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Henry feels it the moment he wakes up, like a void in his chest. The sheets next to him are crumpled and cold, and when Henry can muster the energy to turn over he finds a note on Alex’s pillow.
‘Gone for a run, love you xoxo’
A sliver of relief passes through Henry, that maybe he can make it through. Maybe if he just pushes it down, or waits it out, it will go away, and Alex won’t have to know. He pulls himself out of bed, and goes to the loo in their en-suite. As he brushes his teeth, the void inches out, creeping down to his toes. Henry sighs and spits, swilling mouthwash quickly, as the void tangles it’s tendrils tight, and Henry knows there’s no waiting this out.
He wants to cry, wants to berate his stupid brain for arbitrarily deciding to have bad days. Henry knows depression is not an one-off thing. He knows a lot of the time it is but a single raindrop in a day, barely noticeable at all; but the storm clouds are always waiting.
Henry climbs back into bed and curls into a ball. Maybe he can fall back asleep for a bit, pass the time that way; but part of him knows that that will be just as bad, his dreams are always unsettled and tense when he’s depressed, not allowing him peace when he most needs it.
Henry stares at the curtains, the sunlight peeking through a gap in them. It looks like a beautiful May day outside, humid in a way Henry knows only too well from living in London, although admittedly in a life of chauffeured cars, and airconditioned stately homes, he hadn’t had to deal with it as much as most people.
That was the thing, back then, in the days before Alex, no one ever thought he could have problems because he was rich and famous, driven around in a fancy car, with his every need catered to. His grandmother didn’t help, very much a patron of the “stiff upper lip” way of thinking.
It had been ok, before his dad died, not perfect, but he and his family were happy in their own way. But then it all imploded, and it had left the void, the one that will never fully heal.
His mum had only found out he had depression a few months ago. He’d told her when they’d gone for a walk in Wales, in the first week of January, before visiting his dad’s grave. Henry hadn’t meant to get angry at her, but he had known it was coming, and that it wasn’t going to be the only serious conversation they’d had to have, before they were ok again.
Henry doesn’t fully understand why his mum thought she was the only one who got to be devastated, like Henry wouldn’t have loved to run away from it all. Well, he has now, and yet, here the void still sits.
Henry scrunches down more in the bed, thinking maybe he can feign sleep when he hears Alex come home. Alex has seen him depressed before, and Henry knows Alex loves him, but there’s still a part of Henry that doesn’t want to burden his sunshine boy with his dark days. This is the first bad day he’s had since they’ve lived together and part of him—an irrational part, but depression didn’t do rational—thinks Alex will find him too much and leave.
The bedroom door swings open, and David immediately trots over and tries to jump up on the bed. Alex pushes David’s little stairs against the side of the bed, and David climbs up and curls himself against Henry’s stomach.
Henry doesn’t look up, thinking Alex might leave, but no, there’s a gentle hand running through his hair, and the softest kiss being left against his forehead. Henry’s voice has dried up, and he hasn’t the energy to explain to Alex, that help is futile here, that there’s nothing he can change or make better.
But Alex doesn’t say anything at all, he drops another kiss on Henry’s hairline and climbs in behind him, moulding his front to Henry’s back, rubbing his hands up and down Henry’s arms.
‘I’m here, baby, I have you.’
Henry pushes himself back into Alex and Alex kisses behind his ear this time. Henry sighs and lets Alex holds his hand, feeling for a moment that he is not simply a problem to fix. Feeling, always, in disbelief that this beautiful and kind man, is his to love, and that Henry gets to be loved by him in return, without ever needing to ask.
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‘Daddy, my burp was full.’
Henry looks up from where he is trying to find a particular book on their shelves to see Victoria with vomit all down her top.
‘Oh, sweetie’ he says, standing up ‘that’s ok, we’ll get you cleaned up.’
‘No, I fine, Daddy’ she shakes her head ‘burp all gone.’
Victoria puts her hand over her mouth and Henry hastily picks her up and makes for the downstairs loo, where he finds a puddle of vomit on the floor.
‘My burp there!’ Victoria points delightedly, before she burps again and Henry manages to swing her head towards the sink just in time.
