Chapter Text
Donald woke up with a foot in his ribs.
Not a big foot. Not even a strong one. Just a tiny, warm baby foot pushing hard through the thin blanket like it had somewhere important to be.
He opened one eye.
Dewey was sideways in the laundry basket.
Again.
Donald stared at him for a few seconds, too tired to be surprised. The basket sat on the floor beside the couch, lined with José’s clean towels and one of Donald’s old shirts. It wasn’t a crib. It wasn’t even close to a crib. But cribs cost money Donald didn’t have, and even if he had somehow found three of them, José’s apartment barely had room for Donald on the couch, let alone three babies and three cribs.
So laundry baskets it was.
Huey and Louie were still where he had put them, curled up on their backs with their little fists by their cheeks.
Dewey had somehow turned himself almost fully around in his sleep.
“You’re gonna be trouble,” Donald muttered.
Dewey kicked once, like he agreed.
Donald pushed himself up on one elbow. His neck cracked. His back hurt. One of his arms had gone numb from sleeping on José’s couch, and the other arm had dried spit-up on the sleeve.
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft rain tapping the window. José lived on the third floor above a bakery, so even before sunrise the place smelled like warm bread and sugar. Donald used to like that. Now it mostly made him hungry.
A door creaked down the hall.
José stepped out of his bedroom wearing his flight attendant uniform pants and a white undershirt, his jacket hanging over one arm. His feathers was still wet from the shower. He stopped when he saw Donald awake.
“Oh, no,” José whispered. “Tell me they did not wake you.”
Donald looked down at the babies. At that exact moment, Louie opened his mouth and let out one soft, offended cry.
Donald sighed. “They heard you.”
“I said it so quietly.”
“They got good ears.”
Huey blinked awake next. He did not cry right away. Huey almost never started with crying. He opened his eyes and looked around like he was checking the room against a list only he could see. Then he saw Donald and made a small noise in his throat.
Not upset. Just reporting.
Donald reached down and scooped him up first. “Morning, buddy.”
Huey grabbed Donald’s collar and held on.
Dewey started kicking. Louie made another soft cry, then a louder one, as if he had waited long enough and nobody had taken the hint.
José set his jacket on the back of a chair and came over. “Which one do I take?”
“Louie,” Donald said. “Before he tells the whole building.”
José picked Louie up carefully, one hand under his head. “Bom dia, meu pequeno chefe.”
Louie stopped crying.
Donald narrowed his eyes. “Oh, sure. For you he stops.”
“He knows I am charming.”
“He knows you’re not the one changing him.”
José smiled and bounced Louie against his chest. “Also true.”
Donald shifted Huey to one arm and picked Dewey up with the other. Dewey stretched his legs out as far as they could go, then curled in against Donald’s shirt. Donald stood there for a second with two babies pressed to him and one in José’s arms.
Three months ago, he would have said this was impossible.
Three babies. No house. No job. No Della. No plan that made sense for more than an hour at a time.
But the boys were warm. They were breathing. They were fed. Their diapers were dry enough for the next two minutes. That counted.
José carried Louie into the kitchen. “I made coffee.”
Donald followed him. “I love you.”
“I know.”
“And I hate you for leaving.”
“I also know.”
José laughed softly, but Donald did not. He looked at José’s jacket on the chair. The airline pin on the front caught the kitchen light.
“You’re gone two days this time?” Donald asked.
“One night. Back tomorrow afternoon.” José opened a cabinet and took out the can of formula. “Chicago, then Kansas City, then home.”
Donald leaned against the counter and adjusted Dewey before he could slide. “Must be nice.”
“What?”
“Knowing where you’re gonna sleep tomorrow.”
José stopped measuring formula for half a second.
Donald wished he had not said it. He looked away, focusing on Huey’s tiny fingers curled into his shirt. Huey always held on like he did not quite trust the world to stay still.
José’s voice softened. “Donald.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.”
