When Daniel wakes up on Christmas morning, he rolls over in his bed, picks up his phone, and scrolls to his messages with Noah, like he has every morning for the past two weeks.
It's still just a wall of sent texts with no reply.
It's embarrassing, every morning getting his hopes up that Noah had some kind of moment of understanding and texted him in the middle of the night to say, Hey dude I'm sorry. Or Hey man I miss you. Noah made it pretty clear he doesn't want to talk about things, but Daniel thinks—no, he knows—that if they could discuss what happened, everything would be sorted out. It doesn't have to be a big deal. More than anything, it just sucks not being able to hang out with his best friend.
So, though he knows he shouldn't, Daniel sends: Merry Christmas buddy hope it's good.
Noah doesn't reply. Maybe he's still asleep. But Noah has little sisters, and it's Christmas, so he probably isn't. Noah's probably just . . . ignoring him.
Daniel isn't sure how long he stares at his phone, hoping it vibrates with a response before there's a knock on the door. Sean pushes it open, wearing the dorky Wolf Squad hoodie he always wore in high school and a pair of flannel pajama pants. "It's Christmas morning, enano."
Daniel cringes at that name. Enano. When he was little, he thought it meant something nice, like hermanito. Now it just sounds like his older brother being condescending. But it is Christmas. The least he can do is try to get through the day with Sean, for Dad's sake.
So he rolls out of bed, into a pair of How the Grinch Stole Christmas pajama bottoms and some intentionally dorky Rudolph slippers. When he steps out of his room, he is hit by the smell of sizzling bacon. No one ever cooks breakfast in the house. Usually, Daniel gulps down a Pop-Tart while Dad yells that he'll be late for school. And there isn't just bacon. There are eggs and pancakes, too. And it's all pretty good. "Yeah, because Dad had me helping him," Sean jokes.
"All you did was open the plastic around the bacon, Sean," Dad says.
"I like to think I was the producer," Sean says. "I 'produced' this breakfast and made it happen."
Usually, morning is Daniel's least favorite time of day, but breakfast at the table is pretty chill. However, he can't shut down his anxiousness about hearing back from Noah. When Dad carries some plates back to the sink, Sean nudges Daniel with an elbow. "You keep staring at the text messages on your phone. Who are you waiting to hear from?"
"Hmm? Oh, no one," Daniel says, shoving his phone into his pocket.
"You got a girlfriend?" Sean says, wagging his eyebrows in this deeply annoying way.
"No, no girlfriend."
"How about a boyfriend?"
"Dude, don't be a dick."
"I wasn't—"
"It's Christmas, Sean," Daniel says. "Can we just get through this? Please?"
Before Sean can say anything else, Dad calls them over to the couch. Daniel sits next to his brother. They smile, put on the masks of brothers who actually get along, so Dad can have a nice photo. Sean even sets his hand on top of Daniel's head, and Daniel waits until Dad isn't looking before he pulls away.
There was that question Sean asked the other night, about if there was anything going on, if there was stuff Daniel didn't feel like he could share with Dad. And Daniel said he didn't want to talk about it, but really, he does. He wants nothing more than to talk about it, especially since Noah won't talk about it. There have been a couple of times over the past week when Sean has texted him out of nowhere that Daniel has almost opened up like a dam. Because it would be good to talk to his older brother about these things.
It's just . . . he doesn't have an older brother that he does talk to about these things.
After breakfast is cleared, they start opening presents. From Dad, Daniel receives a copy of Festival de Lucha Libre, a wrestling game for PlayBox that he has wanted for a while. From Sean, he gets an Amazon gift card. "It's the best gift—true freedom," Sean says. "You can get whatever you want without Dad's permission. Or having to rely on your self-centered, irresponsible brother."
"Thanks," Daniel says to be polite. The gift card is pretty lame like Sean's attempt at humor, but he got Sean the same thing, so it's okay.
But Daniel feels embarrassed when it's time for Dad's gifts. Daniel had wanted to get his father this sweet garage stereo that played Spotify and all of Dad's old CDs, but trusting Sean to actually follow through on something was a mistake. So, instead, Dad gets a bottle of cologne, which he pretends to like.
At least it's better than Sean's gift.