‘Burp has tings in’ she says as Henry turns on the tap, grabs a towel and wipes her face ‘why my burp like that, Daddy?’
‘It’s called vomit, sweetie, your tummy isn’t happy about something, and it’s getting all empty to help you feel better.’
‘My tummy sad?’
‘Yeah, my darling’ Henry says, kissing her head ‘but it’s ok, we’ll make it all better.’
‘I fine, Daddy’ she says again, trying to scramble out his arms ‘I wanna go.’
‘Victoria’ Henry says imploringly ‘sweetheart, we need to get you some new clothes, at least. Ok, get you all clean?’
‘Burp all gone!’ she exclaims, throwing her arms out.
Of course at this moment, she throws up in the sink again, just as the front door unlocks and Alex calls ‘H?’
‘In here, love’ Henry calls back.
Alex appears in the doorway—with David at his heels—holding Eleanor’s hand, Eleanor who is tear-stricken and also covered in vomit.
‘Ah’ Alex says ‘Victoria too, then.’
‘I fine, Papa’ Victoria tells him confidently, a bit of vomit still on her chin.
‘I don’t think you are, sweetie’ Alex says kindly, as Eleanor sniffs beside him.
‘I don’t like it’ Eleanor says, her little voice trembling.
‘El, my darling, it’s ok’ Alex says gently, as he kneels down and rubs his thumb on her cheek ‘we’re going to help. Just stay here with Daddy for a second, ok? Papa is going to get something to clean the floor, I’ll be right back.’
Eleanor nods, Alex kissing her forehead before he disappears into the utility room next door and returns moments later, with kitchen roll, a bin bag, and a mop and bucket. Their robot hoover/mop was a goddamn godsend, but Henry knows Alex is thinking the same as him: they don’t want to test it’s capabilities on vomit.
‘Ok, little loves’ Alex says ‘this is a very small room for all of us. I just need to clean the floor, ok? And then we’ll all figure it out, make everything all better.’
Henry takes in the tableau: their two and a half year olds—one crying, and one trying to escape her Daddy’s grasp—, David diligently standing in the doorway beside Eleanor, and Alex behind them, trying to get into the room. Henry, meanwhile, is trying to hold onto Victoria without slipping in the puddle of vomit.
Eleanor makes a noise somewhere between a burp and a hiccup, and both Alex and Henry look at her hurriedly. Without saying anything, Alex takes Victoria from Henry’s arms, and Henry bends to snatch up Eleanor, his legs wide over the sick, as he kicks the toilet seat lid up with one foot behind him and pivots to hold Eleanor over the loo.
‘No, Daddy, no’ she shouts, sounding absolutely terrified.
Henry looks at her, fresh tears streaming down her face, putting her arms out, as if to cushion a fall. Henry does a little jump, so both his feet are beside the toilet, and he bends down, putting Eleanor on his lap.
‘I don’t wanna go in’ Eleanor says, her face scrunched with tears, and Henry realises with a mix of amusement and horror.
‘Oh, darling, no, I wasn’t going to put you in the toilet, it’s just in case you need to throw up again.’
‘Throw up? It goes down.’
‘It’s an expression sweetie, throw up, or get sick, or vomit.’
‘Papa said my tummy upset.’
‘Yeah, sweetie, and getting sick makes it better, your stomach wants to be empty to feel better.’
‘I don’t like it’ Eleanor howls, and shoves her tear-soaked, snotty, vomit covered face into Henry’s shoulder.
'It’s ok, sweet girl’ Henry says gently, trying to surreptitiously turn Eleanor towards the toilet ‘I have you.’
Alex, meanwhile has thrown a bunch of kitchen roll on the floor and is trying to clean the vomit up, whilst holding Victoria, and trying to stop David from eating it. Henry looks up at Alex, and the two chuckle quietly at each other; the expression “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry”, just about summed up raising toddlers.
Eleanor burps against his chest and Henry turns her head towards the loo just in time. Victoria, still scrambling to get down, looks at Eleanor, and throws up on the floor again; yep, they definitely have to laugh.
