John Newman -Come And Get It
The morning began in chaos.
Real, sticky, early-morning chaos —
when your head hasn’t woken up yet,
but events are already running ahead of you,
elbowing each other for space.
So.
We’re all gathered in a tight circle.
Six a.m. on the clock.
Too early for common sense
and too late to back out.
The first shot — whiskey.
No toasts.
No words.
Just a fact.
We knocked our fists into the center —
quietly, almost solemnly,
as if sealing a secret pact.
We were already about to disperse
when Aristocrat tried to step back,
got tangled in his own legs,
and Cody, with her whole soul,
smacked him on the shoulder.
“Ow,” he rubbed his shoulder.
We burst out laughing.
I kissed Nate — quick, on the lips, on the run —
and in that same moment everything fell apart:
everyone scattering,
everyone everywhere,
everyone off for something —
some to save the world,
some to save themselves.
I run to the kitchen
because I’m starving.
I don’t care — bread, cheese, yesterday’s potatoes,
anything.
Steal it.
Hide it.
Swallow it.
My stomach growls louder than reason.
And right at that moment
Sophie cuts me off in the hallway.
“Carmen’s in tears. Philip cut her hair.”
Oh my God.
“Where are they?”
“Come on.”
And I’m running after her — in a robe and heels.
One flight, four doors — and we’re there.
The door opens.
Carmen is standing in the middle of the room, sobbing.
Her hair is on the floor,
like hard evidence of someone else’s initiative.
My jaw drops.
Not “just a trim,”
not “accidentally nicked it” —
he cut it.
And the kindergarten performance is already coming up.
Philip is pale.
He already knows.
He already understands.
But it’s too late —
mornings don’t take apologies.
“Mom!” — Carmen throws herself at me.
Oh God, how do you survive a child’s tears?
“My girl. My beloved girl,”
I stroke her hair.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I’ll think of something.”
“I just wanted to help…”
“I don’t doubt it, sweetheart.
But maybe don’t tell Mom about this,”
—I kiss him on the forehead.
“Really, don’t. She’s practically blind — she won’t notice.”
“She won’t notice anyway,” Hades adds.
“Oh, get lost,” I snap.
The kids calm down a bit,
but everyone knows — not for long.
I kiss my daughter.
“Carmen, my heart. I’ll be right back.”
—I need to find Jonathan.
God, where is he?
I run down the corridor,
peeking into every room on the way.
God… where is Jonathan?
I run into Nate.
“Baby, do you know where Jonathan is?”
“No idea, kitten.
Want some punch?”
“Sure.”
That’s another shot.
And we scatter again, laughing,
each in our own direction,
like children given too much freedom
and far too little sleep.
“Kitten!” — he calls out to me on the run.
“Huh?”
“I love you so much!”
“Ooooo…”
I literally melt —
into the air,
onto the floor,
into this morning.
“Mooooom!”
“MOOOOM!”
Oh hell.
We exchange one more look —
and burst out laughing at the same time.
And I run on.
Curlers barely holding.
The robe keeps slipping —
I keep adjusting it,
so no one sees
what Snow Maiden will be wearing tonight.
Maybe this guy knows.
I catch him by the sleeve.
“Hi, do you know where Jonathan is?”
He answers something very fast in Spanish.
Too fast.
Too confident.
“Ah… damn.
Damn-damn-damn.
Why doesn’t he speak English?”
—I throw my hands up to the sky.
“Mom! Mom!”
We need to get out of here.
“Jonathan.”
Knock-knock.
“Jonathan.”
I open the door.
“Darling… fuuuh — you’re here.”
One second — pure freeze.
And then I just burst out laughing.
Jonathan is decorated by the girls — entirely according to their taste.
Two bows.
A ton of makeup.
Blush applied generously,
eyeshadow without mercy,
glitter — as if he’s a Christmas tree, not a grown man.
Poker face — unbreakable.
Eyes — resigned.
Laptop in his hands.
