Chapter 31 Darío
The smell of turkey roasting filters upstairs, pulling me out of my sleep.
I listen for the sound of Craig’s snores, but the only noise is from Christmas music below.
I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, checking the time, and realize it’s after ten.
Thankfully, as an adult, my siblings allow me to sleep in on Christmas.
I was hoping for a message from Harlan this morning, but there’s nothing.
We’ve spoken almost daily, either by phone or text, since Thanksgiving weekend.
I’ve also been lucky enough to see him on our morning runs.
I’m hoping he’s just caught up in spending time with his family, but I’d be shocked if he didn’t get into a verbal sparring match with his father.
I open our messages and scroll through the various pictures he’s shared from his trip, before I send him a text.
Me
Merry Christmas, sweetness. I hope Santa brought you everything you asked for. I can’t wait for New Year’s. Tell your family I said Merry Christmas. I really wish you were here.
Having a house full of family means no privacy, so after I use the bathroom and brush my teeth, I pull on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt before I make my way downstairs.
The turkey smelled incredible from my room, but as I descend the stairs, the aroma is even better.
The smell of garlic and rosemary has my mouth watering.
I’m not the least bit surprised to find my mother at the stove making Huevos Pericos, which is my absolute favorite Colombian breakfast. I don’t know what her secret is because the recipe is simple—eggs, chopped tomato, green onion, and cilantro—but mine never taste as good as hers.
I reach around her to grab an arepa off the plate on the stovetop and kiss her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Mama.” My grabby hands earn a smack from the spatula in her grasp, but I have no regrets, even if I yelp at the sting.
“It’s not ready,” she scolds in her thick accent.
My parents both immigrated from Colombia as teenagers, and they made sure we all learned Spanish, basically from birth.
It was all we were allowed to speak at home growing up.
As adults, we tend to switch back and forth more frequently.
“Merry Christmas, papito. Breakfast will be done soon, so you won’t starve.
” I grin at the childhood nickname that my parents still use for Enrique and me.
In the living room, I find my father, brother, and sister watching Christmas Vacation, with Craig passed out in front of the fireplace.
“Merry Christmas,” I tell all of them, leaning down to kiss my father’s forehead.
He barely takes his eyes off the movie to acknowledge me.
Message received. It’s his favorite Christmas movie, after all.
Harlan’s corner of the sectional is free, and I’m hit with how much I miss him right now, as I settle into the space, with a blanket in my lap.
I check my phone again for a response, but there’s nothing.
The message is still showing as unread. I try not to read into that, but it’s starting to worry me.
“What’s wrong with you? You look upset,” Enrique observes.
I scowl at him because bringing up Harlan will only have my parents going on and on about how he should be here with us.
My siblings know the whole story, but I didn’t have the heart to tell my parents everything.
I know they’d love Lan just the same, but they had a hard time with the breakup.
I guess we all did in one way or another.
“Nothing,” I grumble. “Just hungry.” As if on cue, my mother calls us into the dining room to eat.
Hopefully, this distracts my brother from asking more questions.
Once my dad is sure his movie is paused, we shuffle into the dining room, where my mom has laid out a feast of Huevos Pericos, arepas, and chicharrones.
Each place setting has a cup of black coffee.
I drink the steaming beverage, gratefully.
With my mother here, we’ll be drinking coffee until bedtime.
She serves it with every meal, and a few random cups in between.
Her bloodstream is probably half caffeine.
I make sure my parents get their food first, before I dig in for mine.
Despite my epic failure for Friendsgiving, I actually am fairly competent in the kitchen.
I generally don’t make meals like this since it’s a lot for one person, so this is a nice change from a protein shake or a bagel from the corner deli.
Even when Lan lived here, we didn’t do breakfast like this very often.
As we chat through breakfast, Antonella looks at her lap repeatedly, and her eyes are shifty, as if she’s up to no good.
I wait for my parents to say something, since they hate phones at the table, but they are either oblivious or no longer care to enforce the rule.
