins.

“I know,” she adds hastily. “It’s not your fault, and you’ll always do your best to come home to me —”

“I miss you.”

She stops.

His hand comes up to cradle her cheek. “When the kids were young… I always felt like I needed to prove myself,” he says softly, half to himself. “My father, my abuelo… and the fact that I was still one of the only tejanos on the force…”

“I understand, mi amor,” she tries, but he shakes his head.

“There was never a point where I felt… ok, I’ve proven myself enough, I can stop now.” He looks away, struggling with the words. “After that, it was about providing for my family.”

“Which you do.” She reaches out to turn his face gently back towards hers. “I don’t resent you, mi amor.”

He shakes his head again. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry, Andrea.”

I’m sorry. How many times she’s heard those words from him. When they were young, and she was left at home with three young kids, there were many days when I’m sorry barely covered it.

Now, though, they’re more than enough.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Gabriél.”

“But I am,” he insists. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve missed. Every moment I could have spent with you that I didn’t.”

“I know,” she insists back. “But I don’t regret it. We have a good life.”

“I know.” He looks at her for a long moment, with such tenderness that it takes her breath away. She has missed this, she realizes. This look, in the shadow of an old red oak, in the twilight of their first kitchen. She could do with more of this.

“I’ve taken the next week off,” he says.

“What?”

The mischievous glint in his eyes is back. “I’m all yours, mi vida. And I intend to be, as often as I can.”

When he leans in to kiss her again, she lets him linger with her at the door, lets her body surrender to the promise of more.

——— 2024, April ———

“How are you, really, Carlitos?”

Carlos frowns, taco halfway to his mouth. “Good, Ma. Really,” he emphasizes at her raised eyebrow. “I’m good. Work is busy, but I feel good about it, and — I’m eating three square meals a day.” He waves his taco around for emphasis. “You and TK are making sure of it. And I’m grateful,” he adds hastily. “Really, I’m — I’m good.”

“Hmm.” She takes a bite of her own food, and Carlos seems relieved as he turns to his own food. Predictably, he’s hiding something from her. From himself, even.

She’ll need something to shock it out of him.

“Mijo,” she says sternly, “When was the last time you had sex with your husband?”

Carlos chokes. She waits for him to stop spluttering.

“Well?”

“Ma!”

“When?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t…” Carlos sighs, shoulders slumping. “I don’t know. Our last joint day off, I think?”

“Which was three months ago.” They’d come by for dinner that night, she remembers, and they’d both looked happier than they had in months.

“No, it… oh. Right.”

“When was the last time you looked at him?”

“I — I saw him this morning —”

“No. Looked at him. Stopped what you were doing, stopped thinking, and just looked at the man you love.”

“Mamá, please —”

“That’s what I thought.”

Carlos shakes his head. “Did he say something to you? He didn’t say anything to me.”

“He didn’t.” But she’d guessed as much from his visit last week.

She leans forward to take his hand across the table. “Look at me, Carlitos.”

He does, looking so much like her little boy. “I’m a horrible husband, aren’t I?”

“Far from it,” she says soothingly. “And you know TK doesn’t think so either, yes?”

Carlos nods.

“He just misses you. And you miss him badly too. I can see it.”

Carlos nods, his jaw clenched. “I know. I do. But…” he shrugs, hopeless. “What can I do? I need to do this. And when it’s done, I’ll have plenty of time to spend with him, won’t I?”

“Mijo,” she says gently. “You and I both know that’s not necessarily true.”

She sees her words hit him, hears his sharp breath.

“I think you need to talk to TK first,” she continues. “But then… I think you and TK should talk to someone.”

Carlos’s eyes go wide. There’s irony in it, definitely, the fact that she of all people is suggesting he go to therapy.

“Did…” he starts after a moment, “did you and dad ever…” he trails off into the question.

Andrea smiles ruefully. “No,” she says, “never. And I missed him too often, and sometimes I wished…” He’d just come home. She shakes her head. “But I could never ask him to give up everything for me, because I knew he would.”

