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PROLOGUE (BUCK)
Eddie leaves Los Angeles early on a Friday in December.
It’s a cold morning before the sun is fully up, and Buck blessedly has the day off. He thinks Bobby intentionally scheduled it that way. Buck makes a mental note to leave an extra loaf in his office to thank him for that.
Buck spends the entire week between Eddie-less shifts shuttling himself between his kitchen and the grocery store. There are no wasted seconds in Buck Buckley's life, now. Because if there were, if he stopped to look out the window at the clear California sky from his kitchen while he drinks his morning coffee, he might think about Eddie in another part of town, packing up his clothes into suitcases and making preparations to spend the next few weeks of his life in Texas.
He's lucky, really, that Eddie will only be in El Paso for the rest of the month, at least for now. It's the holiday season, and Eddie doesn't want to risk getting caught up in work or selling his house or buying a new house, instead of just actually being with his son. So, he found a short-term rental that came furnished and wasn't too far away from his parents house, or too close.
Logically, Eddie could very well still move to Texas for real, and return only for as long as it takes to sell his house and tie up any remaining loose ends. Emotionally, Buck is not prepared to grapple with this possibility. So he does what he’s been doing best lately, and busies himself in the kitchen.
Eddie's cooking skills have improved significantly over past few years. It’s been ages since Chris last called Buck to save him from Eddie’s inedible, burnt attempts at homemade meals. Even still, it's something Eddie does more out of necessity than real interest. Buck has been making sure he gets plenty of good meals at the firehouse and at home since Chris first left, but now he’s resolved to up his game.
Buck can appreciate how stressful this move will be for Eddie. Neither of them is sure how warm Chris will be to the idea, much less Eddie's parents, and Buck has seen the kitchen at Eddie's new place—even just from the photos, he's not impressed. Eddie needs to eat, and he doesn't need to worry about groceries or shopping and he needs to eat better than takeout every night.
This is a problem that Buck can solve. Maybe the only one in his entire life, at the moment.
So, he pulls out his pots and pans and garlic and onions and chicken stock and butter and olive oil, and he cooks for his best friend.
He starts with things he can freeze, and sauces that'll keep canned, and saves the baked goods until the last minute so they’ll be fresh. He rolls up his sleeves. He gets to work.
It doesn’t make Buck feel any better, but at least he’s helping. He's good at that. It's all he's ever wanted to do with his life. To feel useful. To prove himself, in whatever way he can, so that he might someday be worthy of love. To finally earn it.
By the time he’s made it to the end of the week, to the day on his calendar that he’s been dreading, he looks at the wreckage of his kitchen and is too tired to process the hint of the thought that he has, perhaps, overdone it.
Buck packs it all up, and drives to Eddie’s house.
* * *
“So there’s some pre-portioned dinners in the cooler,” Buck is explaining, “and some pasta sauces and stuff. Everything’s labeled- and the sauces are shelf-stable, because I actually canned them with boiling water and everything. Oh! And some burger patties in case you feel like grilling.”
Buck’s hands are in his pockets, sheepish as he explains all the food he’s prepared. Only feeling now, in this moment as he verbally explains it all, that maybe it is a bit much. He can’t help it.
Eddie is busy poking around the tote of mostly baked goods, and he immediately clocks a package of cookies that are made just the way Chris likes them: bigger than his hands and stuffed with chocolate chunks, not chips. They look soft, even through the packaging, and there’s a note attached that recommends microwaving them for 20 seconds to replicate that oven-fresh gooeyness.
“You sending me with bribes, now?” Eddie jokes, gesturing with the bag of cookies. It makes Buck’s cracked heart shatter at the idea that Eddie will have to bribe his own son into spending time with him.
For once in his life, Buck is at a loss for words. It’s hitting him all at once, the gravity of the situation. How much he doesn’t want Eddie to go, and how much he hopes for Eddie and Chris to fix things once he does.
Eddie puts a hand on Buck's shoulder, but it's closer to the bicep than its familiar place neighboring his collarbone.
“Thanks, Buck,” Eddie says, his words landing heavily onto Buck’s chest.
He squeezes once, lingering, then lets go.
* * *
EDDIE
Eddie is on the freeway out of town before he has enough attention to spare to grope around the tote bag Buck sent him off with. He didn't eat before he left, and he reasons that he ought to have something in his stomach for all the coffee to land on. He pulls out a gallon bag, wrestling it into his lap and reaching in without really seeing what was in there.
What comes out in his hand is a scone, flaky and golden, and drizzled with some sort of icing. He bites into it without further hesitation.
“Oh, fuck,” he says aloud, so emphatically that he sprays crumbs absolutely everywhere in the process. The crumb is soft and delicious, a hint of citrus with bits of dried cranberries mixed in. The icing is a fresh and juicy burst of orange flavor that ties the whole thing together.
Eddie takes another too-big bite and has to swallow it down with coffee before he chokes himself on the crumbs. The second he finishes the scone he fumbles with the truck’s bluetooth.
Buck picks up on the second ring.
“Eddie?” Buck sounds confused, probably because he saw Eddie roughly fifteen minutes ago.
