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Looking back at Aleks, I smile. “But I do not regret any of it. I loved the years I spent with the merpeople on the Mazarine Coast. They became my family, too. And then, after all of it, the Fates brought me back to you. And I could never regret a life that has given me a chance at love with you, Aleks. Never.”

Aleks’ smile is wobbly, and his eyes hold the pink-tinged sheen of unshed tears. “Okay,” he whispers thickly.

“Okay,” I echo.

—I love you.

—I love you.

Through all the changes in the world, my abuela’s house is always the same.

The limon dulce tree in front is heavy with fruit. The concrete patio is spotless. A potted hibiscus with yellow blooms nods beside the front door.

Aleks clings to my hand, his grip too tight, but I do not stop him. It did not matter how many times I reassured him my grandmother is the kindest and most accepting person in the world—Aleks is still terrified.

—Breathe, boy—I command through our bond, sending warmth and love alongside my words.

“Javier,” a warm, wavering voice from the doorway calls out. I look up, and there, with her white braid wrapped around her head and her deeply wrinkled brown skin, is my abuela.

“Abuela,” I say, my own voice thick with emotion.

Her arms stretch out toward me, her thin wrists still adorned with silver bracelets. “Mira, mi nieto favorito está aquí de nuevo.”

I snort even as I pull her into an embrace. She calls all of us her favorite grandchildren, but I do not fault her for it. She has more than enough love to share with all of us.

I kiss the crown of her head, and she still smells like vanilla and fresh corn masa. “Quiero presentarte a alguien muy, muy importante, abuela. Alguien especial.” I want to introduce you to someone very, very important, I told her. Someone special.

She draws back, her eyes bright, and her warmth never fades or wavers as I beckon Aleks towards us.

He dressed up today. I told him he should wear what was comfortable, but he insisted on a pair of brown linen slacks and a pale blue button up. I helped him get dressed, reminding him with every touch that I am here, with him.

“Hola,” he says softly, his voice crackling. He clears his throat, before apologizing in broken Spanish for being out of practice.

I watch my grandmother meet my mate. I watch her wrap an arm around him and beckon him inside. I watch her serve him the food she carefully prepared, making sure his plate is never empty. I listen as she, in broken English, asks Aleks if anyone ever taught him to dance cumbia or bachata.

“Javi,” she says as she leads Aleks through the back gardens, “he tells me you are…were not always a boy.” Aleks’ posture stiffens, but my abuela is not done. “What is important is this—” she pauses, pointing to the left side of Aleks’ chest—“and that you love my Javi.”

I barely make out Aleks’ whispered “Gracias” as she gathers him into her thin arms. Aleks is almost doubled over, his face pressed to her shoulder, but neither of them are in any rush to move. Smiling, I head back into the house, where I start to clean up our lunch dishes.

I have been so lucky to live a life rich in love. Early rejection from my mother was quickly drowned out by the steady and unconditional love of my abuela.

Aleks has never had this before. He has Damian, who is a consistent partner in crime, and of course he has me. But there is something different about the love and acceptance of an elder, and nothing makes me happier than sharing it with Aleks.

The afternoon slips by. Photo albums come out, and Aleks pores over pictures of me from my childhood. At one point, my abuela turns on the radio and teaches Aleks the steps for bachata. We dance together, Aleks and I, and he is perfect in my arms. His hips are stiff and he cannot help but frown as he concentrates on steps, but I have never enjoyed dancing with someone more.

“Can we come back tomorrow?” He asks me after we say our goodbyes and walk hand in hand to our car.

“Of course.”

“She is amazing. Like I know you talked about how much you love her, but Javi, she’s wonderful. She’s so fucking wonderful.”

I squeeze his hand. “I am glad you think so, love.”

He leans against me. “Do you think she liked me?”

“I think she loved you.”

I open the door for him, and watch until he is buckled before I walk around to the driver’s side of the car. When I settle in my seat, I turn to find Aleks staring at me with a distant, wistful look on his face.