“In a heartbeat,” Carlos says, and she knows he’s talking about his father and himself.

——— 2016, December ———

“Iris and I are getting married.”

Andrea drops her knife. It clatters too loudly onto her plate.

Silence hangs thick between them. Carlos’s shoulders are hunched inward. He glances at them both in turn out of the corners of his eyes, no longer than a second at a time.

“Iris?” Gabriel tries, frowning. “But… I thought —”

“No,” Carlos interjects quickly. “I mean, yes, but…” He shrugs. “It’ll be good for both of us.”

Gabriel sets his knife and fork down much more deliberately. “Son…” he begins.

“Dad, please.” Carlos’s smile is strained. “This is good news! I thought you’d be happy for me!”

“We are, mijo,” Andrea says quickly. “We’re happy that you’re happy. We’re just… surprised, that’s all.”

More silence. Carlos shifts slightly in his chair.

“Iris is a good woman,” Gabriel finally says. “She’s tough. Spirited. I like her.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

She watches for a few moments as her husband and son pick up their forks and resume pushing food listlessly around their plates.

“Why don’t you bring her to dinner, mi amor?” she ventures. “Next weekend? We could celebrate.”

Carlos meets her gaze. “I’d like that, Ma,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

“We could invite the family,” she continues. “Both families. We could ask Tía Lucy —” she stops at the sharp jerk of Carlos’s head.

“Just… just Ana and Krish, and Luisa, maybe,” he says softly, not looking at her. “And Michelle, her sister. We want to keep it small.”

Andrea purses her lips, stifling her thoughts.

***

“I don’t know, mi amor,” she says later, into the darkness. “I don’t know why he’d do this.”

Gabriel, lying stiffly beside her, says nothing.

“Is Iris in trouble, do you think? Is he? There’s something he’s not telling us, Gabriél. I know it.”

Still, Gabriel says nothing.

“Does he think we wouldn’t approve, otherwise?” she tries. “Gabriél, we’ve never said anything. We’ve always accepted him. And… and he’s allowed to, now. It’s legal. I would’ve thought…”

She trails off, the rest of her thoughts swallowed by the silence.

“It’ll be good for him,” Gabriel says finally.

“Gabriél! How could you —”

“It’ll make his life less complicated, mi vida.” He turns to face her with a heavy sigh. Even in the dark, she can see the weary lines in his face. “And he’s so hell-bent on being a cop, too… It’ll make things easier for him. Maybe that’s all it is.”

She turns away, eyes suddenly burning. “We didn’t raise our children to sacrifice their own happiness like this, Gabriél,” she says coldly. “We didn’t raise them to give up.”

“Maybe it’s not giving up,” he says, softer. He brings a hand to her back and her shoulders loosen at his touch, everything she’s been holding in since dinner threatening to spill out.

“The world is hard, Andrea,” he continues. “It’s hard on him in ways… in ways we’ll never understand. And Iris is his best friend. If he’s happy enough with her then…” she feels him shift closer, against her back. “Maybe that’s enough for him.”

“What do we do?” Andrea asks again. Always, always, they come back to this question. What do we do about our son?

“He’s old enough to make his choices,” Gabriel says. “It’s our job to have his back, whatever those choices are.”

——— 2021, June ———

Carlos jumps to take everyone’s plates to the sink, and TK follows him, which normally Andrea and Lucy, and Ana and Luisa, would protest since he’s their guest, but they let them both go. Andrea suspects they’ll want a moment alone and some time to debrief about how the morning is going so far. Once the kids have run outside to play and the boys are out of earshot, Lucy immediately rounds on Gabriel.

“Well, Gabito?”

Gabriel winces. “Well what?”

“What do you think?”

He frowns. “Shouldn’t we be asking you that?”

“Oh, we’ll get to what I think.” She waves her hand. “But I need to know what you think first.”

“I mean, I like TK,” Gabriel frowns. “He and Carlos seem good for each other.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Andrea interjects, smiling softly in the direction of the kitchen, where the low murmur of their voices is just heard over the running water. TK’s hand rests lightly on Carlos’s back, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades.