“Darling, you’re so beautiful,”
—I kiss him on the cheek, trying not to laugh out loud.
He says nothing.
Holds it together.
I grab his hand.
“Sweetheart, this is very, very serious.”
He nods.
“Alright.
Memorize the answers.
— Yes.
— Yes-yes.
— Always.
Got it?”
“Yes. Yes-yes. Always,”
— he repeats like a mantra.
“Excellent. Girls, thank you — I’m taking him,”
—and we run without waiting for a reply.
At full speed we sprint past Josh’s office.
He tosses back a shot without blinking and throws over his shoulder:
“You saw nothing.”
I laugh.
“Okay.”
And the morning keeps rolling on —
crooked, loud, alive,
exactly the way a real celebration should be.
“Alright, run, darling, run,”
—I urge Jonathan forward.
The moment we open the door,
Nate intercepts me — appearing out of nowhere again.
Theatrical.
Beautiful.
With the excessive confidence of someone who knows
that right now, anything is allowed.
“My lady.”
He dips me almost to the floor
and kisses me — openly,
so everyone can see.
“You’re shameless!”
—I swat him with my palm.
I laugh, stumble,
and we immediately run on,
without looking back.
“Maaa-ma-ma-maaa!!!”
“Ohhh…
This way.”
I barely manage to stop,
heels sliding across the floor.
We stop at the door.
A second of silence.
I turn to Jonathan.
“Alright.
Go on, darling.
Just like we practiced.”
He nods.
Collected.
With bows.
With leftover glitter.
“Yes.
Yes-yes.
Always.”
“Got it?”
He nods again.
Seriously.
“Well… here we go,”
—and I gently but firmly push him into the room.
Carmen is there.
And the other kids.
Costumes.
Red eyes.
Emotions piled high.
“Oh, Jonathan!”
She throws herself around his neck.
Clings to him.
Sobs.
“The boys cut my hair… and who even asked them to—”
—her voice trembles.
“And a-a-and…”
She cries.
For real.
Without armor.
“We’ll have to limit her exposure to Josh,
or we’ll end up with another little drama queen,”
—Hades comments.
“Exactly,”
—I agree.
She suddenly pulls back.
“You still love me anyway?”
Jonathan doesn’t think.
He follows the script exactly.
“Yes.”
Carmen looks up at him.
“And I’m still pretty, right?”
“Yes-yes.”
A pause.
The most important one.
“And we’ll always, always be together?”
He hugs her a little tighter.
Quietly.
Confidently.
“Always.”
Fuuuuuh.
All this time I’ve been eavesdropping by the door,
repeating Jonathan’s words to myself,
as if I could help him perform the role
by sheer force of thought.
Holding my breath.
One hand on the doorframe.
And only when I heard that “always”
did I finally allow myself to exhale.
How great that little girls fall in love with grown men —
for now, it works in my favor.
“That’s kind of messed up,”
— Hades grimaces.
“Oh, get lost,”
—I wave him off.
The world was holding itself together again.
And helping it along —
whiskey, water, punch.
Earth Angels.
The kindergarten is a whole different level of madness.
High-status parents don’t make the chaos quieter or louder.
It simply becomes more expensive.
We’re forced to maintain a massive security operation.
Not for show — out of necessity.
On regular days it already resembles a small summit,
but on New Year’s it multiplies several times over.
Nearly three bodyguards per child.
Powerful, sinewy men.
Square jaws.
Eyes that don’t tolerate unnecessary questions.
And then additional security around the entire perimeter.
Outside. Inside. Corridors. Entrances.
Radios crackle.
Someone is looking for someone.
Someone nods to someone else.
Someone checks lists
that are already outdated
because parents exist outside of lists.
Meanwhile, the kids run, laugh, cry,
forget why they were crying,
and laugh again.
And we hold this fragile world together
with our hands,
our teeth,
our nerves,
and whiskey.
As if you could keep the morning from falling apart
just by clenching your fists hard enough.
11:32
By now, the chaos is no longer childish.
It’s adult.