“I’m standing, ain’t I?”
“That is a very low bar.”
Donald snorted despite himself.
José finished the bottle and handed it over. Donald tucked Dewey against his left side, put the bottle to Huey’s mouth, and watched him latch on like he had been waiting all morning.
José started another bottle for Louie.
On the fridge, held up by a magnet shaped like a parrot, was a schedule written in José’s neat handwriting.
DONALD TRAINING - 10:00
BABIES - NAP AFTER 9:00 FEED
CALL AIRLINE HR IF HEADSET DOESN’T WORK
DO NOT FORGET TO EAT
Donald had crossed out the last line. José had written it again underneath.
“Your training call is at ten,” José said.
“I know.”
“You have the paper?”
“Yes.”
“The one with your employee number?”
“Yes.”
“And the login?”
Donald gave him a look. “José.”
José held up one hand. “I am only making sure.”
“I got it.”
José’s face softened again. That made Donald look away faster than anger would have.
The job was supposed to be simple. Part-time customer service for the airline. Mostly helping people change reservations, check baggage rules, answer questions about delays. José had talked to his supervisor, who talked to someone in hiring, who got Donald an interview.
Donald had almost said no.
He hated phones. He hated strangers. He hated the way people heard his voice and decided something about him before he even finished a sentence.
But the job was remote after training. Twelve hours a week. Maybe more later. He could do it from José’s kitchen table while the boys slept.
That was the kind of job people told him to be grateful for. So he was trying.
Louie took his bottle slower than Huey. Dewey got mad waiting and started working himself up, his face turning pink. Donald switched Huey to the crook of his arm and grabbed the third bottle from José.
“Hey, hey, I gotcha,” Donald said, lowering the nipple to Dewey’s mouth. “You’re not starving. You ate three hours ago.”
Dewey drank like Donald had personally betrayed him.
José watched Donald juggle the two bottles and smiled in that sad way he kept doing lately.
Donald hated that smile most of all.
“What?” Donald snapped.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not a nothing face.”
“It is only…” José leaned back against the counter. “You are good at this.”
Donald looked down at the babies. Huey’s eyes were half closed. Dewey’s brow was still wrinkled like he had a complaint to file.
“I’m not good at it,” Donald said. “I’m just here.”
“That is most of it.”
Donald did not answer.
After the bottles, there were diapers. After diapers, there was spit-up. After spit-up, Huey hiccupped himself into a nap while Dewey fought sleep with every part of his tiny body.
Louie fell asleep on José’s chest five minutes before José had to leave.
“Of course,” Donald said.
José smiled down at him. “He has taste.”
“He’s lazy.”
“He is a baby.”
“He’s a lazy baby.”
Louie sighed in his sleep, soft and pleased.
José looked at the clock and made a face. “I have to go.”
Donald’s stomach tightened, but he nodded. “Yeah.”
José laid Louie back into the basket. He moved slowly, like he was handling something made of glass. Louie stirred, frowned, then settled.
José grabbed his jacket and suitcase. At the door, he paused.
“There is food in the fridge,” he said. “Rice, beans, eggs. The rent is paid. Do not worry about that.”
Donald crossed his arms. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Well, stop reading my mind.”
“You are loud in every language.”
Donald rolled his eyes.
José came back and pulled him into a careful hug, avoiding the baby stain on his shoulder.
“You call me if you need anything,” José said.
“You’ll be in the air.”
“Then leave a message.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean it.”
Donald nodded once.
José looked past him at the laundry basket, at three sleeping babies squeezed into a space too small for the life Donald was trying to build.
Then he looked back at Donald.
“You are not a burden,” José said.
Donald’s throat tightened hard and fast.
He scoffed because it was easier. “Go to work before I make you late.”
José squeezed his shoulder, then left.
The apartment door shut. The quiet after José left always felt bigger than the apartment itself.
Donald stood there for a moment, listening to the rain and the fridge and the soft little noises from the boys. Then Dewey snorted in his sleep.