“Oh, good,” Lucy sighs. “I was worried by how stiff you all looked that I’d have to slap some sense into you both.”

“It’s new,” Gabriel says gruffly. “That’s all.”

“Your son has clearly found a man who loves and supports him,” Lucy says sternly. “Nothing about that needs to be new. Of course to an old fogey such as yourself —”

“That’s not what he meant.” Andrea jumps in, a hand on Gabriel’s elbow to keep him from bristling. Both of them have gray hairs now, Lucy almost entirely silver, and still they fight like cats. She thinks they must secretly enjoy it.

“Carlos was… keeping him from us,” she explains, and it’s painful to say, still. “He was keeping so much from us. We didn’t even realize.”

“And then TK was kidnapped,” Gabriel says. Lucy sucks in a breath. “The way he was with TK when we found him…” he looks down at his hands. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Ah.” Lucy raises a sympathetic eyebrow. “ I understand. It’s not entirely your fault, you know. Our family is so fucking emotionally constipated —”

Gabriel barks out a laugh, startling Andrea. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Lucy reaches out to pat his arm. “Listen to your wise old tía, Gabito. You’re seeing sides of Carlos you’ve never seen before, yes? Those are treasures, those pieces of him. The fact he’s offering them to you means you’re doing good.”

“Thank you, Lucy,” Andrea smiles, and Lucy reaches to squeeze her hand. She nods at the kitchen. “So, what’s your verdict?”

Lucy grins. “Oh, he’s a total sweetheart. And Carlos was nervous, but every time he looked at his man his face completely relaxed.” She waves a finger between the two of them. “That’s how you know.”

Gabriel reaches for Andrea’s hand. “That’s how you knew with us, was it?”

“Of course,” Lucy laughs. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

——— 2022, October ———

Gabriel collapses into her arms as soon as the door shuts behind him. She’s startled to feel his chest heave against hers, to hear a sob cut short. She feels his shoulders tense as he holds it in.

“Mi amor,” she murmurs, tears gathering in her own eyes, “solo soy yo.”

He sobs again, lets it out this time, and she gathers him closer, the two of them swaying on the spot. She closes her eyes, presses them together as they stand there, until finally his breathing begins to even, and she leads them to the couch where she can hold his hand and cradle his exhausted face.

She’d gotten the call from him hours ago — he’s okay, mi vida, he’s okay — and since then had mopped the whole house, scrubbed the backsplash in the kitchen, and cleaned the oven.

“I was so scared,” he finally says, hoarsely. “So scared we’d never find him. And then to find him like that, to watch… to watch his heart stop —”

Andrea gasps, and he squeezes her hands in his. My baby, she thinks, her heart seizing.

“He’s okay. TK rode with him to the hospital. I… Bridges made me come home. Said he’d suspend me otherwise.”

Good, she thinks privately.

“I was so scared, Andrea,” he says again, and she gathers him to her, holds him tight, wordless.

“All I could think,” he says into her shoulder, “all I could think was… he spent so long thinking we didn’t love him.”

“Gabriél…”

“He hid from us for so long, Andrea,” he continues, his voice rough and cracking. “And we just got him back, and now…”

“Gabriél,” she says again, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “We didn’t lose him. Not then, and not now.”

“I never want to come this close again,” he says, his voice firmer now. “Never again, Andrea. I want to see the rest of my son’s life unfold.”

——— 2037, July ———

“You’re allowed to prioritize your love, your family. The things that keep you grounded. You’re allowed to say no.”

“I know,” Carlos says softly. “And I’d be gone for six months. That’s way longer than anything they’ve assigned me before. Winnie, Leo…” he looks out into the garden, at his husband chasing their children across the strip of lawn winding between the flowerbeds. “They’re changing every day. Every minute.”

I could have been a florist, she hears Gabriel say. I could have been here.

“But I could help so many people.” Carlos cuts into her thoughts. She pulls herself back to the present. “I could make a difference in so many lives. What do I do, Ma?”