“Whatever you did to those scones was even better than the last batch,” Eddie says, already reaching into the bag for a second one.
“Yeah? Thanks, Eddie,” Buck says, and Eddie can hear him beaming through the phone.
"Thank you," Eddie says with emphasis that might sound over-exaggerated, but really is necessary to convey how he feels about having delicious pastries at his disposal at the ass crack of dawn, on hour zero of at least thirteen.
"What are you up to today?" Eddie asks. He didn't really think past complimenting Buck's work, but now that he has him on the line, Eddie doesn't want to hang up so soon.
"Well," Buck says, "I've got to go grocery shopping since someone cleaned me out."
Eddie laughs at the teasing, and resists the urge to point out that he didn't ask Buck to cook enough food for the entire extended Diaz family to eat until New Year’s.
“I will not apologize for you making me a delicious breakfast,” he says instead.
“Good,” Buck says, sounding pleased.
Eddie can hear the jingling sounds of Buck’s keys and a slam as he closes the car door.
“I just got to the store,” Buck says. “Do you want to come in with me?”
“Sure,” Eddie says, because he does.
Buck comments on the rising prices of everything, and updates Eddie on all the best deals and sales. He's got a coupon for plant-based cottage cheese, and canned beans are buy two, get one. Eddie hums in approval, or wrinkles his nose, or asks a couple of needless follow-up questions. There's not as much traffic outside of LA, so Buck's commentary on deli meats has more or less Eddie's full attention.
It passes the time, and when Buck finally has to move on to the rest of his day, to the parts of his life that don’t involve Eddie, at least not anymore, the silence rings loudly in Eddie's ears. He turns the radio on, turns it up a little too loud, leaves it that way for only a moment before turning it down again. There's no volume that can replace the way Buck's voice fills a space.
After Buck hangs up the phone, the rest of the drive feels like an eternity. The landscape changes as he drives away from the coast, but it doesn't change enough to feel like he’s getting anywhere. The desert passes him by in muted colors and he tries to ignore the tightening in his gut with every city he passes through.
It's dark when Eddie leaves Los Angeles, and it's dark when he arrives in El Paso. He pulls into the rental house, stiff and hungry and sorely in need of a shower. He hauls himself from the cab of the truck, grabs his duffel, and fumbles with the digital lockbox before he makes it inside.
He thought he'd feel relief, being back here. Not that El Paso was a haven of happy memories for him, but knowing that he was closer to his son at the very least. Once he sees Chris, his heart will begin to mend. But for now, he is alone and exhausted in this sterile Texas ranch, furnished with what Eddie assumes were the most colorless, joyless pieces on the market. Grey flooring, black leather sofa, stainless steel kitchen.
He suddenly wishes he'd brought some things from home to decorate with.
The air is different in El Paso, and even though it's December, he opens a window to let some of it into the house. It’s stuffy and stale inside, like the house has been sitting unchanged for the last decade. The cold evening breeze passes over him through the window, and for a moment, makes him feel more like a person.
He goes back outside to grab all the food from the truck, tucking things away in the fridge, the freezer, the pantry. The scones goes on the counter next to the coffee maker where the owner left him some coffee beans as a welcome gift. It's a nice thought. She's hoping he'll want to extend his rental at the end of the month. Eddie's hoping he can get out of there as soon as possible.
From the cooler, Eddie retrieves a Pyrex with a taped-on note that says “eat right away!!!!” in Buck's messy scrawl.
It's amazing what a home-cooked meal can do for the soul, Eddie thinks as he spoons chili into his mouth. It's good. Really good. Smoky and spicy and something deeper, something almost earthy. It warms him, maybe even more than just the way hot food does. There's a warmth in his stomach, but it spreads through his whole body into his limbs, and he sinks into the feeling.
His fingers twitch with the urge to text Buck, so he does. Top notch chili, he writes. Face with hearts emoji, Buck responds.
It's not like Eddie's never had Buck's chili before. Especially since Buck's chili is really Bobby's chili, and Bobby's chili is part of his regular rotation at the firehouse. But something about it feels... special. It would be a stupid thought to voice out loud, so Eddie doesn't. But he can't help but think about Buck in his kitchen, making a pot of chili, making pasta sauce at the same time, making scones, making cookies. For Chris. For him.
A feeling Eddie won’t name wells up inside him, making him feel soft even where he aches from a long day in the car. It stays with him, and he relaxes into it as he showers and gets into his unfamiliar new bed. He holds onto the feeling as exhaustion takes him, and he finally falls asleep.
* * *
Eddie gets to his parents' house early on Saturday morning. There are two reasons for this: one, he cannot wait to see his son again. It's been months of seeing him only as pixels on a screen, and Eddie has felt a hole in his heart every second since the door closed between them in Los Angeles. The second reason is more strategic: Christopher is a teenager now, which means he's sleeping in more on the weekends. If Eddie arrives before Chris is awake, that means it's less likely that anyone will raise their voices, at least until after noon.
Eddie’s mother is not expecting him so early, so she is not ready to greet him at the door, which leaves him in the awkward position of knocking of the front door of the family house he grew up in. It feels strange, but it would feel more strange to let himself in. And anyway, he can’t, because he doesn’t have a key.
