Chapter Text
Usnavi barely knew his aunt and uncle. They had only started living with him a few weeks ago. Before that, he had only heard of them when he found out they were moving from the Dominican Republic to America. His mother had been preparing him for their arrival for months.
“They don’t know any English, so you will have to speak Spanish to them, okay?”
“Aunt Carmen is pregnant, so be careful around her.”
He first met them late on a Friday, after he finished his homework. He went to the living room to watch something on TV, but instead he saw his mom hugging a strange woman and his dad shaking hands with a man he didn’t recognize. For a moment, Usnavi just stood there, confused. His mother finally noticed him.
“Oh, Usnavi! Ven a saludar a tu tía.”
“Hola, soy Usnavi,” he said shyly.
“Es un placer conocerte, soy Carmen,” the woman replied with a warm smile.
The next weeks were… interesting. His parents put a lot of effort into making Aunt Carmen and Uncle Luis feel welcome. They cooked big meals, talked late into the night, and laughed more than usual. Usnavi also wanted them to feel at home. He took them for walks around the neighborhood, pointing out the bodega his dad worked at, the bus stop, and the park nearby. He introduced them to neighbors. He handed Aunt Carmen things when she couldn’t reach them and reminded her to sit down when she got tired. He helped both of them practice English, patiently correcting their pronunciation.
Slowly, he started to like them. Uncle Luis was funny and always had a story to tell, even if Usnavi didn’t always understand it. Aunt Carmen was really smart. She was already helping him with his math homework, even though she sometimes had to ask him what the questions meant.
Then Aunt Carmen went into labour.
That day was full of panic. It happened right after breakfast. Usnavi was washing dishes with his mom when he heard a sharp yelp coming from his aunt. They both turned toward her. She was holding her belly, her face pale. There was a wet spot on her pants. Usnavi didn’t know what it was; he just thought she had had an accident. His parents had once told him that such things could happen during pregnancy because the baby kicked around a lot. But the looks on his parents’ faces told him this was something else.
Everything happened at once. His uncle ran to get a bag. His dad spoke rapidly into the phone, his voice tight with urgency. His mom held Aunt Carmen’s hand, whispering comforting words. No one looked at Usnavi. No one explained what was going on. He just stood there, frozen.
They all rushed out of the building. Usnavi felt a knot form in his stomach. Would they leave him? His mom, Aunt Carmen, and Uncle Luis got into a taxi, but his father turned back and went inside.
That was when Usnavi finally gathered enough courage to ask what was happening
.
“What’s going on?” he asked quietly.
His father didn’t go into details. He didn’t smile or soften his voice. He simply said, “The baby is coming.”
For the next few days, it was just Usnavi, his father, and Abuela, who came over to help. The apartment felt strangely quiet and loud at the same time. They received phone calls from his mother every day.
“Carmen is fine,” she said during one of them. “She gave birth to a healthy baby boy.”
That was about all Usnavi understood from the conversation.
When they finally came back home, Usnavi was sitting on the couch, pretending to watch TV but really listening for footsteps. The door opened, and suddenly everyone was there. His aunt was holding a small bundle wrapped in a soft blanket. Usnavi stared at it with interest.
“Hold your hands out like that,” his mother instructed gently.
Before he knew it, the small bundle was placed in his arms. His arms stiffened immediately. He looked down at the baby—his little cousin. He was small, warm, and surprisingly heavy. His face was round and squishy, like a tiny potato. Usnavi had no idea what to do with this strange little creature.
Then the baby moved.
And made noise.
Usnavi blinked. He had to admit—it was quite cute.
“His name is Santiago,” his mother said, smiling, “but you can call him Sonny.”
Usnavi smiled too. Sonny. His baby cousin.
“I love you, Sonny,” he said seriously. “Even if you look like a potato.”
His mother laughed softly. Sonny wrapped his tiny fingers around Usnavi’s, and Usnavi almost squealed. He quickly bit his lip, reminding himself that loud noises might scare the baby. He didn’t want Sonny to cry during their first meeting. He wanted to make a good first impression.
A sudden flash made him look up. Abuela was standing nearby with a camera.
“It’s going in my album,” she announced proudly.
“Oh, it’s so nice,” Aunt Carmen said in broken English.
Then came a whine.
Sonny started crying. His face scrunched up, turning red. Aunt Carmen gently took him from Usnavi’s arms.
