My Home Is With You [LGBT+]

Twenty

WEEKS, IT HAS BEEN WEEKS. Of living with Max, of healing, of getting used to something I've never had before.

It's all so different now.

So... quiet.

I stare at the blank screen of my phone having just finished a call with Aless and the kids. I miss them. There's a hurt in my heart like a puzzle piece missing since they've been gone. But they're safe. They're still with family and they have a roof over their heads and food!

So much food.

At least that's what I understood from Miguel's baby babble. He's approaching a year in two months and he's still growing like a weed and Gabby cut her hair! Aless is going to start a new school come September with new friends.

And Bella... she's gone.

Settled at a different state and just... growing up miles away from what used to be her home.

I blink away the tears. A reminder that my own family is still stuck in another country waiting for news that just doesn't come fast enough.

This system is skewed.

It's grueling and demanding and all for nothing.

For simple radio silence.

At least my family has a shot of returning safely if, when, the paperwork is complete and approved.

My aunts and uncles who were unlucky enough to get deported will have to come back illegally if resources allow. Because Aless is still a minor. Because she's not 21. Because she doesn't count, and the other kids don't matter. They don't matter because if they did, they wouldn't have been separated. They would still have their parents.

"Hey," a soft voice disrupts those awful thoughts.

I blink away the tears and offer Max a warm smile, "hi."

"You, ok?"

"Hm, never better."

He raises a brow and I know he doesn't believe me because he sits next to me and squeezes my knee tenderly. I stare at his hand and I can't resist placing my own on top of his.

There's a difference.

Between him and me.

Him and I.

His hands are soft and big, veiny with pale skin and freckles scattered here and there. Mine are small, tanned, and burned.

Healed yet scarred.

Sensation is numb even though the doctors said I'd get it back.

Just not now.

Eventually.

"I'm okay," I reassure.

"You miss them," he states.

"I do."

"They can come over, baby, you don't have to pine over them."

I smile because I know this. He's told me millions of times before. But it's not that simple. It never is.

"My aunt would never let me," I say.

"She would if you ask."

He's encouraging and it's sweet, but not enough.

"I'm gay."

Another raise of a brow, "I hadn't noticed."

That brings out a genuine laugh from my chapped lips. However, as I sober up, I look into his eyes and sigh, "she knows now."