Helena opens the door and pulls him into a hug. She and Ramon are having coffee, and offer Eddie a cup, which he accepts. When he first told his family that he'd be coming to Texas for the holidays, he wasn’t sure how they would respond, based on the limited communication between them in recent months. Overall, he thinks they took it rather well, at least until he insinuated that he’d be doing some house shopping while he’s in town. After that, the responses were strained, but overall his parents haven’t tried to stop him yet.
For now, the early hour allows Eddie to sit with his parents in relative ease. They eat breakfast, and Ramon does the crossword, and they discuss who in the family will be in town for the holidays.
Chris comes down just before noon, bleary eyed and still in pajamas. He stops in the doorway of the kitchen, re-calibrating when he sees who's in the room.
"Dad," he says, and it's the full extent of his greeting. Eddie's world lights up anyway.
He stands up, unable to stop himself, even as the memory of Chris refusing to hug him back all those months ago passes through his mind.
"Hey, Christopher," Eddie says. "It's so good to see you."
Chris nods, rubbing at his eyes, and passes his father on the way to the fridge to pour himself a glass of juice.
"You too, Dad," he says after a minute.
It's not much, but it's something. Eddie knows it will be a process, mending this relationship like a hole in a well-loved jacket. But this moment is the first stitch, and he won't take for granted the start that it is. He's going to be patient and careful, minding the needle as it passes over frayed edges. And no matter how long it takes, no matter how visible the patch, Eddie is determined to make it usable again.
The rest of the day passes without much incident, and even though his parents seem to be always around, Eddie is just so glad to be back under the same roof as his son, who mostly wants to be back in his room playing video games with his friends. It’s a comfort that in this way, at least, Chris is still the same kid he was in Los Angeles.
Eddie excuses himself from the house after dinner, knowing it’s been a long day and not wanting to push anything too far too fast with his family. It was a good start, if a mild one, and he’s willing to play the long game. Willing to do whatever it takes.
Back at his rental, he’s hit by the quiet of it again. It was quiet in LA, too, without Chris, but at least there had been the familiar sounds of the house itself. This house in El Paso doesn’t sound like anything. It’s so loud.
He collapses onto the unpleasant leather sofa and thinks about screaming, just to fill the air with something that makes sense.
Instead, he checks his phone. A text from Buck, from earlier in the day, wishing Eddie luck. There are a lot of exclamation marks, and several carefully chosen emojis. Eddie unlocks his phone to look at it, as if it could hold all the answers.
It doesn’t.
He calls Buck anyway.
“Buck's Meal Kit Services,” he answers, and Eddie immediately feels better at the sound of Buck's voice, his glowing smile evident even through the phone receiver.
“You're in a good mood,” Eddie chirps.
“I'm in a great mood,” Buck corrects. “Because I just perfected the world's best mac and cheese recipe.”
“Whoa, world's best,” Eddie says, impressed. His experience with mac and cheese starts and ends with the boxed kind. Sometimes he gets a little wild and buys Annie's instead of Kraft. “Wait, have you given up on perfecting lasagna?”
“Now, why would you try to bring me down from the peak I've clearly achieved here, Eddie?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Eddie says, but he's laughing a little. A knot in his chest loosens with the feeling.
“I'll have you know I have not given up on lasagna. In fact, I think I'm closer than ever to perfecting that, too, but sometimes you’ve got to take a step back and go full comfort food mode.”
“And is it comforting?” Eddie asks.
“How did I answer the phone, Eddie?” Buck’s baiting him. Eddie bites.
“I would describe your tone as exuberant,” Eddie says.
“Well, there you go,” Buck says. “So, did you call me just to talk about mac and cheese?”
“Well, no. But now I need to hear details about what makes it the world's best,” Eddie says, baiting Buck right back.
“Two words for you my friend: cottage cheese.”
Eddie pulls a face that he knows Buck can't see.
“That sounds disgusting,” he says.
“See, that's what I thought at first, but it turns out we're both wrong. First of all, cottage cheese is packed with protein, but second of all, you blend it with milk and then you don't even need to cook the pasta first, it cooks in the oven!”
Eddie imagines a bowl of uncooked noodles swimming in milk and cottage cheese, and remains deeply unconvinced.
“I don't think I'm white enough for this one to be honest with you, Buck.”
“It's about the end product Eddie, you can't focus on every single ingredient on its own. You have to trust the process. I'll make it when you guys get back, it's gonna blow the socks right off your feet.”
Eddie laughs, but his heart catches on Buck’s words: when you guys get back. Not if, but when. Definitive, with a confidence Eddie feels miles away from right now.
“I do not promise to eat that,” he says instead.
“You will,” Buck says, undeterred.
* * *
On a Sunday morning, Eddie irons a button down and takes his abuela to church. He feels restless, and zones out for most of the service, only catching enough to decide that he likes this particular pastor. The sermon is about serving those around you, and being nonjudgmental of them and why they might need help. It's... nice. Eddie doesn't remember ever describing the church as nice before. He's glad this is the church his abuela chooses to attend.
