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“Wrecking ball!” Jonah screeches for the seventeenth time in a row. Something in TK’s brain snaps. He thinks he can hear it, an actual audible pop, but it’s hard to tell over the clatter of wooden blocks falling to the ground, some of them onto his foot.
“Jojo, go play in your room! I was trying to talk to Papa!”
“But I’m a wrecking ball,” Jonah says, wrapping himself around TK’s leg, his chin digging into the top of TK’s thigh.
TK loves this child beyond reason, but he cannot remember the last time he had a second to think. “You can’t be a wrecking ball in this room right now. Go. To your room. Now.”
Jonah’s lip trembles. Carlos shoots TK a questioning look and stands up from the couch, scooping Jonah up into his arms. “Come on, pollito, let’s go see what your plushies are doing in your room, hmm?”
“I was trying to talk to you!” TK yells as Carlos clomps off down the hallway with Jonah.
“I’ll be right back!”
When Carlos returns a few minutes later, TK has flopped onto his back on the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes.
“He’s doing some sort of ritual for a dead stuffie,” Carlos reports. “I can’t quite tell if it’s a funeral or necromancy. Should we be worried about that?”
“If it’s quiet and not in this room, I don’t care what he’s doing.”
Carlos picks up TK’s arm from his face and moves it enough so that TK can see Carlos’s expression, half amused, half concerned. “I don’t think that’s true. Shove over, let me sit.”
Sighing gustily, TK sits up enough that Carlos can sit down, then promptly flops over into his lap.
“You okay, babe? You’re all tense,” Carlos says, his warm fingers finding the knots in TK’s neck.
“I’m fine. I don’t know, I’m just an asshole parent today, I guess.”
“You’re not an asshole.”
“He’s driving me insane. I’m actually going to lose my mind, baby. Half the day he was playing the kazoo. I hid it on top of the fridge and he had a huge tantrum about it. Where the fuck did he even get a kazoo?”
“No idea,” says Carlos softly.
“And we went to McDonald’s and he started to throw a fit because his fries were too big. So I broke some in half and he absolutely lost his shit because he didn’t want broken fries. Like, lying on the nasty McDonald’s floor, kicking and screaming. I had to carry him out in disgrace. Everyone there must have thought I was the worst parent on the planet.”
“You took him to McDonald’s?”
“I was craving the fries, okay? He eats pretty damn well, one day of fast food isn’t going to kill him.”
“It’s fine, TK, I was just surprised, you’re usually the veggie police with him.”
“One more thing for him to hate me for,” TK mutters.
“Baby, what are you talking about? He doesn’t hate you.”
“I don’t know. And now I forgot what I even wanted to talk to you about.”
“Poor baby. What a tough day,” Carlos murmurs, rubbing TK’s head.
“Don’t patronize me!”
Carlos sighs and gently lifts TK’s head off his lap. “I’m gonna make you some tea, and then I’m gonna do bath and bedtime with the little monster. You just rest.”
“Fine,” TK sulks, and turns his head to the back of the couch. Goddamn thoughtful husband won’t even argue with him when he’s in a bad mood and itching for a fight. What an asshole.
The morning comes much too early, and TK finds himself in bed alone, the sun streaming in through a crack in the blinds.
Jonah and Carlos are chatting somewhere outside the room.
“Are you ready to go to Abuela’s?”
“Yeah! We’re gonna eat tortillas.”
“I bet you get to eat anything you want,” Carlos laughs. “Let me just tell Papa-Bro we’re leaving.”
The door opens and Carlos is there, leaning down to kiss TK on the cheek.
“You’re taking him to your mom’s? What time is it?” TK asks.
“It’s still early, don’t worry. Here’s cocoa for you. I have to go to work for a while after I drop him off, but she’s gonna take him for the day.”
“Why?” TK mutters, still half asleep.
Carlos cards a hand through TK’s hair. “Seemed like you could use a day off. I’ll try not to be home too late, okay?”
“Kay,” TK sighs. “Be safe.”
“I love you. Get some rest.”