Expensive.
Licensed.
With badges, credentials,
and very important people — and their asses.
Security stands in layers — like a cake.
The first layer: polite, smiling, almost invisible.
The second: silent, with radios that never stop buzzing.
The third: the ones who never smile at all
and look straight through people,
as if checking them for authenticity.
Children.
In costumes.
With crowns.
With wings.
With glitter that has somehow already spread everywhere,
including serious tailored jackets.
Behind each child — in addition to three bodyguards —
two Belgian Malinois.
Black. Focused. Perfectly trained.
They lie by the walls,
sit near the entrances,
move smoothly, like shadows.
Calm eyes.
Confident.
If they could speak, they’d say:
“We’re holding this world.”
Sometimes it feels like they’re the ones really in charge here.
And against this backdrop — Aristocrat.
He moves through the hall
like a penguin among sea lions.
Shoulders pulled in.
Back straight but tense,
as if expecting an aerial attack at any moment.
He places his feet carefully, almost sideways.
Every step calculated.
Every gaze kept at eye level —
anything to avoid looking down.
His arms are pressed to his body,
as if he’s carrying an invisible tray of crystal glasses.
When one of the shepherds slowly turns its head —
Aristocrat freezes.
Blinks.
Pretends to be urgently fascinated by the chandelier.
He tiptoes past them,
slightly speeding up,
slightly stopping his breath,
and only once he’s at a safe distance
does he exhale —
very quietly,
very aristocratically.
Money is money.
Status is status.
But natural hierarchy
always puts everyone in their place.
And the dogs know it.
He nods to them
as if they were his board of directors.
With respect.
With caution.
With a secret hope
that they won’t notice his existence.
Meanwhile —
Along the perimeter, movement without fuss.
Someone nods.
Someone checks a list.
Someone speaks softly into a headset:
“Copy.”
“Yes.”
“Control.”
All of it — for the children.
“LOOK! I’M AN ELF!”
“AND I’M A DRAGON!”
“AND I HAVE A TAIL!”
12:05
Parents arrive — each one a small event.
Watches. Perfume. Looks.
A light tension in the air:
“Is this place really safe enough for my treasure?”
And we’re in between all of them —
our nervous systems running on sheer stubbornness.
Rixton passes by.
Calm.
Collected.
Slightly squinting.
He nods.
We nod.
And everyone knows:
if he drinks,
it’s exactly enough
to withstand this level of reality —
no more.
But it’s not our place to judge him.
Behind us, the flask makes another round.
Quietly.
Almost sacred.
Someone takes a tiny sip.
Someone just brings it to their lips.
Someone smells it and passes it on,
like a relic.
No words.
Only looks.
Only micro-smiles
hiding in the corners of mouths.
Holding my breath.
One hand on the doorframe.
Our secret ceremony.
Drunk.
Kind.
Absolutely necessary.
The shepherds lift their heads for a second.
Look.
Assess.
Then lie back down again,
stretching their paws —
alright, carry on.
Control is in place.
The world is holding together thanks to the bone lovers.
And it’s not holding only on protocols,
but on this quiet laughter,
on the flask going around,
and on people who know how to stay alive
even in the most sterile settings.
Everyone scatters back to their own affairs.
I smile.
Children’s laughter.
Real.
Loud.
Without status.
What could be better?
Absurdity —
with security, dogs, bodyguards, and bows —
is the living reality,
where luxury and vulnerability exist in the same frame.
Perfect.
Minutes remain until the performance.
I head for the kitchen —
maybe I’ll manage to grab something.
Alright…
What do we have here…
Ohhh.
Fresh bread.
Warm.
With a crust.
I reach for it—
“Don’t touch!”
— Katrin.
“Ow!”
—I jerk my hand back as if electrocuted.
God, she’s serious today.
That face: head chef, three Michelin stars, don’t breathe.
Oh come on…
Please?
And then Nate bursts in,
with that energy of his — I’m not even from here.
God, where does he even come from?
