i can’t stop imagining leon and his SO’s family
he doesn’t remember his own much at all.
so when he’s welcomed into yours, he’s subdued but polite, crammed between your cousins, aunts, and uncles in the living room. it’s the first you’ve seen him look truly uncomfortable.
your family clocks it immediately and they’re there, making it their mission to include him.
your uncle takes him by shoulder like they’re conspiring together as he goes around firing his stupid inside jokes, bringing him up to speed on each one, even “cooking one up special” just for him.
your grandma asks him to help her in the kitchen with the dish that’s been in the family for generations, a favorite for gatherings, insisting he wear one of her handmade aprons—a right of passage that you all had to endure when you were younger.
your cousins get a beer or two in him and shockingly manage to tap him in for flag football. and you can’t look away from him rolling in the grass, laughing, a rare smile on his face.
your mom, your aunts, your grandma give him the biggest squeezes as you leave, like they can sense that he’s not used to it—your aunts coyly cracking jokes about how they “can barely fit” their arms around him while your mom shoos them off.
on the drive home, you can’t help but notice his faraway expression, the quirk of his lips.
and his look is nothing short of bittersweet, a long-buried grief there, so raw that you take his hand and trace your thumb over his knuckles, understanding.
he never thought he would have any of this. an orphan, married—hostage—to the will of the government, his work. yet here he is, here you are.
your mom sends him little gifts “just because” she saw them out shopping and immediately thought of him. your dad messages him funny videos that remind him of “that one time” they hung out. your nieces and nephews constantly ask if uncle leon is coming to their soccer game, their birthday party, their school play.
all filling a wound he didn’t speak about. one that used to yawn wider as each phase of his life came and went, but was now slowly knitting closed.