It takes forever to get out of there. Isabel has to chat briefly with the priests and at length with all her old lady friends. Eddie is informed that Isabel’s dishes are always the highlight of the Easter potluck. These women kindly invite him to attend, which makes Eddie start to sweat under the arms with unease.
He's barely been in town long enough to catch his breath. Having to confront the idea that he might still be here in five months makes him feel slightly nauseated.
Eddie swallows the feeling with a polite smile and tries to subtly point his abuela toward the door. Eventually she decides she’s done, and they drive together back to her house.
Isabel says she hasn't seen much of Christopher since he's been back, which surprises Eddie until she admits she hasn't been driving much anymore. She’s come by Eddie’s parents’ house once or twice, but Chris is often more eager to spend time with his friends or at chess club, and Ramon and Helena are so busy accommodating him that they haven’t brought him over to visit.
It makes Eddie feel a little guilty, even though none of that has anything to do with him. And anyway, guilt is probably at least a little bit the intended effect—she is a Catholic grandmother, after all. It’s written in their DNA or something.
“I thought we could have some sandwiches for lunch,” Isabel says, herding Eddie into her kitchen as if there was a chance he wasn’t going to stick around anyway. He's missed having her in Los Angeles these last few years, and if the way she's been squeezing his arm and generally holding onto him all day is any indication, she's missed him too.
It’s a nice feeling.
Eddie is here for his family, for Christopher specifically, but the only Diaz he loves more than his son is his abuela. His aging abuela, who, while still in excellent health for her age, gets tired more easily than she used to.
Eddie beelines for the fridge, rummaging around the drawers and pulling out sandwich fillings.
“I’ll make the sandwiches if you make the cafecitos?” Eddie asks hopefully.
Isabel gives him a look that says, I know you are doing this for me because I’m old, but I love you, so I’ll allow it.
Eddie grins and starts spreading condiments on the bread.
“You should bring Christopher over early on Christmas Eve,” Isabel says thoughtfully. She’s watching him prepare their lunch with a critical eye. “I’ll teach you both how to make the tamales. Somebody in this family should learn it before I’m gone.”
“Abuela,” Eddie chides, but he knows she’s not saying it to be morbid.
“Somebody has to learn! Your sisters never had any interest in cooking, or you. Maybe it’s time for the youngest generation to step up.”
“Well, I am a better cook than I used to be,” Eddie promises. “I had a lot of practice in Los Angeles.”
Eddie had some practice in LA. He also had a backup (Buck) and a fail-safe (stack of take-out menus in the drawer under the phone).
Isabel considers this.
“If there’s anyone I should give my recipe to, it’s that Buck of yours,” she comments. “He seemed to know his way around the kitchen, I remember.”
Eddie thinks of his rental kitchen, full of food, and about the way Isabel says “that Buck of yours,” like his name is a relationship title all its own. And at this point, it is. The words are said so casually, so unremarkably, that Eddie genuinely can’t tell if it’s meant to be teasing or simply matter-of-fact. That Buck of yours.
Pretending not to feel his own face flushing, Eddie tries to pick the conversation up again.
“That he does,” Eddie agrees. “He, uh, actually sent me off with enough food to last me the whole month down here.” His hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, and he can feel his abuela noticing. It’s never awkward talking to her, so he can tell she’s taking in the gesture and filing it away. Her keen eyes are as sharp as they are kind.
“Did he now? That was good of him,” Isabel comments. She sounds pleased, humming as she picks up the coffee pot, pouring it into two little teacups. “He must be missing you.”
“I’ve only been here two days,” Eddie counters, because he can’t imagine saying yeah, he does.
“Still, it’s good to have friends who look out for you,” Isabel says with an air of finality as she sets their coffee down on the kitchen table next to their sandwiches.
Eddie hums his agreement, and then Isabel is filling him in on his cousin who moved out to Dallas for a new job, and how her neighbor’s lovely niece has been staying with them and helping out while she goes through a divorce. Eddie feels his hackles raise at the mention of a newly single young woman in the neighborhood, but Isabel doesn’t implicate him at all. She’s just giving him the news, and this Angelina has offered to take her shopping once or twice.
A cool relief passes over Eddie when he realizes he’s not being set up. It shouldn’t be a surprise—Pepa was always the mastermind in that department more than Isabel.
They eat, and Eddie leaves, all the while thinking about the set-up that wasn’t and “that Buck of yours” and how it’s good to have a friend like that. A friend your abuela knows and mentions by name, despite how long it’s been since she’s last seen him.
That Buck of mine, Eddie thinks, and has to pull off the road into a little corner store parking lot to rub his hands over his too-warm face.
Eddie sits in his truck and scrubs at his head with both hands. He can’t be thinking about this. Not now, and certainly not here. Everything in Los Angeles was supposed to stay in Los Angeles while he tried to sort his stupid life out. His job, his house, his friends. Most of all, his increasingly loud and wildly inconvenient feelings.
Eddie needs to be here. In El Paso. With his son. No distractions.
Easier said than done, he knows, but when has his life ever been easy? This is just another trial he has to go through. Christopher always comes first.
* * *
“Do you want to help me make the meatballs?” Eddie asks after turning on the oven.