“Do what fulfills you, mi amor,” she murmurs. “But whatever you do, find a way to hold onto this.”

She nods towards the garden, where TK swoops in and catches a squealing Leo, Winnie stumbling after them, shrieking with joy as TK lifts his son in the air, pretends to devour his face.

She knows he’s thinking the same thing she is. You don’t know which of these moments will be the last one you get.

“Abuelaaaaa!” Leo comes tearing through the grass and leaps up onto the porch. His sweet face is screwed up like he can’t decide whether to be excited or distressed. “Abuela I won the game but I fell and my hand hurts now!”

“Ohh, pobrecito, Leo!” she cries, scooping him into her lap. She takes the hand he offers and showers it with kisses until he’s giggling. Winnie launches herself into Carlos’s lap with a squeal and he holds her tight while he picks blades of grass out of her curls.

“Babe, I think it’s your turn to be Godzilla,” TK calls from the bottom of the steps. He’s doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. “I don’t have the strength for this anymore.”

“Ohh, pobrecito, cariño,” Carlos pulls an exaggerated pout and Winnie dissolves into giggles in his lap.

TK tries to glare but it immediately melts into fondness. “Do I get a kiss to make it better?” he asks, all innocent. Andrea and Leo laugh.

“You have to kiss it better, papa, that’s the rules!” Leo calls.

“Kiss better!” Winnie shrieks. TK strokes her hair as he leans into Carlos’s space, expectant. Carlos leans up to meet him in a kiss.

“All better,” TK murmurs against his lips. Carlos smiles up at him, and Andrea’s heart squeezes.

“Papa kiss you better!” Winnie shrieks again.

“Yes he did, lovebug!” TK plucks her from Carlos’s lap and spins her in the air before squeezing her close and pressing a loud kiss to her forehead.

“Daddy kiss me better!” Winnie squeals, and dissolves into laughter again as TK peppers her face with kisses.

She glances back at her son, watching his husband and daughter, that overwhelmed, terrified look creeping back into his eyes.

“Why don’t we go inside for some ice cream?” She announces. Carlos shoots her a look, half amused, half grateful.

Winnie rockets into the house the minute TK sets her back down. Leo just wraps his arms around her neck, looking up expectantly. Andrea smiles and lifts him as she stands, carrying him in after Winnie. She looks back and TK is settling into Carlos’s lap, cupping his face in his hands.

I just worry about him, Andrea.

I know, mi amor. He’s in good hands, though, our boy. He has someone else to worry about him too, now.

——— 2023, May ———

“Are you ready?”

“Ayy,” she groans, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. “I’ve been ready!”

“Keep in mind, I’m gonna have on different cufflinks on the day!”

“Ay, would you just come out already?” She hasn’t seen him this excited about something since… well, probably Luisa’s wedding, years ago.

This time, though, he gets to be the best man to his son. She knows what that means to him. How far they’ve come, how hard they’ve worked to get here. Hence, she supposes, the theatrics.

“Well?” He appears in the doorway with a flourish.

“¡Mi amor!” She rises, taking him in. He beams, does a little spin as she reaches for him. “¡Estás guapísimo!”

“Not bad, right?” He laughs, a little color in his cheeks.

“No!” Not bad at all. Not bad is quite an understatement, in fact. Stunning is more like it.

“Do I need any alterations before the wedding?”

“No no no no no,” she says quickly, before that little wrinkle in his brow can deepen. She smooths her palms down his sides. “Estás perfecto.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she laughs. Her perfect husband. The love of her life. Radiant, ready to see their last child marry the love of his own life.

“‘Cause I don’t wanna outshine the boys on their special day.”

Ridículo. “Well,” she chuckles, “I think you’re gonna be just fine.”

She hears her phone ring along with the doorbell, and, still laughing, goes to answer, hoping it’s the boys calling. Gabriel — she doesn’t know that he stops in the hallway, looks back at her for a moment with shining eyes, crinkled at the corners from a lifetime of joy — gets the door.