“Hey, look,”
— “I think the pasta’s about to boil over.”
Katrin turns instantly.
Professional reflex.
Sacred.
We exchange a look.
And I —
lightning-fast —
stuff a piece of bread into my cheek,
like a hamster on a mission.
My cheek bulges.
I freeze.
Don’t blink.
Breathe through my nose.
Nate winks
and gives my ass a playful slap.
“Kitten.”
“Nate…”
We shake hands.
Short.
Precise.
Like agents.
Mission accomplished.
No losses.
Evidence destroyed.
Katrin comes back.
Pasta saved.
Boil under control.
She doesn’t turn around right away.
Too smart for that.
A pause.
Half a second.
Exactly enough time for the world to give itself away.
Then she slowly turns her head.
Looks at the bread.
Looks at me.
My cheek.
Just a little.
Barely.
I swallow.
Her gaze slides to the loaf with the missing piece
and a trail of crumbs.
Damn.
The evidence is still too obvious.
She shifts her gaze to Nate.
He’s already escaping —
too fast.
Too innocent.
Katrin presses her lips together.
A microsecond.
Then, in an even, icy tone:
“If you touch the bread before serving one more time —
I’ll pretend I don’t know you.”
I freeze.
Swallow slowly.
Adjust my cheek.
“Mm-hmm,”
—I whisper.
Katrin doesn’t reply.
She’s already stirring the sauce.
The kitchen’s victory is absolute.
Some people are more dangerous than shepherds.
Brrr.
Major Lazer — “Pon de Floor”.
“Nazokat, come on,”
— Sophie grabs me by the elbow.
“Damn!”
—I manage to toss back a shot on the move.
One door. Just one.
My stomach is still growling.
So.
The office. Dark. Serious.
And Sophie is… uh… the general?
“Sophie… the general?”
—I ask out loud, already knowing the answer.
And we burst out laughing.
Not just laughing — howling,
like people who’ve clearly been drinking hard since morning
but still have to keep it together,
because, after all, the general is watching.
Sophie snaps into shape instantly.
Command voice.
Gestures.
Roles assigned.
She hands out orders
as if this isn’t a New Year’s children’s performance
but an operation to save the world.
We’re swaying, but still thinking.
Which is especially dangerous,
because states like this
usually lead to adventures.
Nate slaps my ass so hard
it draws everyone’s attention.
“You idiot,”
—I laugh.
Behind us, the Adventuress passes the flask around in a circle.
I can barely keep from laughing out loud.
God.
This will not end well.
And then I really look.
The guys?
The guys — including Nate — are decorated by the girls.
Glitter.
Hairstyles.
Things very clearly not to their taste —
which is exactly why it’s perfect.
They stand there, important,
clearly drunk,
with the faces of people
who were discussing budgets yesterday
and today are wearing pink hair clips.
Damn.
They should be heading into a shareholders’ meeting right now.
Very serious asses.
With makeup.
Britney Spears — “Work Bitch”.
“Nazokat!”
I quickly hide my phone.
“Yes, I’m here, boss…
hic.
Oops.”
“So you’re our Snow Maiden.”
Nate whistles, theatrically puckers his lips:
“Oooooo…”
I laugh.
“What an idiot…”
My people have been with me for years,
so Snow Maiden and a Russian-style New Year
are mandatory —
even if someone has no idea
what the hell is going on.
The main thing is — I’m happy.
A few more clarifications,
some follow-up questions,
commands distributed.
We stand up and theatrically, as if on cue,
raise our hands to our heads,
obeying the commander.
Discipline.
Almost military.
Nate — one hand at his forehead.
The other — on my ass.
I’m barely holding it together.
Laughing is forbidden.
Completely forbidden.
And I’m already well over the limit,
so the body reacts faster than the mind.
We’re about to head out —
and then Nate shoves Jonathan.
Jonathan instantly spins around
and, without thinking, drops into a stance.
One second —
and the guys start fooling around,
shoving each other, staging a fight,
far too convincingly
for people covered in glitter.
