Shayna is already waving at us from the doorway as Caleb and I approach the house with our arms linked.

All the parking spots on the curb were taken up and we had to leave the car two streets back which makes us a little more than fashionably late. It didn't take me more than a few months of living with Shayna and Desmond to understand that when they say seven they mean eight, and when they say five they also mean eight.

Caleb releases my arm to stay a few metres back while I step inside to hug Shayna. She rocks side to side in the embrace.

Her arms feel the same around me now when she has to stretch to reach me as they did in the entrance of the police station. A decade later, Shayna still smells the same: chilli that tickles the nose and earthy patchouli, tied together with a sweet thread of sativa.

It's nearly a minute later when we pull apart. I hand her the ice cream container of buñuelos, still pleasantly warm from the oven.

She laughs at it. 'Nicolás, we're the ones feeding you.'

It's a futile argument which Shayna knows too. She steps past me with a jangle of wooden beads knitted into her shawl and a wave of the locs that reach past her thigh, arms spread to welcome a new hug.

'Caleb, I've missed you. You really should let us adopt you so you'd be obligated to visit more.'

'Hey! I've already got two mums,' he snaps only to grin. 'Who says I can't have three.'

Shayna and Desmond's parties probably break fire hazard regulations with the number of people that pack into their house. Invitations are sent to everyone they've ever fostered and since they've been doing this for over thirty years, many of those old foster kids come with partners or children of their own.

But as Desmond says, "laughter begets elbowroom". And laughter there is!

People who don't fit around the table are more than happy to take seats on the stairs or lean against the bookshelf. I sit on the armrest of the recliner Caleb is prioritised for on account of being disabled. With so many people, I barely get the chance to talk to Shayna and Desmond but being in this house is enough to revitalise me. I absorb love from the walls themselves.

Though I used to cook with Papá, Shayna was the one who taught me to feel at home in a kitchen. Shayna and Desmond are Rasta so being vegetarian were never an issue here. They showed me how easy it really is, they taught me to love the ingredients Earth gives us.

Desmond loced my hair when I was twelve, showed me how to take care of it so it would grow nourished. He taught me how to nourish plants too. Anything grows with love, he would always conclude.

Shayna and Desmond never felt to me like parents. They never tried to be parents—since they exclusively foster kids above eleven, they're aware most of us remember our biological parents, not to mention that Shayna and Desmond have always worked hard toward reunification. But this house was always full of love.

            It's two am when the only people around are those of us who insist on helping with clean up. Caleb sits on the kitchen counter and dries the dishes I hand him as I wash them. There are others picking rubbish around the house and returning chairs to their correct places, music still playing somewhere, interrupted by laughter, but the kitchen is peaceful.

Desmond has locs even longer than Shayna's: even folded in half in his ponytail, they reach his lower back. His scraggly beard is equally impressive. It twitches each time he smiles. Which it does as he wraps aluminium foil over the leftover tray of roasted vegetables. 'So, Nicolás, when are you bringing a date to meet us?'

I plunge my rubber-gloved hands into the sink and get busy scrubbing.

'Oh.' Desmond's grin is audible. My face burns. 'So there is a date.'

'There's no date.'

Caleb nearly drops the glass he's drying in his urgency to get his phone out. 'There is so a date,' his AAC robot protests. 'Didn't you notice he's wearing his glasses?'

I reach for them, staining soap across one lens. 'Do it look stupid?'

'No, it looks handsome, everybody says that, baby girl. But you only started listening when she told you.' Caleb narrows his eyes before turning to Desmond. 'Unfortunately, they're doing casual.'

'Don't say that out loud.'

Caleb smirks as he types. 'I didn't say anything.'

'Well, that ain't none of my business,' Desmond chortles, playing Tetris in the fridge to fit everything in. 'As long as you're not giving this person false expectations.'

'Course not.' I scowl at the coffee stain that refuses to come out from the inside of a mug. But aren't I? I still haven't told Joe about my parents.

'Told ya there was a date.'

'I will throw your phone into this dishwater,' I hiss though it's an empty threat. This was Caleb's last Christmas with both his mums and they've always been a family of traditions. He cried on the way here. He'll probably cry on the way back. So I'll let him take the piss if it makes him smile a little.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I lift the next set of plates into the sink. 'It's not like that. She's just... It's not like that.'

Desmond's gaze is adhered to the back of my head. 'Do you want it to be "like that"?'

'Well, that's not the point. I can't force her to. That's what you've always said: don't be coercive or entitled, respect boundaries. She's been well clear about not wanting a relationship.'

'There's nothing coercive or entitled about expressing your feelings as long as you accept the potential rejection. What I've always said is communication, trust, and respect make a relationship. Love is nice, but that's not what determines success. The question is do you trust her enough to communicate your feelings? Some might even say she has the right to know.'

My hands halt in the lukewarm dishwater. She do have the right to know, don't she? We've already stumbled on the tightrope that looked so easy to cross when she first suggested it on her living room floor only a month ago. Confession: I just want to fall.

But that weren't the agreement. It's this or we go back to hoping it'll pass. And I'm not ready for this to end yet.

'She might even reciprocate. And then you can bring her to visit.'