Sean's gift to Dad is some book of photography called The Stars Over Seattle. It looks like a totally overpriced, waste of money you pick up last minute from a gift shop.
Dad sets it on his lap, stares at it for a long time. At first, Daniel almost snickers. Dad is probably struggling to pretend he likes it. But then Daniel's father flips through the pages and looks like he is getting kind of emotional. "You don't know this," Dad says, "but your mom used to go out to the porch to smoke cigarettes. And I would go out there after her and tease her about stopping because I didn't want the heartache of her dying before me. And we would end up staring up at the stars in the night sky, not saying anything, but just being together. And those moments are some of my favorite memories of her. Even after everything, they are still good memories. Thank you, Sean."
"No problem, Pop," Sean says, smiling. "I'm just glad you like it."
And, like, what the fuck, right? Daniel is used to their dad making excuses for Sean, not seeing his "perfect" first son's many faults, but Sean's whole act lately, the hard 180 turn to being the considerate son who calls every day—it reeks of manipulation. It's like Sean is going to drop some bombshell that he got the daughter of a gang leader pregnant and has to flee the country.
But . . . Sean is also observant. And insightful. It's part of why his art is so good. Daniel's older brother can just, like, absorb details and understand them. He can do it with people, too, when he tries. It's entirely possible he was just really good at picking out something meaningful for their father.
That's the thing with Sean. He can be a good dude. He just isn't most of the time. That's why it sucks to have him as a brother. You can never count on Good Sean showing up. And if you get your hopes up that Good Sean will be there, you always get Shitty Lets-You-Down Sean instead. And Daniel is tired of getting his hopes up only to be disappointed that the version of his brother he got isn't the version he expected.
It looks like the gift giving is wrapping up, but then Sean pulls out three manila envelopes. He hands one to their father, one to Daniel, and one he holds on to for himself. "This is maybe dumb," Sean says. "But . . . well, I'll explain after you open them."
So they do. When Daniel tears his open, he finds a drawing inside. It's in a more realistic version of his brother's style, a sketch of three wolves. There's a large one, a medium one, and a smaller one. On Daniel's sketch, the small wolf is in the center. For Dad's, it's the large one.
The medium wolf is centered in Sean's. "So, I was thinking of getting this as a tattoo," Sean says, pointing to a spot on his chest, over his heart. "Maybe with the word familia underneath. And since we are kind of a pack, I thought maybe . . ."
Dad rubs his chin. "It has been a while since your father has had fresh ink."
"I was thinking it could be like the Diaz family crest," Sean says.
It takes a bit for it to sink in. "Wait," Daniel says. "Are we talking about getting matching tattoos? Even me?" He sits up. "Dad, are you going to let me get a tattoo?" Last year, he got into a huge argument with his father because he wanted to get a music note with a song lyric on his wrist, and Dad was like, Absolutely not! You are fourteen-years old and no son of mine will have a tattoo until he can get one on his own.
"I will have to think about it, mijo," Dad says. "But a tattoo for your family is different. It might be okay."
That would be so cool. In the locker room during gym or this summer at the pool, people will see this sick tattoo and think Daniel is just the fucking coolest dude. That would be so awesome.
"So," Sean says, grinning "do you want to get it, enano?"
Ugh. There's that name again. Enano. Dwarf.
That's all Daniel has been to his brother. Just some annoying little dwarf.
Daniel studies the drawing. It would be a sick tattoo. And he loves his dad, and it would be awesome to have something to honor that. And, deep down, he cares about his brother. They used to be close. At least, Daniel thinks they were. But the past few years of their relationship have been so rocky. Getting a tattoo to honor Sean—it feels fake. Like he's doing it just to keep the peace. Like it's unearned.
"I don't know," Daniel sighs. "Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I shouldn't have one until I'm older."
# # #
Soundtrack: "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"
cover by Bright Eyes
After presents, it's time for Dad's annual Lord of the Rings Christmas marathon. Even when Sean was a teenager, he was only pretending to be "too cool" for it. It's low-key one of his favorite parts of Christmas, but it is a grueling, twelve-hour slog. So this year, Sean tries to pace himself, like he's running an actual marathon. Because he never thought he would get to do this tradition again, he wants to enjoy every moment of orcs and talking trees and confusingly sexy elves with his dad and brother.