“Did I do something wrong?” Usnavi asked sadly.
“Oh no, mijo,” his father said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “He’s probably just hungry. I’m sure Sonny still loves you.”
It took Usnavi exactly two days to discover how loud babies really were.
Sonny woke him up three times in one night—once at midnight, once around three in the morning, and once just before sunrise. Even with all his cuteness, it was a lot to handle. Usnavi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the crying echo through the apartment.
The next morning, he dragged himself into the kitchen, eyes half-closed.
“You look tired,” Uncle Luis said with a grin.
“I am tired,” Usnavi replied honestly.
But as days passed, Usnavi learned things he never expected. He learned how to hold a bottle, how to rock Sonny just right, and how to make funny faces that stopped him from crying. He learned that babies smelled like milk and warmth and something else he couldn’t describe. He learned that even when Sonny screamed at the top of his lungs, the moment he smiled, everything felt worth it.
Sometimes, late at night, when the apartment was quiet again, Usnavi would stand by Sonny’s crib and watch him sleep. He thought about how strange it was—how someone so small could change everything so much.
He was really sad when they decided to move.
“It’s not far,” his mother comforted him.
“You can visit us whenever you want,” Aunt Carmen promised.
And he did visit. Every chance he got.
Their new apartment was smaller but brighter, filled with baby toys, soft blankets, and pictures of Sonny taped to the fridge. Every time Usnavi arrived, Sonny’s face lit up in a way that made his chest feel warm and tight at the same time. Aunt Carmen often called him “the best little helper,” and Uncle Luis joked that Sonny liked him more than anyone else.
Usnavi talked about Sonny constantly. He told his friends stories about how Sonny laughed, how he grabbed fingers, how he kicked his legs when he got excited. Once, Benny threatened to go home during an outing because Usnavi wouldn’t stop talking about his precious little cousin.
The proudest moment of Usnavi’s life came one afternoon when he was playing on the floor with Sonny. Sonny lay on his stomach, kicking and babbling, while Usnavi dangled a toy just out of reach. When the toy rolled away, Usnavi stood up to grab it from the counter. It was only a few steps.
When he turned around, his breath caught.
Sonny was moving.
Slowly. Wobbly. Crawling toward him.
Usnavi dropped to his knees instantly, heart pounding.
“You’re doing it,” he whispered. “You’re doing it, Sonny.”
He moved closer to make it easier, holding out his arms. Sonny made one last effort and flopped forward, landing against Usnavi’s chest. Usnavi laughed, loud and happy, and didn’t even care when Sonny drooled all over his shirt.
“You saw it, right?” he said excitedly when his aunt rushed in. “He crawled! I swear, he crawled!”
Aunt Carmen rushed in just in time to see Sonny pressed against Usnavi’s chest, laughing breathlessly.
“He did it,” Usnavi repeated, still grinning. “He crawled. All by himself.”
Aunt Carmen knelt beside them, her hands shaking as she touched Sonny’s back. “Ay, mi amor,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “You crawled.”
Uncle Luis appeared in the doorway a moment later, drawn in by the noise. When he realized what had happened, he let out a laugh so loud it startled Sonny, who squeaked in protest and buried his face in Usnavi’s shirt. Usnavi instinctively wrapped his arms around him, rocking gently until he calmed.
That was the moment Aunt Carmen started calling Usnavi el segundo papá.
Usnavi pretended to hate it. He rolled his eyes whenever she said it, groaning dramatically and insisting he was “way too young to be someone’s second dad.” But secretly, deep down, the title filled him with pride. It meant trust. It meant that Sonny was safe with him. It meant he mattered.
Usnavi never told anyone how much that name meant to him.
El segundo papá.
He laughed it off whenever Aunt Carmen said it, waving his hands dramatically and insisting that he was barely old enough to take care of himself, let alone a baby. But every time she trusted him enough to place Sonny in his arms again, every time she asked him to watch the baby “just for a minute,” something warm settled deep inside his chest.
Sonny fit there surprisingly well.
In the crook of his arm. Against his shoulder. Curled up on his chest like he had always belonged there.
The days began to blur together in a rhythm Usnavi never expected. Bottles warming in the kitchen. Soft blankets spread out on the floor. Aunt Carmen humming unfamiliar songs in Spanish while Uncle Luis tried—often unsuccessfully—to assemble baby furniture. The apartment smelled constantly of milk, soap, and something faintly sweet that Usnavi decided must be baby.