When both of the girls have managed not to throw up for five minutes, with Victoria repeatedly declaring ‘I fine, Daddies!’ they decamp to the back garden. Eleanor curls into Alex’s side on the back porch swing, where he rubs her back and kisses her head, keeping a plastic tub on his other side, just in case.
Henry meanwhile chases after Victoria down the back lawn, who was happy to take her clothes off, but is reluctant to put any new ones on. She runs after David in just her pull up, as Henry riffles through some toys littered across the grass to distract her.
‘Wa-ha!’ he says triumphant and he shouts ‘look, Victoria, bubbles!’
‘Bubbles!’ Victoria shouts back with glee, running towards Henry.
Henry blows some bubbles, walking backwards towards the house, feeling like he is herding cattle. Once Victoria has clambered up the porch steps, he grabs her under the arms and lifts her up.
‘You have to put clothes on, Victoria’ he tells her.
This isn’t a rule for always, but most definitely applies for being outside in March, having just thrown up. Victoria scrunches her face in annoyance and crosses her little arms, but Henry is glad at least that she has not vomited on him. He grabs her water beaker from the kitchen and she tips her head back to drink from it as he carries her up the stairs.
Once Henry has her dressed, Victoria runs from the room, and promptly lies down on the landing, falling right to sleep. He snaps a picture and sends it to Alex with the message: ‘Victoria is the epitome of a drunk girl who keeps saying she’s fine.’ Henry can hear Alex’s laugh all the way from the back porch.
Henry gets the camera from Victoria’s cot and sets it beside her face, before he grabs the monitor from his and Alex’s bedroom. Then Henry steps over his daughter, makes sure the baby gate is closed, and goes back downstairs, where he finds Eleanor has fallen asleep too. He chuckles, kisses Alex as he sits beside him, and enjoys what he hopes, is a couple of minutes peace.
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‘You are sick.’
‘I am fine’ Alex argues ‘completely fine.’
‘You have a fever.’
‘I can’t help being hot’ Alex winks, trying to hold the cough in his chest, but to no avail, it splutters out of him inelegantly.
Henry, tilts his head, with a righteous look on his face, to which Alex shyly smiles. Henry rolls his eyes and goes behind Alex, gripping his shoulders, and pushing him forward.
‘Come on, sofa day for you, no arguments.’
‘I’m a great arguer.’
‘Yes, I know love, it’s quite literally your job.’
‘A job which I should be going to right now.’
‘They can survive without you for one day.’
‘But I’m already leaving them, to go to England soon.’
‘Alex, love, I know this country is still catching up with the whole entitled holiday and sick pay, but you are allowed to use sick leave and have annual leave, they’re not mutually exclusive. You can thank your mom for that, am I going to have to ring her?’
‘No’ Alex says petulantly.
‘Good’ Henry says as they reach the living room and Henry steers Alex towards the sofa, and pushes at his shoulders to sit down. Alex does so, without argument, but with just a little bit of pouting.
As Henry bustles in the kitchen, Alex calls his boss and lets her know he isn’t well. Once he hangs up, he lies down, and grudgingly admits to himself that he doesn’t feel good. Henry reappears with a cold compress for his head, and Alex bites back a groan at the relief when he puts it on his forehead.
‘Do I get a kiss better?’ Alex asks, with his eyes closed, and he swears he can hear Henry roll his eyes before he softly kisses him.
‘I’m going to get you an iced coffee, but can you eat something too please, my love?’
‘Emm’ Alex clears his throat ‘a bagel maybe?’
‘Coming right up.’
Alex listens to Henry letting the dogs out, and filling up their bowls, the sound of the kettle and the toaster, the fridge being opened and closed, then he hears the sound of tiny feet on the stairs. Alex has only just peeked an eye open when Eleanor comes and stands in front of him.
‘Are you ok, Papa?’
‘I’m ok, mi vida. I’m just not feeling too good. Are you ok, did you sleep well?’
‘Uhuh’ Eleanor nods ‘I sleeped good. Can I give you a kiss better, Papa?’
‘Of course you can, my darling.’
Eleanor leans in and kisses Alex’s cheek, and he smiles, putting his hand on the back of her head to kiss her forehead.