It’s later in the week, and Ramon and Helena are out of the house for some holiday shopping and won’t be home until dinner time. Eddie has taken it upon himself to cook before they get back.
If it doubles as bonding time with his son, and triples as a display of stability and responsibility, then Eddie’s not going to raise any complaints.
Chris doesn't say anything from the kitchen table where he sits on his phone, the muffled sounds of the first three seconds of various Tiktok videos creating an unpleasant, noisy soundtrack. Then it stops abruptly with the click of Christopher’s phone screen, and a few seconds later he’s standing beside Eddie at the counter.
In front of Eddie is a large mixing bowl where he’s working the ground meat into the seasonings he carefully measured out from Buck's recommendation. On the counter next to the bowl is a long baking tray, and a can of cooking spray.
“Will you grease the tray, mijo?” Eddie asks.
Chris does, and by the time he's done, they're ready to begin shaping the meatballs. Eddie slides the bowl over so it's closer to Chris and takes a scoop from the bowl, flattening his palms and moving them in opposing circles until he's got a perfect, if lumpy, little ball. Chris follows suit, eyeing Eddie's hands to see how much he puts in his palm at one time and mimicking the motions.
They work in silence, but it's not an uncomfortable one. It feels good to work side by side with his son like this. Standing side by side, it’s easy to notice that Chris is so much taller than he was even six months ago. He's catching up to Eddie now, in a way that fills Eddie with pride to see the young man he's growing into, but it also makes his chest tighten when he thinks about missing so much time, again.
Eddie looks over Chris's first meatball on the tray with an obvious show of approval, nodding and saying, “Looks pretty good, you're a natural!”
Chris rolls his eyes, because he's fourteen and he can tell when an adult is overdoing it, but also he preens a little bit at the attention and praise because he's fourteen and that's all anyone wants at that age.
“I had a pretty good teacher,” Chris says, shrugging. “Not you,” he adds quickly, but it not meanly. Eddie pretends to be wounded regardless, clutching a hand to his heart.
“Your abuela, then?” Eddie asks. Though he has his doubts about his mother's cooking, he's pretty sure she can pull off meatballs at least. If Eddie can do it...
“I meant Buck,” Chris says, interrupting that train of thought.
“Oh!” It takes Eddie a minute to reign in the surprise that's surely showing on his face. It's not that he didn't know Buck was teaching Chris how to cook whenever he was babysitting or making them all dinner or just hanging out. But he just... hasn't thought about Buck and Chris together as much as he maybe should have. It's an important part of the equation. An obvious missing piece, now that he’s confronted with it.
He doesn't know how much the two of them have talked to each other since Chris has been in Texas. Eddie simultaneously hopes that they've been keeping in touch, that Chris has kept some tether to Los Angeles, but also he feels a pit in his stomach knowing how little he and his own son have talked these last few months.
“Have you... have you talked to him at all?” Eddie asks.
“A little,” Chris says noncommittally. “How is he?”
A vision flashes in Eddie's head of Buck at his front door with a dour look on his face and a pack of beer, of Buck in one of his many aprons in his apartment, in the firehouse kitchen, in Eddie's kitchen, covered in flour, stuffing loaves and cookies and scones into everyone's arms. He bites back a “he's good,” because he wants to be truthful with his son. They agreed on that, in one of their harder conversations on his first day back, and Eddie takes his oaths seriously.
“He's…” Eddie pauses. “…him and Tommy broke up.”
Eddie may be avoiding the question, but he is still honest.
“They were still dating?” Chris asks, surprised.
“Yeah, up until a few weeks ago,” Eddie comments. “I guess it took Buck by surprise. He's been kinda...” he trails off, looking for a nice way to phrase it.
“Spiraling?” Chris supplies.
Eddie laughs.
“That is exactly what I was going to say, yeah.”
“He's been posting a lot of baking photos to Instagram. I figured it was some new obsession, but if he got dumped, that makes more sense.”
Eddie tries not to read too much into any of that.
“How do you know he's the one who got dumped?” Eddie asks.
Chris only looks at him, teenagely.
“Okay, yeah, he got dumped.”
“You guys are really good at that,” Chris mutters, rearranging some of the meatballs on the tray.
“Hey!” Eddie says, but the kid has a point.
And Chris knows it, because he asks, "Am I wrong?"
”Well, he's been better," Eddie concedes, finally answering the original question. "But he's been through worse. He'll get over it. Tonight's dinner is sponsored by Buck Buckley himself, actually.”
“Sponsored?” Chris asks doubtfully, like his dad isn't funny.
“He made the sauce. And sent me the meatball recipe. And he also made the cookies for dessert.”
“There's dessert? Buck's cookies?” Christopher's whole body lights up with excitement.
Eddie grins. “He was bummed he couldn't take a month off work like I did to come see you, so he sent me with gifts.”
“That was nice of him,” Chris comments.
“It was,” Eddie says, and he feels warm thinking about Buck's niceness. “You should call him later, tell him what you think.“
“Okay,” Chris promises. “Wait, if he gave them to you before you drove here, why didn’t you bring them over right away?”