Donald wiped his face with both hands.
“Okay,” he said to the room. “We got this.”
The room did not answer. The room knew better.
By nine-thirty, Donald had cleaned two bottles, changed another diaper, and found his training papers under a burp cloth. By nine-forty, Louie was awake again, not crying, just staring at the ceiling with deep suspicion.
By nine-fifty, Huey had spit up on the shirt Donald planned to wear for the video call.
By nine-fifty-five, Donald had changed into José’s old airline polo, which was a little too big in the shoulders and smelled faintly like starch.
At ten, Donald sat at the kitchen table with the company laptop open, a headset clamped over one ear, and all three babies in a row on a blanket by his feet.
His trainer’s name was Marlene. She had was a gray flycatcher, red glasses, and a voice like she had never been late in her life.
“Good morning, Donald,” she said through the laptop. “Can you hear me?”
Donald adjusted the headset. “Yeah, I can hear you.”
Marlene paused. It was a small pause. Not even a full second. Donald still heard it.
“Great,” she said. “We’ll start with the reservation system.”
Donald looked down at the boys.
Huey was watching the laptop screen. Dewey was chewing on his own fist. Louie was asleep again, because apparently Louie had decided this job was boring.
The training was a lot of clicking through menus. Customer name. Confirmation number. Flight status. Baggage claim. Weather delay. Voucher request.
Donald took notes on the back of an old grocery receipt because he could not find the notebook José had bought him.
Marlene explained everything twice, which Donald appreciated but did not say. He kept his head down and wrote fast.
“Now, the main thing,” Marlene said, “is staying calm. Customers call us when they are already upset.”
Donald gave a short laugh before he could stop himself. Marlene looked at him over her glasses.
Donald cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“They may raise their voices,” she continued. “They may blame you for things outside your control. Your job is to guide them to the next step.”
Dewey made a loud, wet noise.
Marlene stopped. “Was that a baby?”
Donald looked down. Dewey smiled around his fist.
“Yeah,” Donald said. “One of mine.”
“One?”
“I got three.”
Marlene’s eyebrows lifted.
Donald braced for the look. The one people gave him when they did the math and came up with a question they had no right to ask.
But Marlene only said, “That is a busy house.”
“It’s not my house.”
The words came out before he could catch them. Marlene blinked.
Donald looked at the screen, then back at his notes. “I mean, I’m staying with a friend right now.”
“I see,” she said.
The training moved on. Donald was grateful for that.
His first real shift started two days later.
José was home that morning, asleep in his room after getting back late from Kansas City. Donald tried to keep the boys quiet, which meant the boys seemed to take it as a personal challenge.
Huey wanted to be held. Dewey wanted to roll off the blanket. Louie wanted his pacifier, but only the purple one, not the yellow one, and Donald did not know how he knew the difference because they were the same shape.
At noon, Donald sat down at the kitchen table, signed into the system, and waited for the first call.
The headset beeped. Donald’s heart jumped. He clicked answer.
“Thank you for calling Aves Air customer support,” he said, reading from the script taped to the wall. “This is Donald. How can I help you today?”
There was a breath on the other end.
Then a woman said, “Excuse me?”
Donald closed his eyes for one second. He had spoken clearly. He knew he had. He had practiced.
“This is Donald,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Oh. Right. I need to change my flight.”
That call was fine. Not good. Not terrible. Fine.
The woman was flying to Phoenix on Friday and wanted to leave Thursday instead. Donald clicked through the menus, found the fare difference, read the policy, and only mixed up one word. When she thanked him at the end, it sounded real enough.
Donald leaned back in the chair after she hung up.
“Ha,” he whispered.
On the floor, Huey blinked at him.
Donald pointed at him. “That’s right. Your old man’s a professional.”
Dewey kicked both legs. Louie yawned.
The next call was not as easy.