During The Fellowship of the Ring, Sean lies on his back on their couch. It's a sectional, so Daniel lies face down, perpendicular to him. When they were younger, there was plenty of extra room. Now, Daniel is big, so their feet touch if Sean stretches out. Each time someone puts on the One Ring and turns invisible, Sean stretches out just enough to kick Daniel's toes. Then his ankles. Each time Daniel pulls away, Sean stifles a snicker. Even after everything, picking on Daniel is still amusing.
But late in the film, it's escalated to where Sean has moved down the couch far enough that he rests his feet on the back of Daniel's calves, and Daniel finally sits up, punches him in the thigh three times quick, and snaps, "Dude, fucking quit!"
"Ah, there it is," Dad says from the chair. "The familiar sound of my two sons getting along. What music it is to have my familia under one roof again. But seriously, boys, it's Christmas. Can you, for your poor papí, try to get along?"
"Sorry," Sean mutters.
"He started it," Daniel says.
# # #
During The Two Towers, Sean swaps places with his dad. And he sits with his sketchbook—a newer one, not the sketchbook with the bad memories—and idly draws. He sketches his living room, his dad and his brother sitting on the couch together. He doodles a picture of Lyla. He scribbles random thoughts.
Time Travel = Bullshit
Seattle Prison x1000
Why am I such a dick here?
Why does Daniel hate me?
What did I do wrong?
But he also draws a picture of his family, as he wants them to be. It's a picture of him standing between his dad and brother. Dad's hand is on Sean's shoulder, and Daniel is flexing goofily. They all have the wolf tattoo on their chests.
Daniel's reaction to the tattoo stings, the whole "Maybe when I'm older" thing. Sean knows Daniel wants a tattoo. Or, he thinks Daniel does. When they were little, Sean would use sharpies to draw on himself and his little brother until they looked like little badasses with sick temporary tattoos. Dad would get pretty mad about it because the ink sometimes bled onto their sheets or clothes. And when Sean was fifteen, he asked his father if he could get a lyric from a song on his bicep, and they had a pretty big fight. Sean just really thought Daniel would appreciate the gift, maybe give him some points for trying.
Sean watches his father and little brother watching the movie. Daniel has shifted, so he's kind of sitting under Dad's arm, like a little kid even though he's a mopey teenager. And Sean looks down at his drawing, looks at the smile on Sketched Sean's face. He looks happy.
And Sean thinks, Am I happy?
Life is better here. It is so, so much better here. But he doesn't feel happy. It's like there's a wall between him and his happiness. He misses things. Lyla. Daniel. Especially Daniel.
He didn't realize you could miss things in a life that was total shit.
# # #
When Return of the King starts, Daniel accepts that Noah probably isn't going to text him today, and he should probably stop letting it ruin his Christmas. Dad pops a frozen pizza into the oven, and he heats up some apple cider with cinnamon sticks in it on the stove. As Dad's pouring the cider into mugs, he says, "So I was going to harden mine with a bit of rum. Sean, are you interested?"
"Oh man, are we officially becoming drinking buddies?" Sean says, and Dad directs him to get the liquor out of the cabinet.
"Can I have some?" Daniel asks.
"If you want something stronger than cider, there is some milk left in the fridge," Dad says. "I'm sure you still have some bones that need to grow strong."
"You know, it's not fair that you and Sean get to be drinking buddies. Christmas is supposed to be a time for the whole family," Daniel says. And he sticks his lip out as far as it will go, doing his best to exaggerate a pout. "What about your poor, neglected younger son? What will he do now that he has been cast aside by his father and brother? And on Christmas?"
"Drinking with your padre is something you have to earn. Sean had to wait a long time for the privilege of drinking alcohol," Dad says. "Well, except for all those times he did it in high school that he thought I didn't know about."
"Come on," Sean says, pouring rum into his and Dad's glasses. "I never drank in high school. I was a good kid."
Daniel looks at his father; his father looks at him. And they both glare at Sean, like, c'mon dude, really?
"Okay, that was total bullshit," Sean says. "Jeeze, I hate when you both team up on me."
Daniel chuckles, and he surprises himself; he hits Sean in the arm. Not mean, but playful. But Sean gives him a strange look, like he just handed him a hundred dollars or something.