“Well, there’s a very good reason for that,” Eddie says confidently. “I… forgot.”
Chris laughs at him. “I hope they’re not stale.”
“If they are, we’ll microwave them for twenty seconds and have them with milk. It’s an old family secret.”
“Of course your family recipes involve the microwave,” Chris says, snorting a little with laughter.
“I would love to defend myself and my sisters here, but we were all terrible cooks as kids, unlike you,” Eddie says, watching Chris put the last meatball on the tray.
He slides the tray into the oven as Christopher washes his hands, when he remembers something.
“Hey, speaking of being a chef,” Eddie says before Chris can go back to his phone. “Your bisabuela wants some extra hands to make the tamales for Christmas, and I don’t think she trusts me in the kitchen enough yet. Would you want to go over there early and help out?”
“You’re not that bad,” Chris mutters. Eddie beams.
“You mind telling her that? Her memory is too long, she just remembers me burning everything.”
“Okay. This means we get to eat more tamales than everyone else, right?” Chris asks.
“If it didn’t, I wouldn’t even suggest it,” Eddie says seriously.
Chris nods decisively. “I’m in.”
* * *
Eddie wakes up early on Christmas Eve, and doesn't feel tired at all.
The night before, he'd fallen asleep while watching movies with Christopher. Eddie had nearly given up hope that he'd get to have those moments of comfortable normalcy with his son. But it feels less complicated than he thought it would be to slip back into that easiness. They're putting in the work, now. Figuring out what it all looks like. Together.
Chris asking to stay with Eddie before Christmas Eve for a movie night was the best gift Eddie could have asked for. It's enough to reinvigorate Eddie. He's ready anew to make the most of the time he gets to spend with his kid.
Throwing off the covers, Eddie gets himself out of bed and into the kitchen. He sets up his first cup of coffee, knowing he'll probably be drinking it all day. He cooks some breakfast, then sets bread in the toaster, but doesn't eat yet.
He knocks on the door to the room down the hall from his own, where Christopher slept last night. Chris grumbles something unintelligible from the other side of the door, but eventually Eddie hears enough rustling that he's satisfied Chris is getting up.
Eddie busies himself with tidying up the already tidy kitchen until he hears Christopher's door open and the shuffling of sleepy feet to the bathroom. Then he turns on the stove burners again and presses the toaster lever.
Once the bread is toasted and the food is warm again, Eddie plates their breakfast and sets it all on the little kitchen table. He sits and sips at his coffee, allowing himself to smile as much as he can before his son comes out of the bathroom and sees him looking like a dork.
It's the first time in too many months that Eddie and Chris have woken up in the same house, and Eddie feels like the Grinch at the end of the movie, when he lifts the sleigh full of gifts and trees and decorations. Eddie thinks he could lift a bus right then if he needed to.
When the bathroom door opens again, Eddie puts down his coffee and starts digging into his eggs and sausage. Playing it super cool.
Christopher either doesn't notice the way Eddie is surely glowing with happiness, or chooses not to comment on it, which Eddie is honestly grateful for. He won't act like he's not delighted to have his son back in his life, but he doesn't need all the teen eye-rolling and comments about how embarrassing he is. He would welcome it every day, though, if it meant he was back to seeing his son every day, too.
“Remind me why we have to be up so early on a holiday?” Christopher asks, sitting heavily in front of his eggs. Eddie isn't fooled- Chris is definitely sleepy, but even though he's awake an hour before sunrise, he was the one to ask if he could stay with Eddie so they could go right to Isabel's together first thing.
Christopher may be a teenager who needs sleep and is too cool for his dad, but the promise of Isabel's tamales (and her affectionate attention) is something nobody is too strong or too cool to pass up.
By the time they arrive at Isabel's house, the first rays of sunlight are peeking over the horizon. Eddie thinks that something about El Paso always feels closer to the sun than anywhere else he's been. Like he could reach out and scorch his fingertips with his feet still on the ground.
Isabel opens the door looking soft in the morning light, and the love she has for two of her favorite boys seems to radiate from her body. Not that she would ever pick favorites, of course. They are greeted and hugged, and ushered into the comforting warmth of her house. It's different from her house in LA, but it's no less loving. No less home.
Isabel wastes no time, taking them to the kitchen and directing them to wash up as she assembles various things for prep. She points Eddie over to a notecard with an ingredient list scrawled in pencil. It's all in Spanish, with no measurements. He starts opening cabinets more or less at random in a bid to find the ingredients before Isabel steers him in the direction of the pantry.
Christopher stands dutifully at the counter as Isabel shows him how to rinse the corn husks and boil them to make them soft for when they’ll fill and fold them later. Eddie keeps his ears open as he examines various bags of dried chiles to find the ones on his list. He has a vague, general idea of how to make tamales, from all the holidays spent with his abuela as a child. Admittedly, he was always more interested in the end result than in the process itself, so he's more curious now that he's involved in production.
Once he's pulled what he thinks are the correct ingredients from the pantry and arranged them on the counter, he clicks on the radio in the corner of the kitchen. It's already tuned in to a Spanish station, one that makes Eddie feel a little nostalgic. It's the kind of music that would play at family parties, or in family kitchens, or as the tinny background noise in the local stores. The music settles over the room with a smooth rhythm and steady vocals, and Isabel bobs from side to side in an approving little dance.