Hair clips fly to the floor.
Glitter rains down like confetti.
I’m laughing — I can’t stop anymore.
The guys roll around on the floor,
pretending to choke each other,
laughing, panting,
getting tangled in their own legs.
Very important men.
Very serious decisions.
Very pink hair clips.
And then a thought hits me —
like a flash of insight.
A little late.
But so happy.
As if I’ve just woken up.
Another plus of integrating Nate’s darkness
is the stability and predictability
that has had an incredibly dignified effect on his psyche.
Before, he had to balance,
keep his face on,
stay tense,
defend himself — even from his own.
Now he’s clearly divided it.
In work moments.
In moments of responsibility.
He’s an adult.
Solid.
Collected.
And the rest of the time —
he’s Nate.
Real.
And that lifted all the tension.
He’s no longer defending himself.
No longer clenching.
No longer afraid of losing face.
Home is home.
And oh, this Nate…
Such an idiot.
Such a boy.
A real rascal.
The things they were getting up to —
and I was glowing.
Because I was happy to see him like this.
Crazy.
A schemer.
A little trickster.
Alive.
And in this chaos,
in the glitter on the floor,
in laughter until tears,
in men who have finally allowed themselves to be who they are—
And suddenly I felt it —
everything was exactly where it belonged.
And it was damn beautiful.
The concert.
Everyone converged.
Not just the parents — relatives too, uncles and aunts, basically everyone.
Stars.
Politicians.
Every possible big shot — the kind who usually don’t show up
but descend majestically.
Time for the stage.
We greet the guests personally,
wearing angelic smiles,
as if there’s no security, no protocols in the world.
Security frisks everyone.
No exceptions.
Dogs patrol nonstop.
Radios murmur.
Eyes sweep the room.
God…
J Balvin & Skrillex — “In Da Getto”.
The stage.
The kids come out.
Light.
Music.
A silence so deep you can hear adults forgetting how to breathe.
Nate and I are in the front row.
The performance is short,
but sharp and bright.
The girls perform perfectly.
Roman messes up —
not critically, just humanly.
My heart clenches
and immediately lets go.
And then — poetry time.
Only five.
Five damn poems.
I drink straight from the flask, holding my breath.
The teachers are on edge,
like we’re about to launch a shuttle.
Because the big shots are watching like hawks.
Everyone wants to see their money worked off.
Three out of five make it.
And suddenly —
one of them forgets the words.
Poor thing.
Shrinks in on himself.
Curls up.
Huge eyes.
I jump up and run to him.
“Sweetheart, I’m here.
Don’t worry.”
It’s Killian.
And his father is strict.
The kind who looks like he might eat him alive after the show.
“Easy… easy…”
The kids freeze.
The hall freezes.
“Guys, come on now!”
—I say.
We gather the whole kindergarten into a circle,
literally shielding Killian
from the crowd,
from the stares,
from expectations.
He starts to thaw.
I hold him, rocking gently,
whispering:
“You’re the best.
The very.
Best.”
And then I add:
“Do you know who those people are out there?
Big deal — important asses.
Big shots.
Do you think they even know how to stick carrots up their noses?”
Killian laughs.
“They’re not bosses at all!
They still wear diapers!
So grown-up — and they pee in Pampers!”
He’s laughing now.
“Noooo!
My dad doesn’t wear diapers!”
I gasp theatrically:
“Nonsense!
He just hides it!”
I’m completely in it —
I see nothing, hear nothing.
Children are sacred.
Nothing is allowed to darken their world.
My focus narrows to one child.
And the microphone is live.
The hall explodes with laughter.
I look at Nate.
He shrugs like, yep, we all heard that,
and laughs his ass off.
Oh hell.
I blush.
Well… you do what you must for children.
Killian finally comes back to himself.
Completely.
I sit down right in front of him
so he sees only my eyes
and start making faces.
“Eeeee!”
“Blaaaah!”
“Ooooo!”
“Eeeee!”
He laughs.