I nudge Antonella with my toe, and she gives me a sharp look before focusing on the conversation with my parents again.
With breakfast finished, I insist my mother go sit and allow the kids to clean up.
Antonella is whispering in the corner with Enrique when I return to the dining room to grab the rest of the plates.
“I don’t know what you two are up to, but a bit of help would be cool,” I snap.
They both instantly look guilty, but offer no apologies.
My sister steps out of the dining room, while Enrique and I finish bringing the dishes to the kitchen.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Antonella calls from the front of the house. I can’t imagine where she’d go on Christmas morning. Most stores are closed, and yesterday, we triple-checked to make sure we had everything we needed for the day.
“Where is she going?” My brother ignores my question completely, continuing to load the dishwasher. “Dude, I know you hear me.” He continues with his task, and I throw a balled-up paper towel at his stupid face.
“I have no idea where she’s going. I'm here with you. Maybe Mama asked her to run to the corner store for something.” He feigns ignorance, which pisses me off even more.
I don’t know why I’m allowing myself to get so annoyed.
Aside from the fact that my message to Harlan now shows as read, I’ve yet to receive a response.
I’m giving him another ten minutes before I call him.
I use Craig as an excuse to get outside for a bit, since no one wants to tell me where Antonella went.
Hopefully the fresh air clears my head, and perhaps when we’re done, Harlan will have responded.
Once I’m bundled for the weather and Craig has his Christmas sweater on, we step outside.
There’s a fair bit of traffic as people head for their holiday destinations, but there’s something peaceful about the city on Christmas morning.
The cold air stings my face, but it’s a welcome bite.
The row of townhouses we pass is decorated with huge wreaths on doors, and garland on the banisters.
We got a bit of snow two days ago, so the trees are still covered in white, adding to the holiday vibes on the block.
I’ve enjoyed the view every night as Christmas trees light up bay windows and Christmas music filters out from the homes we walk past. It’s these moments that I miss Harlan the most. He loved everything about our street during the holidays.
Once Craig is satisfied with how many trees and bushes he peed on, we return home.
Scanning the parked cars, I still don’t see my sister’s rental.
She’s been gone for over an hour, and I’m prepared to demand answers from my parents and brother when we get inside.
There are also no messages or calls from Harlan.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, my mood souring further.
“Watch your language, papito,” my mother calls out sharply from down the hall. I have no idea how she even heard me, but I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been like that our whole lives. No matter how quiet we think we’re being, Mama always knows.
“Mama, I’m thirty-two. I can say ‘fuck’ in my own house,” I retort.
I hear her mutter about “rude children” in Spanish, and I laugh despite myself.
I find my father passed out on the chair, snoring loudly, and Enrique sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone.
I wish I could be as relaxed as them, but since I’m not, I scroll to Harlan’s number and dial.
It rings twice before I get sent to voicemail.
“I’m back!” Antonella’s shout has me on my feet, ready to confront her for her sketchy behavior.
It doesn’t make sense that I’m that annoyed, except that I feel like I’ve been left out of something.
Rounding the corner to the foyer, I come face-to-face with Harlan.
He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and his lids are heavy with exhaustion.
My sister is standing next to him, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “You’re welcome,” she singsongs.
“Harlan! Amor! Merry Christmas,” my mother cries as she hurries down the hall to embrace him. She immediately bursts into tears, telling him how good he looks and how much she’s missed him, as she squeezes him. I watch him melt into her arms as his own tears fall down his face.
“I’ve missed you too, Mama,” he whispers, pulling her even closer.
The commotion has my brother and father entering the foyer.
Neither looks surprised by Harlan’s presence.
Their lack of shock explains everyone’s behavior at breakfast. I’ll get the details later, but for now, I need to fight off my family to get my hands on Harlan.
I’m not given a chance, as my father immediately replaces my mother, to hug our unexpected—at least to me—arrival.