Eddie did, in fact, select the correct ingredients from the pantry, and he warms with youthful pride when his abuela says "perfecto, Eddito!" and pats his arm lovingly.
They rinse the chiles, and Isabel shows Chris how to remove the seeds and veins while Eddie peels onions and garlic. They toss all of it into water and set it on the stove, and in minutes, the spicy, savory steam begins to fill the kitchen. As the kitchen warms, Chris pulls off his hoodie and Eddie rolls up his sleeves.
Isabel prepares coffee while Eddie and Chris prepare to make the masa. Chris starts stirring the dough together, but quickly tells his dad to take a turn, which means he's done mixing. Eddie rolls up his sleeves a little higher and gets in there, combining it thoroughly per Isabel's instruction. They've added a little bit of the chile mixture into the dough, and it smells great, although it makes Eddie second-guess whether he should've put gloves on before sticking his hands in it. He'll just have to remember not to touch his eyes for a while.
By the time Isabel approves of the texture on the masa, the coffee is done. She offers it to Eddie, and then to Christopher as well. At first, he says no, because coffee is gross, but then he sees the little patterned teacups Isabel pulls out, and something changes his mind.
“Actually, can I have a cup, bisabuela?” he asks.
“Por supuesto, mi angelito,” Isabel coos at him, the way she has his entire life. Eddie thinks that she can get away with it as a great-grandmother, but that she is without a doubt the only one.
“It smells really good,” Christopher comments before taking a sip, and then his mouth, nose, and eyebrows all scrunch up in the same movement.
Eddie and Isabel laugh good-naturedly and dump more milk and sugar into his cup, stirring it in and handing it back.
He doesn't wince at the next sip, but he makes a face like he's really concentrating on the flavor, or maybe just concentrating on not making a face.
“It's different from Starbucks,” he finally declares.
Isabel huffs, and Eddie wonders when Chris started going to coffee shops, or drinking coffee at all, for that matter.
But Christopher is growing up. He's his own little person now- always has been, of course. But now more and more of his life won't involve Eddie, and he has to come to terms with that, too.
Their relationship is changing, for better or worse, and Eddie certainly hopes for better. Or really it's more neutral- change is part of life. An inevitable part. If nothing ever changed, would anyone really be living?
They take their break and then it's back to work, cooking the meat. Then finally, they can take the corn husks out of their bath, and Isabel demonstrates how to fill a tamal. She spreads the masa over the husk, showing that she leaves some space at the top so it doesn't puff over while cooking. Then she adds a little of the filling and folds it up, explaining how to arrange the tamales in a big steamer pot so they stay upright and the filling doesn't fall out.
As Eddie and Chris work at assembling the tamales, Isabel's phone starts ringing with far-off family members sending their love and holiday greetings. She peers into the pot to assess their progress and nods, giving them an OK hand signal as she leaves the room to get comfortable on the living room sofa. At her approval, Eddie and Chris share a pleased look as they continue their work.
Though there is still a tension between them, this is comfortable territory for the Diaz boys. They work together- school projects, talking through their feelings, cooking a meal. Whatever it is, they've always been on the same side. Even when one of them would drift onto a different course, the other would follow, and they would talk, and they would make it right, and they would get back on track together.
Eddie is determined that this time won't be so different, that they'll end up on the same page again. All it takes is patience and attention and care, and those things he will always give to Chris without hesitation.
Working in silence lasts about thirty seconds before Chris breaks it.
"How much longer do we have to listen to old people music?" he asks, unable to keep the groan out of his voice.
"Old people music, huh?" Eddie teases.
"Grandpa plays it too, sometimes," Chris says. "I can only take so much!"
Eddie laughs a little, remembering how he thought the same thing at that age. Perhaps with a higher tolerance for Spanish oldies, maybe, but still that same desire to put on the top 100 stations like everyone else. He washes his hands quickly and wipes them on his apron before messing around with Isabel's radio. He fiddles with the tuning dial, changing the station from the cumbia that's started to bleed together over the course of the morning.
“We should make these at home, sometime,” Chris says hesitantly.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, still looking over the radio and fussing with the dial. “I'm sure these will come out great, we're gonna be pros.”
“I think Buck will be really impressed,” Chis says pointedly.
“Yeah, he-” Eddie stops mid-thought, realizing the implication. He abandons the radio completely, giving Chris his full attention. “Oh. Oh! Home, like, home. You mean LA?”
Chris's cheeks are a little pink, which could be from the effort of cooking, or the heat of the stove. Or, it could be that he's been thinking about this, maybe even a lot. Like he's been working up to saying it. He wants to go home.
“You-you want to come home?” Eddie asks, trying and probably failing to keep his voice even.
“Isn't that why you came here, dad? Why we're doing all this? So... so we can go home?”
“Yeah, mijo,” Eddie says. “We can go home.”
Even as he breaks eye contact to focus on the tamal he's holding, Chris is smiling. Eddie's smiling, too, big and bright and happy as he's been in months.
Chris wants to go home.
