The same memories that flood Grujaja's mind are reflected in Capochin's as the silence churns in the air between them.
A lifetime. Two young men, only barely no longer children themselves, figuring out how to parent because the alternative was leaving a little one to starve or drown. Warm food on a third plate, fruit snacks and orange slices, valiant attempts at home schooling. Towels to dry wet fur, terrible DIY haircuts, and exceptionally good hugs. Noise cancelling headphones and a teeny tiny uniform. One hell of a growth spurt and hand-me-down clothes.
That sordid night when he came home hurt and wouldn't look at them, was scared to show them his face, and the heartbreaking fact that all the little guy could think about is how they were going to pay for it.
"We'll figure somethin' out," Capochin recalls saying. "We're gonna do whatever we gotta to make sure you're okay, so let me n' Hector worry about dat and you just worry about gettin' better for us, alright?"
Loss was such a part of life in Drain that Capochin had never seen anything as permanent. He'd long accepted that anything could just be gone at a moment's notice and there'd be nothing he could do about it. But the fear of loss that he felt that night, with a small and bloody body bundled up in Hector's arms while he drove the campaign van to the hospital as fast as he could get away with, was like nothing he'd ever felt before or since. What if it had been worse? What if he gets an infection? What would they do if they lost their little guy?
Their son. He's their son.
And Capochin lets out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding when his son forgives him.
"...I didn't do right by you," he insists. "But I'm glad you forgive me. I, uh. You, me, n' Hector, we been through a lot, and--- we're a family, y'know? And that ain't how you treat family. So I'm gonna do better. Get back to the way things used to be. I..."
He swallows the lump in his throat. Why is this so hard to say? Why hasn't he said it before?
"...I wanna be a better dad. 'Cause I got a real good kid."
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A lifetime. Two young men, only barely no longer children themselves, figuring out how to parent because the alternative was leaving a little one to starve or drown. Warm food on a third plate, fruit snacks and orange slices, valiant attempts at home schooling. Towels to dry wet fur, terrible DIY haircuts, and exceptionally good hugs. Noise cancelling headphones and a teeny tiny uniform. One hell of a growth spurt and hand-me-down clothes.
That sordid night when he came home hurt and wouldn't look at them, was scared to show them his face, and the heartbreaking fact that all the little guy could think about is how they were going to pay for it.
"We'll figure somethin' out," Capochin recalls saying. "We're gonna do whatever we gotta to make sure you're okay, so let me n' Hector worry about dat and you just worry about gettin' better for us, alright?"
Loss was such a part of life in Drain that Capochin had never seen anything as permanent. He'd long accepted that anything could just be gone at a moment's notice and there'd be nothing he could do about it. But the fear of loss that he felt that night, with a small and bloody body bundled up in Hector's arms while he drove the campaign van to the hospital as fast as he could get away with, was like nothing he'd ever felt before or since. What if it had been worse? What if he gets an infection? What would they do if they lost their little guy?
Their son. He's their son.
And Capochin lets out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding when his son forgives him.
"...I didn't do right by you," he insists. "But I'm glad you forgive me. I, uh. You, me, n' Hector, we been through a lot, and--- we're a family, y'know? And that ain't how you treat family. So I'm gonna do better. Get back to the way things used to be. I..."
He swallows the lump in his throat. Why is this so hard to say? Why hasn't he said it before?
"...I wanna be a better dad. 'Cause I got a real good kid."