Before he leaves, Carlos draws the blinds the rest of the way closed.
“Wait!” TK hears from the hallway. “I forgot my kazoo!”
When he wakes up again, his cocoa is mostly cold, but he drinks it anyway. He picks up his phone and at first he thinks there’s something wrong with the screen, a jagged zigzag cutting through his lock screen picture of Jonah on Carlos’s shoulders. Then he looks up from the screen and the zigzag is still in his field of vision.
Fuck.
He hasn’t had a migraine in months, not since a blinding one their first day after moving into this house. He’s not sure where his meds are or his ice hat. Fuck!
Feeling pathetic, he texts Carlos, even though the screen of his phone is too bright. He closes one eye to try to focus. “I have a fucking aura. Getting a migraine please kill me”
Carlos’s response comes nearly immediately. “I was afraid of that. Sumatriptan is on the nightstand and there’s lots of ice packs in the freezer. Do you need me to come home?”
TK’s already blurred vision is obscured with tears. Thoughtful asshole husband strikes again. “If you knew I was going to get a migraine you could have told me,” he texts. He takes the pills and drinks some water. Carlos also filled his water bottle, apparently. Picking up the phone again, he texts “Thank you ❤️ you don’t need to come home, i’m gonna try to sleep it off and hope the meds work”.
He manages to stumble to the too-bright kitchen and back for an ice pack while he can still see. By the time he slides back into bed, his left eye is throbbing and even the dim light filtered through the blinds is painful. Pulling the comforter over his head, he curls up into a ball, an ice pack on his neck, and prays for death or unconsciousness; he isn’t particular.
A warm hand on his hip wakes him. “Carlos?” he croaks. If it’s an intruder, TK is going to be very annoyed and not much use in fighting them off.
“Hey, babe,” says Carlos, his voice low in deference to TK’s delicate condition. “How are you doing? I’m sorry to wake you up, but you should probably eat and drink something.”
TK takes stock of himself. He feels jumbled and exhausted, weak and shaky, but the pain has passed. He’s also starving. “Think the meds worked. You have food for me?”
“Wasn’t sure if the smell would make you sick, but I have a McDonald’s Coke for you, and fries out in the hall.”
“You got me McDonald’s Coke? Real Coke?”
“Here.” Carlos helps haul TK up against the headboard and hands him a large fountain soda.
TK takes a long pull through the straw, then sets the cup down carefully on the nightstand before throwing his arms around Carlos. “This is the best Coke,” he says, his voice muffled by Carlos’s shoulder. “You’re the best husband ever.”
Carlos squeezes him and presses a kiss to his temple. “You’re easy to please,” he says, but he sounds smug. “Do you want your fries?”
TK nods emphatically into Carlos’s shoulder. “You don’t mind if I eat them in bed?”
“It’s a special occasion. I’ll be right back.”
“You do love me,” TK coos, settling back against the headboard.
“Obviously.”
TK feels even more renewed once his lips are greasy and shriveled with salt. “Oh, my God. Fries are awesome. How did you know I’d want them?”
“You always want McDonald’s after a migraine. And before,” Carlos says, slinging an arm around TK’s shoulders.
“You jerk. You knew yesterday and you didn’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t sure, but I suspected. Figured either way you could use a kid-free day.”
“Oh my God!” TK’s brains are so scrambled he’s forgotten he has a child. “Do we need to go get him?"
“My mom will bring him by later. She said she could keep him overnight if we need her to.”
Tears spring to TK’s eyes. “That’s so sweet. But I want him to come home. Does he feel like I sent him away? I don’t want him to feel like I sent him away.”
“Shh, of course he doesn’t,” Carlos assures him. “But I can let her know to bring him back.”
“Good,” TK yawns. “I want cuddles with my boys tonight.” He pauses. “But can you make sure the kazoo doesn’t come back home?”
“I’m way ahead of you. I told him this morning that the kazoo lives at Abuela’s house now.”
“Best husband ever.” TK slumps over, pressing a kiss to Carlos’s neck. “You thoughtful bitch.”