A man had lost his luggage on a layover and wanted Donald to personally explain how a suitcase could disappear from an airplane.
Donald opened the baggage claim script.
“I’m sorry about that, sir. Let me check the status for you.”
“What?”
Donald repeated himself.
“What’s wrong with your phone?”
Donald’s jaw tightened. “Nothing’s wrong with my phone, sir.”
“You sound like you’re underwater.”
Donald stared at the screen. The baggage form loaded slowly.
On the floor, Dewey started fussing. Donald bounced his foot near Dewey’s blanket, hoping the movement would distract him.
“Sir,” Donald said, “can I have your baggage claim number?”
“My what?”
“Your baggage claim number.”
“Are you saying baggage?”
Donald’s face got hot. Huey made a small noise. Not crying yet. Just warning.
Donald swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
The man laughed once, sharp and mean. “They got anybody else I can talk to?”
Donald’s hand curled into a fist on the table. The script on the wall said: I understand your concern. I’ll do my best to help.
Donald read it three times in his head.
Then he said, “I can help you if you give me the number.”
The man sighed like Donald was the problem.
Dewey’s fussing turned into a cry. Donald reached down and pushed the pacifier toward him, but Dewey turned his head away.
“Oh, great,” the man said. “Is that a baby?”
Donald’s face burned hotter.
“Yes,” Donald said. “Sorry about that.”
“You people working from a daycare now?”
Donald stopped moving.
Huey started crying too, because Dewey was crying, and Huey liked to know what the plan was. There was no plan. That was the problem. Donald pressed the headset tighter to his ear.
“Sir, your claim number.”
“I don’t want to give my claim number to somebody who can’t even talk right.”
Donald went very still.
Across the apartment, José’s bedroom door opened. Donald did not look over.
The man on the phone kept talking. “Put your supervisor on. Or someone normal.”
Donald looked at the script again. Dewey screamed. Donald snapped.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, voice rising. “Did your suitcase have three babies in it? No? Then calm down and give me the stupid number!”
The kitchen went silent except for the babies.
Then the man said, “I want your name.”
Donald breathed hard through his nose. José stood frozen in the hallway, hair sticking up, eyes wide. Donald’s hand shook on the mouse.
“Donald,” he said.
“I’m reporting you.”
The line clicked dead. Donald sat there, staring at the screen.
The headset beeped again. Another call.
Donald did not move.
José came closer. “Donald.”
The headset beeped again. Donald clicked himself unavailable. Then he took the headset off and set it on the table very carefully.
Dewey was still crying. Huey too. Louie had joined in, probably because everyone else was doing it and he did not want to be left out.
José picked up Louie. Donald picked up Huey and Dewey, one in each arm, and stood in the middle of the kitchen while all three babies cried against two exhausted adults.
Nobody said anything for a minute.
Then José said, “That man was a donkey.”
Donald let out a broken laugh.
“Don’t defend me,” he said.
“I am not defending you. I am insulting him.”
“I yelled at a customer.”
“Yes.”
“I’m gonna get fired.”
José shifted Louie higher on his shoulder. “Maybe not.”
Donald looked at him.
José made a face. “Maybe.”
Donald laughed again, but it hurt.
The email came the next morning.
Donald saw it at six-thirty while Huey slept on his chest and José made toast in the kitchen.
Aves Air Human Resources. He opened it with one thumb.
The words were polite.
They thanked him for his time. They said customer care required a calm and consistent communication style. They said after reviewing a recorded call, they had decided not to continue his temporary employment.
Temporary employment. Donald read that part twice.
Temporary made it sound like he had barely been there at all. Which was true. That made it worse.
José set a plate of toast beside him. “Donald?”
Donald locked the phone and put it face down on the couch.
Huey stirred against his shirt. Donald rubbed Huey’s back.
“Fired,” he said.
José’s face fell.
Donald waited for him to say something kind. He almost wanted José to do it so he could get mad at him. But José only sat on the coffee table in front of him.
