Archive of Our Own ^beta

Carrie doesn’t really realize something’s wrong until Julie nudges her foot under the table at lunch time and says, “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Carrie snaps automatically. “What’s wrong with you?”

Julie’s face screws up like she’s going to cry, but all she does is whine, “Carrieeeee… I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant you look sad.”

Carrie huffs, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m not sad,” she insists, but now that she thinks about it… “I’m just. I don’t know. I feel weird. Squirmy.”

She stabs at the mac and cheese Mami packed her, which is looking squishier and less yummy by the second.

Julie hums thoughtfully and takes a loud bite of an apple. “Do you need a hug?”

Carrie’s head snaps up. “What?”

Julie shrugs. “When I feel weird and squirmy, hugs from Mami and Papi and Daddy usually fix it. You should try.”

Carrie makes a face. She doesn’t really like hugs. She’s sure she must have at some point, but she’s almost seven now. She’s too old for hugs and snuggles. Julie only likes them still cause she’s such a baby.

And yet, when the whole rest of the school day goes by and Carrie doesn’t feel any less… squirmyweird, she finds herself hovering outside her papi’s office after dinner, while Daddy’s doing the dishes and Mami’s giving Carlos his bath.

“Papi?” she prompts after a few awkward moments of just sorta waiting to see if he’ll notice her.

He barely looks up, just hums and keeps turning pages in his photography portfolio.

Carrie huffs. Now, come on. She can’t just come out and say it. She needs him to take one look at her and immediately know what she needs without her having to say anything.

Finally, he does look up, eyes wide and a little spacey like they get when he’s worked too much. “Carrie?” he says, voice gravelly but soft. “¿Qué te pasa, nena? Did you need something?”

Carrie takes a deep breath—this is stupid, it probably won’t even work, and since when does she take advice from Julie, anyway, usually she’s the one telling Julie what to do—and crosses the room to throw herself into her papi’s arms.

He lets out a little surprised oof, but doesn’t hesitate to wrap his warm, thick arms around her and hug her tightly back.

“What’s this for, hey?” he murmurs in her ear. “You okay, sweetie?”

She nods, face buried in his shoulder. “Just needed this.”

It helps—stupid Julie and her stupid good advice—but not enough. Carrie still feels a little wrong all over as she finishes her math page and gets ready for bed.

So, she decides to try again. When Mami comes in to kiss her goodnight, Carrie manages to actually say the words this time. “Can I have a hug?”

Mami’s grin glows so brightly that Carrie almost feels bad for having so much trouble asking for it. “Of course, baby girl! I’ll give you a hug any time!”

Her hug is even better than Papi’s—she fits better around Carrie, doesn’t swallow her so much, and she smells like jasmine and cinnamon toothpaste. It helps, for sure, brings Carrie out of her head and back down to Earth a little, but it’s still not… exactly what she needs.

“There you go,” Mami says sweetly as she pulls back, tucking a lock of hair behind Carrie’s ear. “Is everything all right?”

Carrie nods, trying not to feel embarrassed. “I think I just needed some hugs today. Is Daddy still awake?”

Mami’s smile turns conspiratorial. “If he’s not, I’ll make him be. Not even your daddy would want to sleep through his big girl looking for some cuddles.”

“Not cuddles,” Carrie corrects. “Just a hug.”

She’s not a baby, okay? It’s a very important distinction.

Mami nods soberly, even as a smile continues to tug at her lips. “Of course. I think he’s in the bedroom, go see.”

Carrie obediently scrambles out of bed and pads down the hall in her slippered feet. Sure enough, she finds her father sitting up in bed, reading what appears to be a magazine article about himself.

But he puts it aside as soon as Carrie appears in the doorway. “Hey, baby. I thought Mami was putting you to bed.”

“She was. She is.” Carrie makes her way across the carpeted floor and climbs up onto the bed before she can chicken out. “I just…”

Now, she hesitates. Her dad’s even less of a hugger than she is, usually. She doesn’t want to upset him, or make him think she needs things he can’t give her. She doesn’t need this.

She just… wants it.

“Carrie?” Daddy prompts, frowning.

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

Her words surprise them both—they’re not what she meant to say.

“Oh!” Daddy says. “I—sure. Of course, baby, if you want to. Come here.”

Without her even having to ask, Daddy pulls the covers back and lets Carrie burrow underneath them. He leans over to turn off the bedside lamp and then snuggles down next to her, throwing an arm over her to tug her into his side.

It’s better than a hug. It’s just what Carrie needs.