‘Thank you sweetie’ he smiles at her, as she runs her fingers through her hair; one strand falls against one of the lions on her yellow pyjamas, looking like it is about to gnaw down on it.
‘Good morning El’ Henry smiles at her, as he comes into the room with a tray bearing Alex’s iced coffee, a bagel with cream cheese, a banana, and two painkillers. Henry places it on Alex’s lap, and bends down to hug Eleanor who has her arms outstretched.
Eleanor clings tightly to Henry and he repeatedly kisses her head until she pulls back. Alex still remembers them discussing it, how they would never be the ones to pull back first from a hug, that they’d hug their daughters as long as they needed it. This is their last summer before they begin kindergarten, and Alex hopes they’ll be just as affectionate when they’re five and in big school, as right now when they’re four; the years were flying by far too fast.
‘I’m just making breakfast, my darling’ Henry says quietly to her ‘and then I’ll do your hair, ok?’
‘But Papa does my hair’ Eleanor says, turning to look at Alex as he takes his painkillers.
‘I do, mija, but what happens when I have to go to work early?’
‘Daddy does it’ she says quietly, before she looks at Henry seriously, and says a bit louder ‘ok, Daddy, you can do my hair, it’s ok.’
‘Thank you, sweetie’ Henry says, and Alex can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
Eleanor reaches for Henry’s hand and they disappear into the kitchen. Alex eats his breakfast slowly, waiting to hear Victoria’s thundering steps on the stairs, as he thinks back to the early days of his and Henry’s relationship. How difficult it had been for both of them to surrender to the other’s care.
Alex has never been good at being sick, always viewing it as something to push through. Henry was, and remains, the person who saw Alex at his most vulnerable, saw how much he needed. And unlike a lot of his loved ones, he wouldn’t just let Alex brush it aside, and tell him he was fine.
It was hard to ignore his issues when Henry was standing there with a giant mirror reflecting them back at him. Alex’s exterior cracked little by little, every time Henry made sure he was drinking enough water, or managed to tear him away from his laptop to take a walk, or coaxed him away from it to go to sleep.
The thing, that melted Alex’s stubbornness the most, was how Henry didn’t act irritated about it. He didn’t make Alex feel like it was a flaw, that he was a burden on Henry just by acting like he always had: like if he didn’t keep working hard, the world would fall out from under him.
No, Henry didn’t treat Alex like someone who needed fixing, he simply let Alex know that he deserved to be looked after, that he deserved rest without any caveats, and that Henry was more than happy to help him achieve that.
It had taken time, an ADHD diagnosis, and a lot of patience to get to a place where Alex wasn’t always unintentionally punishing himself. Where he didn’t drag himself to class if he was sick, didn’t stay up exhausted until 3am to finish an assignment, didn’t stop himself eating or drinking anything beyond coffee, until a task was finished.
Loving Henry helped, loving the girls helped; knowing Alex would never want them to treat themselves like he had treated himself in the past. Alex may still protest that he is fine, but he lets it go easier these days, he lets himself be looked after without much of an argument.
Alex thinks of the days in the brownstone, when Henry couldn’t surface from bed because depression was pressing down on him so heavily. How Alex would curl around Henry and hold him close, how he’d wipe his tears, and bring him tea, and let him know he wasn’t going anywhere.
Alex would take every bit of hurt away from Henry if he could, but he loves every shade of him, will hold him and look after him as long as he needs, will hold his hand in the midst of the storm until the sunlight appears again. That too, had taken time, for Henry to not see himself as useless or unable, but someone who deserved to be loved and taken care of, no matter how many clouds hovered over his head.
Henry had told him, how for so long, all that was offered to him was inept fixes and harsh words, rather than tenderness and care. It had not occurred to Alex that by letting him be—rather than offering a solution—helped Henry more than anything else ever had. He was allowed to exist, be as sad as he wanted, and not be treated like an issue to overcome.
Alex sighs, eating the last of his banana, before he puts the tray on the coffee table, and turns on the TV. He puts on The Food Channel, and watches Gordon Ramsey yell at somebody. When Gordon is despairing at the state of a restaurant’s fridge, Victoria comes thundering down the stairs.
She goes to the kitchen first, but is standing in front of Alex moments later, her bedhead a sight to behold, her little fingers running over the dinosaurs on her green pyjamas.