“I am sorry,” José said.
Donald stared at the carpet. There was a dark spot near the couch where Dewey had knocked over a bottle the night before. José had cleaned it twice, but formula had a way of haunting a room.
“I made it three shifts,” Donald said.
“Two and a half.”
Donald glared at him.
José winced. “Not helpful.”
“No.”
Huey lifted his head a little. His eyes were barely open. He looked at Donald, then dropped his head back down. Donald’s hand settled over him.
“I can’t do phones,” Donald said.
“That does not mean you cannot work.”
“It means I can’t do the job you stuck your neck out to get me.”
“Donald.”
“I embarrassed you.”
José’s expression changed. “No.”
“I did.”
“No.” José said it harder that time. “You did not embarrass me.”
Donald looked away.
José leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen to me. I have seen grown men scream because we ran out of tomato juice. I have seen a woman throw a shoe at a gate agent because weather delayed her flight. You think one rude man with lost luggage is enough to embarrass me?”
Donald did not answer.
“He was cruel,” José said. “You were tired. You have three babies. You made a mistake. That is all.”
Donald’s throat tightened. The problem was that it was not all.
The mistake had a bill attached to it. Formula did not care if he was tired. Diapers did not care if a stranger had been cruel. The boys needed things every day, and Donald was the only person who was supposed to make sure they had them.
He looked down at Huey.
Huey had fallen asleep again with one hand tangled in Donald’s shirt.
Across the blanket, Dewey was awake, waving both arms like he was conducting music nobody else could hear. Louie was still asleep in the basket, one cheek squished against Donald’s old shirt.
Donald had not even wanted kids this way. That thought came sharp and fast, and he hated himself for it before it finished forming.
He had wanted them. Of course he had. From the second he saw them, tiny and loud and alive, he had wanted them so badly it scared him. But he had not wanted to do it alone.
He had not wanted to learn how to hold three bottles at once because there was no one else awake. He had not wanted to count coins at the grocery store. He had not wanted to sleep on couches and tell people he was fine when his whole life fit into two bags by the door.
He had not wanted Della to be gone.
The anger came up quick, hot enough to burn. Donald closed his eyes and pressed his mouth shut.
Huey made a soft sound.
Donald opened his eyes. The anger did not leave. It just had nowhere to go. So he put it in his hand and rubbed slow circles on Huey’s back.
José watched him.
“You can stay,” José said.
Donald shook his head.
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“As long as you need.”
Donald looked around the apartment.
José’s couch had a dent now from Donald sleeping on it. The kitchen counter was covered in bottles. The bathroom had baby clothes hanging over the shower rod. The laundry basket beside the couch was not a bed, no matter how many clean towels they folded into it.
José had not complained once. That made Donald feel worse.
“I can’t,” Donald said.
José frowned. “Why?”
“Because this is your home.”
“And?”
“And we’re eating it.”
José blinked.
Donald nodded toward the room. “Look at it. They got stuff everywhere. I got stuff everywhere. You come home from work and there’s diapers by your shoes.”
“Clean diapers.”
“That not the point.”
José leaned back. “So what is your plan?”
Donald hated that question.
He had plans. Small ones. Bad ones. Plans like get through breakfast. Plans like make the formula last until Friday. Plans like find a shirt without spit-up before the next interview.
He did not have the kind of plan José meant.
Dewey made a loud happy squeal from the blanket. Both men looked at him. Dewey smiled. Donald sighed.
“I’ll find something else,” he said.
José did not push. That was one of the reasons Donald could stand him.
Later that afternoon, the rain stopped.
The apartment felt too warm, and all three babies were fussy from being inside. Donald packed the diaper bag with more care than he had packed anything in his life. Three diapers. Wipes. Two bottles. Formula. Burp cloth. Spare onesies. Pacifiers. The little red blanket Huey liked. The yellow rattle Dewey liked. The soft green cloth Louie liked to hold near his face.
