Everett
Taco Tuesday became a real thing for us. Not that it was a big shift, but it was a fun tradition that turned out to be our first tradition. And that made it my favorite.
I no longer killed time at the end of my shift by getting coffee and walking. Now I had important places to be and the most important boy to see.
One of our new routines was that I picked up Trace from work and drove him home. Today when he climbed into my car with a backpack over his shoulder, he flashed that grin that hadn't dimmed since the night he told me he loved me.
He’d been in a great mood all week and no more headaches broke through. Even Priya noticed how happy he seemed, and she'd started referring to me as his human vitamin.
"I have news." Trace buckled his seatbelt and turned to me for a quick kiss as he bounced on his seat with his announcement. "Guess what it is." An announcement that I apparently had to figure out on my own.
"You found another Connor Cow in a onesie."
"Better." He chuckled and put on his sunglasses. “But that would be awesome.”
"Um…they named a sandwich after you at the deli counter."
"Better. Okay, not better than that either, but different." He drummed his hands on his knees, already tired of my wrong guesses. "Priya's giving me Fridays off from now on. She rearranged the entire schedule, and now I’ll have long weekends."
"Baby, that's great." I wondered if there was any way I could work out some Fridays off. I had plenty of vacation time banked that I could definitely probably swing at least a few per month.
“I’m really happy for you.”
"You know what that means?" His grin turned sly, and I mirrored his silly expression. "Even more Daddy time."
"That's what I like to hear."
He had a bag with him with everything we needed to make horchata. I'd found a recipe and made a batch that we both agreed was almost right but not quite. Tonight was attempt number two. Fortunately for us, Trace took his job as quality control very seriously.
"Oh, I made sure to get the long grain rice this time." He stopped talking and put the bag between his feet and leaned the seat all the way back so he was reclined.
Fuck. I knew this would happen eventually, but when he said the words that meant a seizure was coming on, my blood ran cold.
"I need to take a rest."
I pulled over and killed the engine before sliding my seat all the way back so I had room to move around. "I’m right here with you, baby. Daddy’s got you."
"Sorry," he mumbled, already losing consciousness.
I held his hand and hit the timer on my phone. He said it wasn’t a big deal if we didn’t time them, but if anything ever went wrong, the paramedics would ask that first.
Trace didn’t move at all. He just lay there as if he really was just taking a nap, his body completely still beside me. Anyone walking past would have assumed he'd simply decided to take a nap in the middle of our drive.
Over the past few weeks, I’d read every website, forum, and medical journal I could find about the type of seizures Trace had, but there wasn’t a lot of useful information.
The most important thing I learned was that what Trace needed most was for me to protect his head and be the first thing he saw when he came back.
So I kept one hand under his neck and the other positioned with my fingertips over his pulse while I waited for him to come back to me.
To keep myself from freaking out, I lifted his bracelet and read the words over and over. I didn’t need to call 911. He would wake up any second and be fine. He had to be fine.
I opened my glove box and pulled out a blue lollipop. I used my teeth to unwrap it and then held it at the ready. One hundred and twenty-seven seconds. He was about to wake up.
Then his fingers twitched and my heart started beating again. “Hey there, sweet boy.”
"I'm fine." His words were slurred as he instinctively pushed them out with his eyes still closed. "Don't call 911."
"Nobody's calling anybody, baby."
Trace’s eyes cracked open and then locked on my face.
The stages of his awareness were textbook, and even though it was scary, it was exactly what I wanted to see. The initial confusion about what had happened. The recognition of seeing me. And then the relief of knowing he was safe and not alone.
"We're in the car."
He looked around and then leaned forward and pulled the back of the seat up with him. “Are we ready to go home?"
“Definitely.” I handed him the unwrapped lollipop and then started the car. “We can skip taco Tuesday and do something easier on your stomach. Maybe mac and cheese.”
“No way. I’m dying for horchata.” He rolled his shoulders and seemed to be more alert. “But mac and cheese Wednesdays sounds amazing.”
I started driving again, but I kept my hand in his, needing the reassurance of his strong grip to know he was still with me.
"How long was I out?" Trace asked before we turned onto his street.
"Just under three minutes."
He turned to me and cocked his head. "You timed it?"
"Of course I timed it. I take my job as Daddy very seriously."
He laughed around his sucker and pulled our joined hands up to his heart. "You’re the best Daddy. Whether I’m conscious or not."
The horchata came out right this time. Trace declared it official with a gel pen signature on the recipe card he’d doctored up to meet his taste, and we ate tacos at his coffee table. The windows were open and a light breeze flowed through the room.
He was quiet through dinner like he was processing something. As much as I wanted to pry it out of him, I gave him the space to work it out at his own speed.
Finally, he wiped his mouth and placed his hands in his lap. "Can I say something without you making it a whole thing?"
Uh-oh. That could go either way, so I was on edge. "Probably not, but try me."
He turned his glass in a slow circle on the table.
"I've had seizures in public my whole life. And there's always this moment when I wake up that I have to use context clues or strangers' accounts to figure out how bad it got. Or worse, somebody called an ambulance and I have to figure out how to pull myself together fast enough that they don’t insist on transporting me. It’s exhausting and frustrating that my first job when I wake up is to make sure everyone around me isn’t scared or traumatized so I can go on with my day. "
He had my full attention because I had an idea of where he was going, and I didn’t want to miss a single second.
"Today, when I woke up, everything was already handled. I had some sugar and you held my hand. You knew exactly how long I’d been out and you were my safe place to land when I woke up.
” Trace scoffed and shook his head as if it was a novel concept.
“You allowed me to focus on myself and waking up.
That was my whole job." He swiped at his eyes and took a second to compose himself.
"I've never had that. Not once. Not even when I was a kid because I was always managing other peoples’ reactions.
Now, my friends know what to do because I built an entire system to make sure I had control of what happened when I was out of control.
It was what I had to do because there was never anyone else to build it.
But you just did what I needed without second-guessing me.
You trusted me the same way I trust you. "
"Always." A ball of emotion was forming in my throat, but I wasn’t about to make this about me. This was Trace’s moment, and I wanted him to say everything on his mind.
A tear slid down his cheek, but he swiped it away with the heel of his hand, laughing at himself while he did it.
"That's what I need you to understand. The way you take care of me is different. It’s real…and I love that. I love you.” He sucked in a deep breath and looked up at me. “That's all I wanted to say."
The apartment was very quiet as I got up and grabbed a small box out of my jacket pocket. I'd been carrying it around in one form or another for a while, waiting for a moment that felt right for this grand gesture. Then I realized that every moment with Trace felt right.
I set it on the table in front of him and leaned back.
Before he went into full shock, I had to give him the appropriate disclaimer. "It’s not a ring. Open it."
Inside the box was a brass key on a ring with a rubber taco pendant hanging from it. Trace just stared at the key and then looked up at me with questioning eyes.
"I promised we'd figure out a key situation." I sat back down beside him, close enough to keep hold of his hand. "This is my half of it. My house has been waiting a decade for somebody to come along and give me a family. I know we’re moving fast, and we can slow down if you want, but I would love for you to live with me. Today. Next month. Next year. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there. Because you’re it for me, baby.
You’re my boy, and I want you in my arms every morning when I wake up and every night when I tuck you in and rock you to sleep. ”
Trace threw himself at me and landed in my lap with his arms around my neck. He buried his face against my shoulder and sobbed. "One million percent."
"One million percent what, baby?"
"That's how loved I feel.” He sniffled against my neck, tickling my skin. “I did the math."
I held my boy and breathed him in, but I didn’t bother telling him that by my math, he was still underestimating it.