“Nazokat, stop it!”
“Bleeeeh!”
“Eeeee!”
“Kkkkk!”
He bursts out laughing.
I pick him up, kiss him:
“Sweetheart, you’re the best in the world.”
He looks at me with eyes full of love.
I smile:
“But I don’t think Nate would allow that…
I can’t marry you.
Sorry.”
“But he’s old!”
—the big shots burst out laughing, really laughing.
“Fair enough,”
—I say.
He laughs again.
And Nate does too.
So the concert was saved.
I go back to my seat.
Nate is already eyeing me.
I know that look.
He always has one thing on his mind.
“Sweetheart, don’t take the costume off after the concert.”
I blush.
“You’re insane!”
He throws his head back,
already savoring the time alone.
…
Finally, the concert is over.
Everyone sobers up a little from the nerves —
even those who were sure it was impossible.
Adrenaline slowly drains away,
like water after a downpour.
The ringing in my ears softens.
Shoulders drop.
The big shots start heading out.
Once again we put on our faces,
as if God Himself had just come down from heaven,
shaking hands, waving politely.
“Oh, thank you, thank you so much.”
“Yes, your daughter performed beautifully.”
“No, no, really — we’ve never seen such talent.”
“Of course, of course, we’ll decorate your daughter’s crib with diamonds.”
They leave
with the same expressions they arrived with —
only now a little more human.
Security still holds formation,
but the movements soften.
The dogs stop patrolling nonstop
and simply lie there, paws stretched out, watching.
One car.
Another.
A third.
I hug and kiss each child.
My heart aches,
knowing they’ll spend the holidays without us.
Nate hugs me too —
he’s sad these little rascals are leaving.
And finally —
The lights by the entrance go out in sections.
The radios fall silent.
The estate slowly begins to empty.
Not abruptly — very gradually.
Like a massive, ancient beast exhaling.
Major Lazer — “Light It Up (feat. Nyla)”.
Only our own remain.
Now it’s just our people.
The ones who can take their shoes off.
The ones who don’t have to keep a face on.
The ones who know where the kettle and the whiskey are,
who don’t ask for permission.
Something warm lingers in the air.
A trace of laughter.
A trace of children’s voices.
A trace of a concert saved.
I’m standing in the middle of the chaos.
Josh is literally leaning on me,
and Cody is leaning on him.
“Guys, let’s get the list,”
— Sophie tries to pull reality into a single line,
handing out battle orders.
Sharp.
No sentimentality.
As if this isn’t a family dinner,
but an evacuation.
Nate holds my hand.
Firmly.
Calmly.
I’m glowing.
“Hi, kitten.”
“Hi, my love.”
Ahead of us — relatives, seating, the table.
Everything has to be perfect.
Sophie is saying something,
but her voice fades in my ears,
drowned out by one thought.
A very bad one.
A very nasty one.
“Nate…”
“Mm?”
—and just like that, he’s already holding my ass.
I giggle.
Then blush.
“Kitten,”
—he leans closer,
—“what are you plotting?
Say it.”
“I…
I don’t know…
you won’t judge me?”
“I wouldn’t dare, miss,”
—he salutes me
and barely manages to stay on his feet.
I laugh.
“What an idiot you are…”
He smiles.
Warm.
Honest.
“I love you, miss.”
I get shy.
“So what is it, kitten?”
I’m terribly nervous.
“Nate…
I…
I think…
um…
well…
what if we made a run for it?”
“What?!”
—his eyes go wide.
“Nate, I—”
“Hush, sweetheart,”
—he leans closer,
—“people are watching.”
I laugh.
“Sweetheart…
how about I pretend I’m not feeling well,
and you go with me for support.”
I nod.
Very seriously.
“Excuse us, General,”
—Nate raises his hand.
Sophie gives a stern look
to the one who dared step out of formation.
I swallow.
“General,”
—Nate says evenly,
—“Nazokat isn’t feeling well.
We’re going to step away.
Don’t wait up for us.”