By the time he finished packing, Louie had spit up on his sleeve. Donald looked at it. Then he laughed once, flat and tired.
“Fine,” he said. “That’s the shirt now.”
José came with him to the park.
It was only two blocks away, small and damp, with a swing set, a bench, and a few old trees dripping rainwater onto the sidewalk. Donald wore Huey in a front carrier. José pushed Dewey and Louie in the double stroller someone from the airline had given him after hearing about Donald.
Donald had tried to refuse it. José had accepted it before Donald could ruin the blessing.
At the park, Donald sat on the bench and took Huey out of the carrier. José parked the stroller beside him.
Dewey kicked until Donald picked him up too. Louie stayed in the stroller, awake but calm, clutching the green cloth and looking suspiciously at a pigeon. Donald held Huey against his chest and Dewey facing out.
A few kids ran through the wet grass. Their shoes slapped mud. One of them screamed with laughter as his mother called for him to slow down.
Donald watched them. He tried to picture the boys that big.
Huey with a backpack too heavy for him because he packed for every possible problem. Dewey with scraped knees and a story that changed every time he told it. Louie with his hands in his pockets, acting like he did not care while quietly taking everything in.
It felt impossible.
Then Dewey grabbed Donald’s finger and squeezed.
Donald looked down.
Dewey’s little hand barely fit around one finger. His nails needed trimming. His sleeve was too big and covered half his fist.
Donald swallowed.
“Sorry,” he said.
José glanced over. “What?”
Donald shook his head. “Nothing.”
But Huey was looking up at him now too.
So Donald said it again, softer. “Sorry.”
Huey blinked.
Donald leaned back against the bench. Dewey kicked one foot against his stomach. Louie made a small noise from the stroller, not crying, just reminding everyone he was there.
“I’m gonna do better,” Donald told them.
José looked away, giving him the small privacy of pretending not to hear. Donald kept his voice low.
“I don’t know how yet. But I will.”
Dewey kicked again. Huey yawned. Louie dropped his blanket and immediately looked offended about it.
Donald bent forward with two babies in his arms, trying to grab it before it hit the wet ground. He missed. José picked it up first, wiped it on his sleeve, and handed it back to Louie.
Louie accepted it with great seriousness. Donald let out a tired breath.
“One day,” he said, “we’re gonna have our own place.”
José sat beside him.
Donald stared out at the park. “Not a couch. Not somebody’s spare room. Not a laundry basket.”
Huey’s fingers brushed his chin. Donald caught his hand gently.
“A real place,” Donald said. “With beds. And a kitchen. And maybe a door that locks right.”
José smiled faintly. “A door that locks is a good start.”
“And no neighbors banging on the wall because somebody cries at three in the morning.”
“Also good.”
“And I’m gonna get a job I don’t hate.”
José raised an eyebrow.
Donald gave him a look. “Okay. A job I hate less.”
“That sounds more realistic.”
Donald snorted.
For a few minutes, they sat there while the sun pushed through the clouds. It lit the wet grass and the playground and the top of the stroller. It caught in Huey’s soft feathers, then Dewey’s, then Louie’s.
Donald looked at the three of them.
They did not know he had failed. They did not know about the email. They did not know what rent cost or how many diapers were left or how badly his back hurt from the couch.
They knew his face. They knew his hands. They knew he came when they cried.
For now, that was enough.
Donald held Huey closer and kissed the top of his head. Then he did the same to Dewey, who tried to bite his chin. Louie watched from the stroller, so Donald leaned over and kissed him too.
Louie blinked, then tucked his face into the green blanket.
José chuckled.
Donald settled back against the bench.
Tomorrow, he would look for another job. Maybe a warehouse. Maybe delivery. Maybe something with no phones and no strangers asking him to repeat himself until he wanted to break the headset in half.
Tomorrow, he would worry about money again.
For now, the boys were quiet. The rain had stopped. And Donald had both arms full.