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“Sometimes,” Eddie says, pulling Chris onto the couch with him, “Buck has bad days.”
Chris shifts away from him, straightens up so he’s not leaning against Eddie and can look him in the eye. “I know. You told me that.”
Eddie nods—he tries not to hide much from Chris, never saw a reason to shy away from telling him the truth about why he was leaving him with Abuela or Carla to go over to Buck’s alone at times. “But they’re not like our bad days, Chris, okay? It’s not because something happened to make him sad, so there’s not a lot we can do to make him feel better. Have you ever heard of depression? Or being depressed?”
Chris frowns at him. “Abuela said she was depressed when her show ended,” he says, “but she didn’t have bad days.”
He sighs. “Abuela was exaggerating,” he says. “Depression—it’s more than being sad, buddy. Sometimes Buck’s brain tells him that things aren’t okay, and it’s hard for him to know that they are. When you’re really depressed—not just sad about a show ending—you need help from a doctor, or a therapist.”
“Is Buck in the hospital?” Chris’ eyes are wide, and Eddie is completely fucking this explanation up.
“No, no,” he says, resting a hand on Chris’ knee and squeezing. “I just wanted to tell you this because—I never let you see his bad days, before, but when he moves in…”
“He’ll still have bad days,” Chris says, after Eddie’s words had trailed off. “Dad? When you help him, what do you do?”
He can’t believe that he’s having this discussion with his kid—with an eight-year old—and he knows it’s not Buck’s fault, he knows Buck is going through therapy, but he wishes that Chris didn’t need to deal with this, and maybe he should had waited to ask Buck to move in, but—“I just sit with him,” he says. “When it’s a bad day, I just let him know I’m there and that it’s okay to feel sad, and that I love him. But you don’t have to do any of that, Chris. It’s not a kid’s job to take care of their parent. I just wanted to let you know because Buck will have bad days, and I can’t hide them from you anymore.”
Chris looks at him for a long time, quiet, and Eddie forces himself not to fill the silence. “Can I help him if I want to?”
“Of course,” Eddie says. “But—sometimes nothing helps him, okay? Sometimes the only thing that helps him is time. I don’t want you to get upset if you try and it doesn’t work.”
“Okay,” Chris says. “Is he having a bad day now?”
“No,” Eddie says. “No, he’s going to come over soon with all of his stuff, and we’re going to have a very good day together moving it all in here.”
“Dad,” Chris sighs, “it’s not fun to move stuff, you don’t have to keep lying to me.”
Eddie laughs, reaches up and ruffles his son’s hair. “How about if you don’t complain—and you help when you can—I’ll get us pizza for dinner.”
“Buck already promised me pizza for dinner,” Chris says, grinning. “But you can get us cupcakes.”