Sophie looks at me.
For a long moment.
Squinting.
I pretend I can barely stay on my feet —
though, honestly, I didn’t have to act much.
Josh and Cody burst out laughing.
“Oh, we know that kind of ‘not well.’”
I suppress a laugh.
“No, really, I need to step away.”
Sophie looks for a second.
Nods.
We leave.
I turn around —
everyone else is gesturing wildly:
kill me.
take me with you.
I want to escape too.
I laugh.
“Nate, sweetheart,
are you okay?”
He walks…
and sways.
I burst out laughing.
“Why did you get so drunk?”
“Miss, I’m sober as a judge,”
—he says, and hiccups.
“You’re shameless…”
“So,”
—he reaches for me,
—“what are we getting up to?”
“You have no shame,”
—I step back,
—“other than that.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“The Grinch?”
I light up.
“Then it’s settled, miss.”
“Just let me run to the bathroom.”
Silk.
A mini skirt.
A top.
My skin finally exhales.
How good it is that there’s a fireplace in the bedroom.
Fire makes the space soft,
as if the world has taken its shoes off.
“Nate…”
But he was already asleep.
Shameless — already asleep.
I look at him and think.
Nate is strong.
When things are hard, he goes to the guys.
If something truly critical needs to be decided with me —
he talks to me.
But that’s rare.
We never dissected his childhood.
Never dug through his difficulties.
And that spared me a role I never asked for.
I didn’t want to be his support.
Or his shoulder to cry on.
Or the place where one can “fall apart.”
I believed he handled things because he’s strong.
He doesn’t need pity.
And he doesn’t need to lie on my shoulder to survive.
I sit beside him
and run my hand through his hair.
Slowly.
Gently.
Nate is special.
It suddenly makes me smile:
ever since he got me hooked on those ridiculously funny YouTube videos,
I’ve noticeably relaxed.
Sometimes videos about couples pop up in my feed —
how they hold hands,
how he falls asleep on her shoulder,
or right on her chest.
And every time it seems strange to me.
My brain instantly switches into analysis mode:
body language is unambiguous.
He’s looking for support.
He’s looking for protection.
He’s tired.
He’s not coping.
How strange.
So he’s weak —
and she carries him?
“Maybe it’s just a moment like that,”
—Hades reasons beside me, as always.
“I don’t know…
I don’t remember Nate ever doing that.”
He can lean on me —
but that’s not a request for help.
That’s trust.
Pure and simple.
He knows we’re safe,
and that he can simply relax.
“You sound preachy.”
I don’t remember him ever looking to me for protection or support,
—I continue without missing a beat.
“Hm…”
—Hades doesn’t give up.
“I think it can be hard for men sometimes, that’s understandable.
But leaning on your woman…”
“What about talking?”
“Maybe he just wants to vent?”
—Hades presses.
I shake my head.
“I don’t know.
But complaining to your woman,
telling her how hard everything is…
that doesn’t sit right.”
“But he’s not a robot.”
“He has friends.
I don’t think it’s right to unload everything onto your wife.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
A pause.
“And if Nate did that?”
—Hades looks at me closely.
“I don’t think he would.
He’s strong.
He lives up to the role of a man.
He can be tired sometimes,
but he doesn’t complain.”
Hades snorts.
“Yeah, yeah…
He’s perfect, apparently.”
I smirk.
“And what’s the problem?
Men are often responsible for their own problems.
If there are issues at work,
it means they built it that way.
Who else is to blame?”
Hades waves it off.
I smile even wider.
“Yes. Exactly.
Men like you.”
He turns around.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!
Men like you don’t like hearing the truth.
Because you can’t stand it
when someone says out loud
what you already knew,
but were afraid to admit:
that you’re weak
and can’t carry the masculine role with dignity.”
“That’s a lie.
You wouldn’t understand.
You’re a girl.”
I snort.
“Ha.
How low — hiding behind that.
One should be able to take responsibility.”
Hades demonstratively covers his ears.
“What an idiot.