Sonny cried. A lot.
At first, every cry made Usnavi panic. His heart jumped into his throat, his hands shaking as he looked desperately at the adults in the room, silently asking What do I do? But slowly, he started noticing patterns. A sharp, angry cry usually meant hunger. A softer, whiny one meant Sonny was tired. The loud, desperate screaming meant… well, it could mean anything.
Sometimes babies just cried.
That realization helped more than Usnavi expected.
One afternoon, Aunt Carmen collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion written all over her face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her movements were slow and careful.
“Can you hold him for a bit?” she asked quietly. “Just until he falls asleep.”
Usnavi nodded immediately, even though Sonny was already squirming and fussing in her arms.
She placed Sonny against Usnavi’s chest, and for a moment the baby protested, tiny fists clenched, face scrunched up in outrage. Usnavi froze, holding his breath. He rocked gently from side to side, just like he had seen his mother do.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Sonny’s cries softened. Then slowed. Then stopped.
Usnavi looked down in disbelief. Sonny’s eyelashes fluttered once, twice, before his face relaxed completely. He was asleep.
Usnavi didn’t move.
He stood there for several minutes, afraid that even breathing too loudly might wake him. Aunt Carmen watched from the couch, smiling softly.
“He likes you,” she said quietly.
Usnavi swallowed. “I didn’t even do anything.”
“That’s exactly it,” she replied.
That night, when Usnavi finally got home, he lay awake in bed, replaying the moment over and over. The weight of Sonny in his arms. The steady rise and fall of his tiny chest. The way the crying had faded the moment Usnavi held him close.
He had never felt so important before.
The visits became more frequent. Sometimes Usnavi came over just to sit on the floor and make faces at Sonny until the baby responded with wide eyes and flailing arms. Other times, he helped Aunt Carmen with chores while Uncle Luis worked late, keeping Sonny entertained with rattles and songs he barely remembered the words to.
Sonny’s favorite seemed to be a ridiculous one Usnavi made up on the spot, full of nonsense syllables and exaggerated movements. Sonny kicked and babbled every time he heard it, his face lighting up with something that felt a lot like joy.
“See?” Uncle Luis said once, watching them. “He’s already spoiled.”
Usnavi grinned. “Good.”
There were harder moments, too. Nights when Sonny wouldn’t stop crying, no matter what they tried. Times when Aunt Carmen disappeared into the bathroom just to cry quietly for a few minutes. Usnavi learned to hand her tissues without saying anything, learned that sometimes helping meant simply being there.
One night, Sonny cried so long that Usnavi’s head hurt and his arms ached from rocking him back and forth. Finally, exhausted, he sat down on the couch with Sonny pressed against him, humming softly.
“I don’t know what you want,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “But I’m here.”
Sonny hiccupped once. Then again.
And then, slowly, he calmed.
Usnavi didn’t realize he was crying too until Aunt Carmen gently touched his shoulder.
“You’re doing good,” she said. “Really good.”
Usnavi nodded, wiping his eyes quickly. “I just… I don’t want to mess him up.”
Aunt Carmen smiled sadly. “You won’t. Love doesn’t mess people up.”
As weeks passed, Usnavi noticed how Sonny responded to him differently than to others. Sonny’s eyes followed him across the room. His tiny fingers reached out when Usnavi leaned close. Sometimes, when Usnavi talked, Sonny grew quiet, as if listening.
Usnavi talked to him a lot.
About school. About the bodega. About things that didn’t make sense and things that didn’t matter. He told Sonny about his favorite snacks, about the neighbors downstairs, about how confusing the world could be sometimes.
Sonny listened. Or at least, he seemed to.
Abuela took pictures of everything.
“Someday you’ll want these,” she said, snapping another photo of Usnavi lying on the floor beside Sonny. “You’ll forget how small he was.”
Usnavi frowned at the sleeping baby. “I don’t think I could forget this.”
Abuela only smiled.
The day came when Aunt Carmen and Uncle Luis finished unpacking their last box. Their apartment finally felt settled. Lived in. Home.
He still came over to help with Sonny. But it finally raised a question.
"Dad , will I have children when I grow up?"