Shayna hums her signature to the petition as she enters the kitchen with another tray of glasses found throughout the house. 'I think eight years of raising you has earned us at least one meal where we get to humiliate you in front of your partner.'

She gives me a side hug as she places the tray beside the sink where I'd just managed to clear the pile, interrupting herself with a "thank you".

'I have so many stories and they're just collecting dust. Like that time we took you to the poisonous botanical garden after you'd begged for years and you got threw up within minutes–'

'It happens at least twice a day,' I lamely echo the worker's words that she probably made up to comfort me.

'–or when you tried to learn how to play the clarinet and gave the most off-key performance of Ain't No Way I think humanity has ever suffered. Just be glad this happened before all the social media because if Aretha knew what you'd done...'

'Oh,' Caleb jumps in, physically bouncing with excitement and we wait for him to type, 'or when you had your vlogging phase. I'm pretty sure I've still got them in my blackmail folder.'

Hey Google: How to die at will?

            'Check the group chat,' Caleb says when we sit down in the car. Fatigue hits me like a flicked switch and I yawn several times in the process of digging out my phone.

Joe💛🌞: Omw back to Manchester

Eilidh❤️🍄: How come? I thought you'd be there till new ears

Eilidh❤️🍄: Haha :D Years*

Here Caleb sent a gif of Spock from Strange New Worlds turning around, pointed ears on display.

Joe💛🌞: I WAS!

Joe💛🌞: Then my mum decided to make it her first order of business to marry me off 😩😩😩😩 Apparently I've been single long enough and I have to "put myself out there"

Joe💛🌞: Which like sure I get the point bu

Joe💛🌞: but I thought Christmas was supposed to be a family holiday 😑🫠

Parker💚🐢: You should come over to mine! My aunties have husbands lined up already,,,

Parker💚🐢: They're actually nonsense, they are,,, Keep going all "but gays are allowed to get married now so when are you going to settle down" "how am I not married yet when I live in a country where it's legal",,, Listen pet, I'm in a poly relationship,,, Settling down is the opposite of what I'm tryna do here🤦🏾🥴🤪 Almost wish they'd take back that whole marriage thing so everyone could stfu about it

Caleb💙🐟: Who would win: gay rights vs annoying aunties? (ง'̀-'́)ง

Rishi💜🌷: Sucks for you lot. My family is perfect😊.

A selfie of his family gathered in the living room follows.

Rishi💜🌷: You should try not sucking. 

Caleb💙🐟: Shut up >:( 

Caleb💙🐟: Joe!! That sucks :(( I'm sorry. You can tell your mum that fifty per cent of marriages in the UK end in divorce so. What's the point anyway? ;)

Allan🧡🍂: Don't say that!😢💔🤧Joe, I'm sorry your Christmas didn't go the way you'd hoped, hopefully you still got to enjoy some time with your sisters😚🫂👯Do something nice for yourself when you get home 🛀🍰🍷

Caleb💙🐟: Yeah, that too^^^ obvi

Caleb💙🐟: ANY!!WAY!! :p why is no one focusing on the important thing here? New Ears Pub Crawl official? :D Everyone's down? ^0^

There are thirty-two more messages in the chat but this is what I assume Caleb wanted me to see. I look up, a frown hovering on my face. 'Dunno if I can. Cece's not doing all that well right now.'

I chew on the inside of my cheek. On one hand, they might go out with Diwa. And I know I'm not supposed to watch him like we're in fucking 1984, I know they hate it. "They'll never trust themself if I don't trust them first"—I know. But what if I go out to celebrate and summat happens?

Caleb wraps me into a hug. I melt into him. He peers over my shoulder to see his phone enough to type. 'Is it okay if I pray about it?'

'I'd really appreciate that.'

He pulls away with a kiss on my cheek and a squeeze of my hand.

Just as I go to tuck my phone away, a new message lights it up.

Joe💛🌞: When are you free? I believe I owe you a Build-A-Bear

My smile must give me away. Caleb watches me with an eerie grin. 'That's a date.'

Cheeks hot, I slot my phone into the cupholder and start the car so I can pretend like I dead need to focus on driving down this vacant road. 'It is not a date. She's not interested in me like that. She's in love with her ex. And she don't wanna be in a relationship.'

Caleb huffs such a scathing sigh that it might be a record even for him. His "cut the bollocks" stare prods into my temple though I refuse to meet it. 'Have you realised that Joe is also my mate? And sometimes, we hang out when you're not there? And that I'm cleverer and more intelligent than you?

'So maybe there are things that I know that you don't. She told ya she weren't ready for a relationship in August. It is now December, baby girl.' The robotic voice of his AAC app might lack his intonation but my brain has no difficulties filling it in. 'You should tell her how you feel.'

Notes

Buñuelos: Fried dough balls, traditionally made with yuca flour. They are often made with cheese and sugar, making them something between sweet and savoury. In Colombia, these are part of the traditional Christmas meal.

Just in case eleven feels like an odd age to draw the line at, eleven is the age that kids in England start in secondary education. Shayna and Desmond only foster kids in secondary school.

Reunification: The process of reuniting a child in care with their birth parent(s). Foster care is inherently traumatising and unless the child has ended up in care because of unresolvable issues like abuse, getting to return home is often in the child's best interests.