Page 91 of Winging It with You

I tell her about pretending to be his boyfriend and the hoops we had to jump through to get Jo on our side and all the initial drama the change-up caused.

I tell her about how Asher made me feel—like reallyfeel—and it’s not lost on me that until now, I’ve never really talked to my mom about a boy. You’d think that I would be terrified, but the more I talk about Asher, the more at peace I feel.

Sitting in the kitchen, talking to my mom about a boy I’m clearly crazy about over coffee? It feels right. It feels like growth and acceptance and a version of self-love I never thought I would be capable of experiencing.

“You seem happy, mi amor,” my mother says, reaching across the kitchen island and taking my hand in hers. “And that makesmehappy. But Theo…you still didn’t really answer my question. If everything with this Asher boy is going so well, then what areyoudoinghere?”

That does appear to be the million-dollar question, huh?

“It’s…complicated” is all I can muster, which isn’t a lie. Because, well…it is complicated, and before she can twist my arm into getting more details, our private morning is interrupted by my father, who saunters into the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the fact that his black sheep of a son has returned.

“Good morning, querido,” he says, coming up behind my mother and wrapping his arms around her, dramatically kissing her on her neck and cheeks like I’ve seen him do countless times before.

“Alejandro,quit it!” My mother’s playful objection to his affection makes me laugh, because I know she thrives on the attention. After more than thirty years together, society would have us believe they should be light-years away from the honeymoon phase, but not my parents. They are just as obsessed with each other as they were the day they met.

I clear my throat, hoping to stop my father’s very clear morning intentions from becoming a public reality.

When he finally notices me, it’s like he’s seen a ghost.

“Mijo!” The shock nearly swallows every decibel of his voice. Rushing around the kitchen island to close the distance between us, he nearly knocks my mother’s coffee right out of her hands. “Mijo,” he sobs, swallowing me in his big arms.

“I’ve…missed you…so much, my boy,” he says, squeezing me tighter between each choked word. He smells like Cuban cigars and fresh sawdust, just like he always has. No matter how many showers the man has, the distinct aroma of his woodworking shed has permanently fused to his skin.

“I’ve missed you too, Papá.” Every ounce of pain and loss and longing and anger that I’ve felt over the last couple of years comes rather unexpectedly to the surface. Without permission or any advance warning, my sobs now echo his and I cling to him like I used to as a child.

/////////////

“Is he dead?”

Frankie’s failed attempt at a whisper pulls me toward consciousness. There’s an edge of concern to my nephew’s voice.

“Didn’t you hear him snoring all night? He’s definitely not dead,” his sister hisses back. Lola is every bit Elise’s daughter with her well-intentioned directness.

“Pssst, Tío Dos,” Frankie whispers, closer this time. They’ve called me that their entire lives. It began when Lola first started talking. She struggled with thethsound inTío Theo, so she’d run around sayingTío Tío. Once they both got a little older, though, the family just swapped the secondtíofordos, essentially earning me the nickname of Uncle Two.

He pokes the side of my face. “Mmm,” I groan, which makes them giggle. As much as I would kill for another hour or ten of sleep, I love that they want to spend time with me.

“Move. I know what will wake him,” I hear Lola say. “Wakey wakey, Tío Dos…Daddy made cinnamon rolls.” Damn. She knows me too well. My mouth starts to water.Touché, Lola.

Everyone in the family fell in love with Stefan’s charm and good looks when Elise brought him around all those years ago. Not me. I was skeptical at first, as any brother should be, right?

Until I ate his cooking.

The man is a god in the kitchen.

Which makes sense, considering he’s a chef, but his baked goods literally changed my life. At first bite, I was practically planning their wedding for them.

“Morning, munchkins,” I say, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Frankie hops up on the bed, a wide grin exploding across his face, and launches into my arms. I need to soak up every moment of the guncle love, because I know it won’t always be like this. “What do you remember about your dreams?”

Frankie cuddles up and spends the next ten minutes telling me about his battle against dragon aliens and a talking spaceship. Lola sits on the edge of the bed, listening. Even though she rolls her eyes several times at her brother’s excited chatter, even she can’t hide her growing smile.

I’ve missed this.

Home.

The warmth of family and being in their lives like this. Being present as Frankie and Lola grow up. As Elise and Stefan continue to be the picture-perfect couple they’ve always been. As Mom and Dad get older.

I feel guilty. I’ve wasted so much time holding on to the past in fear of what that meant for my future. And for what?

---