“I was just thinking this morning that I wish I’d thought to reach out to Charlie. I was looking in the wrong place, and…”
Ant turns to me and puts his hand on my chest. “Hedy, my therapist, would tell us that we made the best decisions we could with the information we had. I won’t have you second-guessing the last ten years.”
I take a deep breath, amazed by this slight man who must’ve been so very brave to survive what happened to him. A little of the guilt eases, at least enough to settle my heart.
Ant nods to himself as he pours a crazy amount of half-and-half, following that with two heaps of sugar.
I laugh, wanting to kiss the top of his head. “You take your coffee the way your mom always took it,” I tell him softly, hoping he finds some comfort in their similarities.
He nods, chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares out the window over the sink. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Do you remember much?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know how much of my memory is real or fake. I know I have an uncle named Javier Hernández, but he had black hair and no wrinkles.”
I knock into his shoulder, then immediately step back. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay. You said I have a tía, right? Yaya? That’s real, right?”
Something about his question and the uncertainty in his voice breaks me all over again. I grip the counter, my shoulders rising and falling, unable to stop the tears that have been going since last night.
“I’m sorry. Was I wrong?”
“No. You are right. She was your mom’s best friend. Gigi and Yaya were two peas in a pod. You couldn’t separate them. I don’t know if you remember your primo, Gael…”
“Gaelcito,” he says, a fond smile crossing his lips before darkness shutters his expression. “I remember playing with him. My grandfather didn’t like it when Yaya and Gael came over.”
I nod, remembering Yaya’s stories. “No, he didn’t. The Allendes wanted you for the family line. Meanwhile, you and Gael would draw together, and you always drew pictures of two men in tuxes getting married.”
“Guess he figured I wouldn’t be carrying on the family line anytime soon.”
“Yeah, well, fuck him for that,” I say, with everything I have.
We go quiet for a moment, and I fill my mug with coffee, adding about half the cream and sugar Ant did. I’m sipping the excellent brew as a thought spins up.
“I…haven’t called the family yet. Would you want to…?”
“Yes,” he says, probably too quickly.
“It’s a big thing. You absolutely don’t—”
“What’s a big thing?”
We turn toward the question, and the cute, heavily tattooed guy from last night—Levy—is walking in the door, looking between Ant and me.
Ant gives him a hug, which Levy readily returns, kindness radiating from his core despite the heavy ink covering the backs of his hands and the large gauges adorning his earlobes. It’s the sort of kindness born of difficulty, and I wonder a little about his story.
“Javier hasn’t told the family yet. He asked me if I wanted to be on the call, but I said yes before he could get the words out, and he was trying to tell me I should think about it for a minute.”
“What do you need to think about?” Erik asks, walking into the living room wearing an old Viking F.K. T-shirt, Wranglers, and boots.
“If I should get on the call with Javier when he talks to the family.”
Erik’s jaw shifts from side to side, and I’m grateful for these men who are so concerned for Ant’s safety and well-being. I immediately know I’ll do anything for this cobbled-together family.
“Well, your background check came in. Most of what they found did not come from legal channels.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” I admit.