You’re weak and stupid.”
“And Nate is perfect, of course!”
—he sticks his tongue out at me.
I smile more softly.
“I’m not talking about perfection.
I just like that he knows he’s a man.
And that he handles that role.”
“Alright,”
—Hades softens.
“If he needed support,
you wouldn’t help him?”
I look at Nate, sleeping.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
I slowly run my fingers through his hair.
“I’m just saying
that he’s strong.
And I’m proud of him.”
I don’t have to solve his problems —
financial,
emotional,
or any others.
He’s strong enough
to deal with them himself.
And then —
to pull out everyone who’s fallen.
“Hah.
And what about your favorite little puppies —
Jonathan and Josh?”
“Don’t talk about them like that!”
“Alright, alright.
But what about them?”
I think for a moment.
“That’s different.
My man is Nate.
I chose him as my anchor.”
And we both laugh.
Because “chose”
is an exaggeration, of course.
With men like Nate,
you don’t really choose.
He makes the call.
You’re left only to delay the inevitable.
“Yeah…”
—Hades exhales.
“He really is very good.”
“So what about those videos?”
“Oh, just…
guys falling asleep on their women’s shoulders or chests,
and the women melting —
like, how cute.”
“What idiots.”
“Don’t say that!”
“But it’s true.”
“Don’t say that, it’s rude!”
“Alright, alright.
God, you’ve gotten so boring.”
I stick my tongue out at him.
Nate is sleeping peacefully.
One hand behind his head.
The other hanging off the bed.
Legs relaxed.
So drunk.
I suddenly burst out laughing.
I kiss him on the cheek
and lie down beside him.
The Grinch is on the screen.
I’m with my love.
With the best man in the world.
The kids are downstairs.
The house is breathing.
All of mine are happy.
And at that exact moment, as if on cue,
Josh and Jonathan stumble in.
Ties hanging loose.
Tongues tangled.
Two bodies glued together by alcohol and brotherhood.
“Ohhh, here come your superheroes…”
—Hades drawls lazily.
“Don’t be sarcastic.
They are my superheroes.”
“Guys, hi… what are you—”
They don’t even answer.
They just walk into the bedroom,
leaning on each other like after a brutal fight.
Very drunk.
Very real.
“Um…”
—I can’t help laughing.
“Come in…”
And now Jonathan, Josh, and Nate
are piled up together on the bed.
Like soldiers after a forced march.
Someone on someone’s shoulder.
Someone with an arm hanging limp.
I change clothes.
Quietly.
So as not to wake this strange, tender arrangement.
“Boys?..”
Silence.
They’re all out.
“They love you,”
—Mushu says softly, without jokes.
Tears well up.
My beloved boys.
Big.
Strong.
Funny.
Drunk.
Real.
I sit beside them, look at them,
and feel something very warm spreading in my chest.
Not power.
Not control.
Not responsibility.
Home.
And the tears come without permission,
growing stronger.
Drop by drop.
My beloved boys.
And as if that weren’t enough —
the next wave comes crashing in:
Roman, Philip, Matty.
“Come on in, guys…”
Sophie ushers the others in.
One second —
and the kids are out,
like someone switched them off.
Rosie — on her dad.
Carmen falls asleep, tucked into Jonathan.
Josh holds Matty’s and Philip’s hands,
as if that’s exactly how it should be.
Roman, true to himself,
passes out on the floor.
I look at it all and almost pray:
“Sophie… please… I’m begging you… don’t be upset.
We really didn’t want all those ‘proper’ New Years.
Sitting at a table with relatives,
like at a board meeting…”
She nods.
Calm.
Real.
“It’s all okay. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you, darling… you’re an angel.”
I quietly close the door.
There they are.
All of mine.
The people I love most.
They came to me.
For me.
Because of me.
I go to the bathroom.
The mirror in front of me.
In it — a happy woman in pajamas.
A woman who breaks all the rules.
A woman who is home.
A woman who is family.
The happiest woman in the world.