They go back to watching the movie, the three of them on the couch, with Dad in the middle. They eat their pizza, Dad and Sean go through a few rounds of hard cider, and Daniel does a good job of ignoring the siren-call of his message-less cell phone. But as Sam and Frodo approach Mount Doom on the final leg of their journey, Daniel hears his brother sniffle. Then whimper. Daniel leans around his father, and Sean's eyes are definitely pink. "Dude, Sean, are you crying?"
"No, it's just—" Sean takes a breath, and his body visibly shakes. It's most noticeable in his hands. "It's just Sam and Frodo traveled so far together, you know? And Sam was with Frodo the whole way, and it was just the two of them. Their friends and everyone, they were so far away, and their journey was so hard . . . and I never realized how hard it was for them to be so far away from their home and all they had was each other and that's so goddamn sad and I know Frodo just, like, gives up at the end, like, how can he just quit after all the shit they went through and . . . and . . . " And he trails off babbling like that until he starts sniffling again.
Daniel looks at his father; his father looks at him. Then Dad takes the cider mug out of Sean's hands. "Okay, mijo, that's enough drinking for ol' Sean this Christmas. I'm cutting you off and getting you a glass a water."
When Dad gets up to carry their glasses to the sink, Daniel studies his older brother. Sean's lip quivers. He rubs at his eyes. And he looks like he's trying to keep it together, but Daniel has no idea what's shaking his brother apart. They've seen the movie so much that they know it by heart. Sean has never gotten emotional during it. And, though Daniel doesn't know much about alcohol, he's pretty sure Sean hasn't had that much rum.
But still, there's a look about Sean that says he's hiding something. And whatever that something is, it is what's making Sean so goddamn sad, not Sam and Frodo's journey.
Daniel slides closer to his brother, and he lifts up his hand, starts to set it on Sean's shoulder. But then he stops.
He isn't sure what to say to his brother. Or how to comfort him. So he just sets his hand back down, the Diaz brothers sitting beside each other on the couch, in their pajamas, watching the movie like nothing is wrong.
# # #
By the time the ring gets chucked into the volcano and everyone goes home to the Shire and the movie staggers through its other twenty endings, even Daniel groans when Dad says, "So, are you ready to start The Hobbit?"
"I'm game," Sean says. And he is, but he's also trying to sound extra chipper to hide his emotional breakdown from earlier.
"Well, I am afraid I am out," Dad says. He stands up, and he makes Sean stand too in order to hug him.
"Merry Christmas, mijo," Dad says. "Thank you again for coming home."
"Merry Christmas, papá," Sean says. "And I'm just glad I have some place to come home to." And he hugs his dad a little tighter. Because it's good to be with his family, home in their Shire, safe from the orcs and Sauron.
Dad just messes Daniel's hair to tell him Merry Christmas and good night. But then Dad leans over the couch and whispers something into Daniel's ear, too quiet for Sean to hear, but obviously about him since Daniel is looking his way.
After Dad goes to bed, Sean sits back down on the couch. Sean is trying to think about what to say to his brother, is seriously suggesting they try to get through one of the Hobbit movies because at least that's something, when Daniel says, "So I have kind of been dying to play Festival de Lucha Libre all day. You can play with me, if you want."
It takes a moment for the game to fire up, and Sean wonders when the last time he held a PlayBox controller was. A new generation of systems has come out since he's been in jail, and the new shape of the controller feels awkward in his hands. Sean doesn't recognize most of the luchadores in the game, so he chooses a sick looking wrestling skeleton named Pentagón Jr. Daniel chooses a masked dude in tattoos named Rey Fenix. Daniel's character bounces around the ring like a pinball, easily beating Sean three times in a row. After that, Sean does better, but he picks up that Daniel is going easy on him.
At first, they don't really talk. Just, "Good match" or "Nice move." It's weird to be playing games together in silence. As kids, they would trash talk until it escalated into full-blown arguments. Sometimes physical violence.
But somewhere around his sixth win, Daniel says, "I like that we still watch Lord of the Rings on Christmas."
"I do too," Sean says.
"Do you remember when I was little, and I would climb on your shoulders and pretend you were an Ent?"
"Yeah, you'd get so mad because I'd pretend not to know what they are, even though I've seen the movies a million times," Sean laughs. "You want to see if I can still carry you like an Ent, Pippin?"