‘Good morning, mi carino.’
‘Morning, Papa’ Victoria says, looking at him seriously ‘what’s wrong?’
‘I’m ok, I’m just got a bit of a cough, and a fever.’
‘A beaver?’ Victoria tilts her head ‘like that make the dams? With the big teeths?’
‘No’ Alex smiles, before he enunciates ‘a fever, it means my temperature is higher than it should be.’
‘Oh’ Victoria says ‘kiss better?’
‘Yeah, sweetie’ Alex smiles ‘I’d love a kiss better.’
Victoria climbs up onto Alex’s chest and wraps her arms around his neck, before she kisses his forehead and his temple, and then the tip of his nose, for good measure.
‘So many kisses better, thank you, darling girl.’
‘You’re welcome’ Victoria grins, and pats his cheek, before she scrambles off him and heads back to the kitchen.
After Henry and the girls have eaten breakfast and gotten ready, Alex reassures Henry that he is fine, and that he will rest, and waves Henry, the girls, and the dogs off as they head out.
Alex flicks through the channels, and eventually drifts off, waking up sticky and clammy. He’s debating whether to get up and have a cold shower, when the front door opens with a cacophony of little voices and the clack of paws.
Victoria reaches him first, and is still kissing his head when Eleanor and Henry appear, and bestow their own kisses. Henry sweeps his hand through Alex’s hair when he pulls back from the kiss and says ‘you’re still quite warm, love.’
‘Yeah I was going to—’
‘Picture, Daddy’ Victoria exclaims, pulling away from him with a crumple, as she proffers a wrinkled piece of paper at him ‘get better soon!’
Alex takes the picture, and finds what he thinks is himself lying on the sofa, with a thermometer the size of his arm sticking out of his mouth, and a coffee the size of the sofa beside him. Written in Henry’s cursive at the top in sparkling purple is ‘Get Well Soon Papa, Love Victoria xxx’
‘Thank you, darling’ he beams, squeezing her hand ‘that’s so kind, thank you.’
‘I drew a picture too, Papa!’ Eleanor tells him, from where she has been leaving kisses against his arm. She looks at Henry, who carefully pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and hands it to Eleanor.
‘Here you go, Papa’ she grins and hands it to him.
Eleanor’s drawing is of Alex tucked up in bed, with Henry lying beside him. Eleanor has drawn what he thinks are raindrops above the bed, and of course some butterflies. Henry’s writing across the top is gold and reads ‘Get Well Soon Papa, Love Eleanor xxx’
‘The rain is to make you cold, Papa’ she tells him ‘because you’re too hot. So it makes you better, and Daddy helps too.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart, that’s so kind of you.’
Eleanor shimmies with delight and holds out her arms. Alex leans over and hugs her tight, kissing her head, as Baymax jumps beside her.
‘Here you go’ Eleanor says to Baymax as she lifts him up and puts him beside Alex ‘you can give Papa cuddles too, Baymax.’
‘And David too’ Victoria says assertively, bending to pick him up before Henry rushes in.
‘No, sweetie, remember? He’s too heavy for you to pick up, I have to do it.’
Henry lifts David and puts him down by Alex’s feet, where he yawns and rests his head against his paws. Henry gives Alex an amused look as he and the girls head into the kitchen, leaving Alex feeling even warmer with the dogs on him. Once Baymax licks his face, he jumps off the sofa to play with a toy, leaving David snoozing against Alex’s feet.
It is—when Alex looks at his phone—later than he realised, and it thankfully isn’t long before dinner is served, and they start on the girls’ bedtime routine. Alex musters up enough energy to sit at the table, and do bathtime, and story time, but is extremely glad once Henry hauls him into a cold shower.
Henry holds Alex up, letting the cold water run in rivulets down him, as he washes Alex gently. Alex lets himself be held, sinks into Henry, the kisses he drops on his head, and the sure and gentle press of his hands.
As Henry dries him off, and sets him on their bed, firing up his laptop so they can watch a movie, Alex is awash for love for Henry, and is glad, stubbornness long brushed after, that his beloved husband is more than happy to look after him.