Page 49 of Winging It with You

I tell her about how Asher made me feel—like really feel —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 makes me happy. But Theo…you still didn’t really answer my question. If everything with this Asher boy is going so well, then what are you doing here ?”

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 the th sound in Tío Theo , so she’d run around saying Tío Tío .

Once they both got a little older, though, the family just swapped the second tío for dos , 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?

To make my life easier? To avoid confronting my own fear?

“Come on,” I say when Frankie wraps up what seems to be part two of his out-of-this world adventure. I rip the blankets off the bed dramatically and scoop them both into my arms, which sends their adorable giggles ricocheting off every surface. “Let’s go get some of those delicious cinnamon rolls.”

We slowly make our way downstairs, passing wall after wall of treasured family photos. Looking at our family at various milestones is like peering into a time capsule of a life.

Stefan is bent over the kitchen island when we reach the bottom of the stairs.

He’s carefully layering thick icing on an oversize tray of cinnamon rolls.

They smell fresh out of the oven and there’s something comforting about the sweet aroma filling the room, so familiar to family and cozy weekend mornings.

As soon as Frankie eyes the cinnamon rolls, he becomes restless. “Daddy, are they ready?”

“Just about, mijo,” Stefan says without looking up from the tray before him. I set Frankie on one of the five barstools at the long kitchen island and lower Lola to the ground, their eyes glued to the rich bowl of icing.

Lola quickly swipes a finger into the bowl and plops it into her mouth before Stefan can object.

“Carina, be patient,” he says, shaking his head with a grin. Lola hugs him around the waist and Stefan sets down the spoon he was using. “Nice bedhead,” Stefan says, padding over in my direction and greeting me with a big hug.

He’s never shied away from affection, which is a major green flag in my eyes.

There have been plenty of Elise’s exes who always seemed uncomfortable around her gay little brother.

Some would make it a point to offer an extra-firm handshake or give incredibly cold one-armed bro hugs the second I came around. Not Stefan.

From day one, he couldn’t help but showcase his natural warmth with every single one of our family members, and it’s something I’ll always be appreciative of. More male-on-male affection normalcy, please. “Where’s everyone else?” I ask when he finally lets me go.

“Your parents went to pick up some carne asada for later,” he says, heading back to the kitchen island, “and Elise is at your spot.”

I turn my head toward the lake. Stefan grabs a few plates from the cabinet and uses a spatula to serve Lola and Frankie. The cinnamon rolls are as large as their heads, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this excited.

“I just put on some coffee, hermano,” Stefan says, nodding at the coffeepot. “It should be ready.” Bless this man.

I pour us each a mug, handing one to a very appreciative Stefan, and slide two cinnamon rolls onto a plate. Then I sneak out the back door and make my way to the dock while Lola and Frankie are momentarily distracted by their sweets.

I find Elise sitting in one of the two worn Adirondack chairs dad and I built the summer before I went into middle school. Or high school? Beyond being slightly weathered from constant exposure to the elements, they’ve held up nicely.

She gives me a soft smile when I join her, like she’s been waiting for me. I shove nearly half a cinnamon roll in my mouth and pass the plate to Elise.

“If I haven’t told you lately that you’re my favorite, you most certainly are.” She rolls her eyes after taking her own massive bite. “How’d you sleep?” she asks, her mouth full.

“Like the dead.”

But truthfully, it felt odd sleeping anywhere without Asher. Hearing his breathing. Feeling the warmth of his arm draped over me. The burn of every sneak-attack kiss he’d place on my neck.

Thinking of him makes it hard to swallow.

“…until Frankie and Lola decided it was time to get up,” I say, a smile spreading across my lips.

“They are the official deciders when it comes to day-starting.” Elise reaches over and takes my coffee mug.

“What?” she asks when she sees my mouth agape.

“Nothing’s changed with you. Is that…my sweatshirt?”

She looks down at the worn Madison West High School crewneck she’s wearing. “Seriously? You’ve not been home in ten thousand years and have lost your claim to anything in your room. Sorry, but whatever you’ve left behind is fair game.”

Can’t argue with that.

“Speaking of,” she says, tucking a leg underneath her. “How does it feel to be back?”

It’s far too early to have this conversation with her. Elise is one of the only people in my life I don’t have to worry about being judgmental. But she’s also the only person on this planet I can’t bullshit. “It’s bittersweet. I’ve missed so much…”

“And whose fault is that?”

“You don’t need to remind me.” I stare off into the lake. The soft morning light dances across the shallow water. “Remember when we decided it would be a good idea to camp out in the canoe?”