His father turned to him with a smile
"If you want to" he explained "Some people rather to focus on other things. But if you decide you want to have a child you will be the best father"
"And if I make a mistake? What if my child hates my for it?"
"Do you hate me?" Asked his father. Usnavi stared confused.
"Of corse I don't!" He said.
"But I make mistakes. A ton of them. If you don't hate me for my mistakes then your child don't hate you for yours" Assured him his father. " And you still have long time to think about it."
First time he noitced that Sonny is growing was when he struguled to carry him. He almost cried that moment.
"He is quite a big boy now , isn't he?" Laught his uncle.
"I don't want him to grow up! I want him to stay like this" protestem Usnavi.
"Oh trust me , I would prefer it too. But you can't stop nature. All we can do is make as many memories as we can."
Abuelas words sudently become more real to him then ever before. That evning he made his way to her apartament. He asked her for the album with Sonnys pictures.
There were soo many! Usanvi looked at home he changed. It was like two complitly diffrent babys! Then Abuela showed him a diffrent album. It was him as a baby.
"You were so similar to him when you were a baby"
Usnavi could see that. He look at many albums siting on the shellf. He couldn't akcept Sonny growing up. How many people had Abuela watch grow up like that? In that moment he found new admiration for a women who helped raise almost the whole nieborhood. The women who still helps them , gives them advice , documets thier lives.
He sat cross-legged, flipping through the pictures of Sonny, tracing the tiny fingers, the chubby cheeks, the way the baby’s eyes sparkled when he laughed. Every photo made him ache a little. He wanted to freeze time, keep Sonny exactly like this forever—small, soft, and completely dependent on him.
Later that afternoon, he went to visit Sonny again. Aunt Carmen was folding laundry while Uncle Luis tried to calm a restless Sonny. The baby’s little arms flailed as Usnavi entered, and instantly, Sonny’s eyes brightened.
“Mira, el segundo papá está aquí,” Aunt Carmen teased.
Usnavi rolled his eyes but smiled, picking Sonny up from the playmat. He held him against his chest, feeling the tiny weight shift as Sonny nuzzled into his shoulder. “Shh… it’s okay,” he whispered, swaying gently. Sonny hiccupped, then made a little cooing sound. Usnavi grinned.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of soft noises, squeals, and gentle rocking. Usnavi made up silly songs, nonsense rhymes, and funny faces. Sonny’s favorite was a ridiculous dance where Usnavi wiggled his eyebrows and flapped his hands like wings. Sonny would laugh, kick his legs, and reach out to grab at the hands, his little squeaks filling the room.
“Careful, Usnavi,” Uncle Luis said, chuckling. “He’s not going to stay tiny forever, you know.”
“I don’t care,” Usnavi said firmly. “I just… I want him to stay like this. Small. Always small.”
Aunt Carmen paused in her folding, smiling softly. “Mi amor, he will grow,” she said gently. “But he will always be your Sonny. Always your little one, no matter how big he gets.”
Usnavi didn’t answer, but he hugged Sonny tighter, willing the words to be true. The baby yawned, tiny fists curling against Usnavi’s chest, and then settled, eyes half-closed. In that moment, Usnavi felt the quietest kind of peace—Sonny was here, warm and trusting, and he was responsible for him. Not in the way adults handled responsibility, but in a real, tangible way that mattered.
That evening, as the sun slipped through the curtains, Usnavi sat on the couch with Sonny asleep on his lap. He felt the steady rise and fall of the baby’s chest beneath his hands, and he thought about all the times he had been afraid—afraid of dropping him, afraid of making a mistake, afraid of Sonny growing up too fast. But right now, the fear melted away.
He whispered to Sonny about the day they first met, about the toy that had rolled away, about all the silly faces he had made. “And do you remember,” Usnavi said softly, “how you grabbed my finger the first time? That was the best thing ever. You were tiny, but you were perfect."
Sonny stirred slightly, his little hand brushing against Usnavi’s shirt. Usnavi held his breath, careful not to wake him fully. He thought about all the future moments that would inevitably come—the first steps, the first words—but decided not to think about them. For now, Sonny was small, and that was enough.
When Aunt Carmen peeked in to check on them, she smiled at the sight. “You two,” she said softly, “you make a good team.”
"I hope so," said Usnavi. "I love him."
That was one thing that would surely stay unchanged. He would always love Sonny, no matter how loud, how big, or how annoying he got.