"That's okay," Daniel says. "I don't really want to get dropped on my head. Again."
"Dude, that was, like, ten years ago, and I'm still really sorry about it."
And for a while, it's like they're back to normal. They even trash talk each other over their next match. Everything is pretty good between them, until Sean asks, "What's your hesitation on the tat, man?"
"Just don't think it's the right time," Daniel says.
"I always thought you wanted a tattoo. It's pretty cool that Dad would even consider it, right?"
"Sean, don't do this," Daniel says, mashing buttons on the controller. His luchador spins around Sean's then drives him to the ground. "You never talk about difficult shit, so please don't start now. It's Christmas."
"I just thought it would be cool to have something that I share with my dad and little brother."
"Look, man, we're just . . . not the kind of brothers that get matching tattoos, you know?"
Sean lands a couple of strikes in the game. But then Daniel reverses his finishing move. "Do you ever wish that we were the type of brothers that get matching tattoos?"
Daniel sighs. "Yeah. I do. But we're not . . . close enough." Suddenly, his luchador jumps off the ropes and pins Sean's.
"So . . . why aren't we closer?"
"Because we're not." The ref counts three, and Sean has lost another match.
Sean sets the PlayBox controller on the table in front of him.
"Dude, I didn't say that to hurt your feelings," Daniel says. "Can we please just keep playing the game? Please?"
"You didn't hurt my feelings, it's just . . . " Sean squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself to ask his next question. It's a question that has been pounding a nail into his brain for the past week. He takes a deep breath. "Do you hate me because of what happened on Halloween?"
Daniel raises an eyebrow. "What happened on Halloween?"
Sean sighs. "You were about nine. It was actually three days before Halloween. You were outside playing with some fake blood you had made, and I had been a dick to you because you wanted to show it to me and I was trying to get ready for a party. And I saw you playing outside, about to spill it all over that fucking asshole Brett. And I tackled you in the front yard and dragged you back into the house. I think I hurt you. No, I know I hurt you. You started crying. You said you had a bad brother."
Daniel stares at his hands for a moment. Sean didn't want to ask the question because he knows the answer is yes. Deep down, he knows this must be the cost Max was talking about. He screwed up the past and made his brother hate him. And now Daniel is thinking about this painful memory. Sean hurt Daniel, and now he's hurting him again by making him relive the thing that forever changed their relationship.
Maybe Daniel really does have a bad brother.
But then Daniel looks up, and he doesn't look sad or distraught. Just bewildered. "Sean, I don't remember that. I literally have no idea what you're talking about."
"But that has to be it!" Sean says. "It's the only thing that's different. I tackled you. You hate me. Our relationship has been bad ever since. That has to be the reason you don't text me back or want anything to do with me or just think I'm this colossal shithead who sucks to be related to."
"The only thing that's different?" Daniel mutters. He shakes his head. "Dude, why would I be carrying a grudge over something that happened when I was a little kid? That's stupid. And I know I got pissed the other night and that I get annoyed with you, but I don't hate you. We're just . . . not close. I don't know how else to say it. I sort of appreciate you texting and checking in, but a few half-assed gestures around Christmas doesn't erase fifteen years, you know?"
"I got Dad on board with letting you get a tattoo. I feel like that was a whole-ass gesture, man."
"Sure. I guess that was pretty cool."
Sean sighs. "I'm not trying to half-ass things. I really do miss you, Daniel. More than you can understand. Te quiero, enano."
And Daniel winces.
For Sean, it almost feels like being cut, like having a shard of glass shoved through his eye. Enano has always been his term of affection for his brother.
But Daniel hears that word, and he cringes.
"You know I'm only in first-year Spanish, bro," Daniel says.
"Don't be a fucking dick right now, please," Sean pleads. "You know what fucking 'te quiero' means."
"Jesus, calm down," Daniel says. "I love you too, okay? You're my brother. My familia or whatever. Let's just . . . keep playing the game, okay? It's been a good day. Let's not end it shitty."
"Fine. Whatever," Sean says, but as they keep playing, there is no more trash talk.
And Daniel definitely stops going easy on him.
through the years
we all will be together
if the fates allow
. . .
from now on, all troubles will be miles away
so have yourself a merry little christmas day