Eddie could fly.
It almost feels too easy, even though no part of this whole ordeal has been easy. But Eddie wants to believe it, he does believe it. He's listening to what Chris wants, what they both want, now. His mind starts racing, simultaneously unplanning a permanent move to Texas and thinking only: we're going home together.
He must stand there stupefied and giddy for too long because Chris asks him if he's going to make them listen to radio static for the rest of the day. Eddie shakes himself out of it and leaves it on the first station he can find that Chris won't complain about.
Isabel has gone suspiciously quiet in the other room, and Eddie clears his throat. He busies himself with trying to wipe at his eyes with his arms as subtly as possible, which is to say, not very.
“Alright, well let's get these tamales made. There's going to be hordes of hungry people here pretty soon,” Eddie says, getting them back on track as Isabel comes back into the kitchen. He returns to his place at his son's side and gets to work assembling the rest of the tamales.
She gives Eddie a knowing look that is so full of love and pride Eddie fears for just a moment that he's going to start crying in earnest. Which would make it harder for Chris to pretend that his dad wasn't shedding any tears to begin with, so he swallows it down with a watery laugh and accepts the kiss his abuela presses to his cheek, and then she kisses the top of Chris's head, too, and compliments their tamale assembly.
After checking their arrangement in the pot, Isabel declares they're ready to be cooked, so they turn on the stove once again and let the fire and water work their magic.
The tamales come out wonderfully, hot and soft and flavorful. Eddie and Chris try to sample as many as possible before Isabel shoos them out of the kitchen to change into the fresh clothes they brought before the rest of the family arrives.
It's… nice. The whole "spending Christmas with extended family" thing. Strange, since it's been so long since they've had a holiday like this. But there's something easy about it, too. Natural. Comforting in its familiarity.
Relatives arrive with their spouses and children and sometimes with people who aren't even related, but who are welcomed nonetheless. One or two of Isabel's church friends, who Eddie suspects would have been alone for the holiday otherwise, are in attendance, and look delighted to see him again.
And, of course, there's Eddie's parents and even Adriana, who looks so much older than he thinks his baby sister ought to look. At the same time, she's so young, too. For a while, Eddie notices that Christopher is glued to her side as Adriana shows him some of her favorite Tiktoks. Eight years younger than Eddie, ten years older than Eddie’s son. Caught somewhere in between, but she seems well suited to occupy the space.
She catches up with him later on where Eddie is loitering by the drinks table, pretending to be busy to catch a break from the bustling party and enthusiastic family who want to know all about how he's been in the last however many years since he saw them last.
“Hey, your kid's a riot,” Adriana says, nudging Eddie with her elbow for way too long on her way to refill her soda. “He's a real hoot and half! I wonder who he gets it from.”
Eddie makes a show of grabbing her solo cup so he can sniff at it suspiciously, even though he just watched her pour cola and nothing else into it. She smacks him upside head a little.
"A hoot and a half?" Eddie asks. "Who've you been hanging out with?"
"One of my roommates is from North Texas," she explains, "but sometimes I still think he's fucking with us when he says things like that."
"Yeah? You finally move out of your shoebox college dorm?" Eddie says. He wasn't around when she moved into college, but he saw all the photos on her Instagram. He was so proud of her, even though part of him felt like he had no right to be, considering how he'd missed so much of her teen years.
"And into a shoebox apartment," Adriana says proudly. "I'm moving up in the world."
"It suits you," Eddie says, meaning it sincerely. "You look happy."
"I am, I think," she says. "Even though I'm figuring it all out still."
Eddie chuckles, says, "Yeah? Me, too."
Adriana looks at him searchingly. "You seem to do okay. Chris hasn't stopped talking about going back to LA after Christmas."
Eddie nods slowly, looking away from the sincerity in his sister's eyes.
"It doesn't feel like I have it together, most of the time," he admits.
"Do any of us?" Adriana asks. "I mean, shit, you were dealt a bad hand, Eddie. But you fight so hard for your son, and for the life you want. I always admired you for taking Chris to California in the first place. You got out of a shit situation."
"Even though I left you behind?" Eddie asks.
"It only took a few years after that before I left, too," she points out. "And I went almost as far, just in the other direction to Austin. Besides, I'm pretty sure that had nothing to do with me."
"We-e-ll," Eddie says, stretching the word out and shaking his head side to side like he's thinking the opposite. It has the intended effect of making Adriana laugh and call him a jerk. "Kidding," he adds unnecessarily.
"Seriously, I'm glad you're going back to LA together. It seems like you really have a life you care about there, and people who care about you. You deserve to have that," she says.
It's not what he was expecting her to say. They've caught up so few times in the last few years, but then again Adriana was never one to keep her thoughts to herself, even when it got her in trouble. Which wasn't often, since she was the baby, and their parents were usually distracted with disapproving of Eddie’s various life choices.
"We do have a life there," Eddie says. "Family, too."
He thinks Adriana knows he means more than just Tia Pepa and some of their cousins.
"Buck?" she guesses. Doesn't miss a thing, this one.
"Yeah," Eddie agrees, tapping his fingers against the side of his lukewarm beer bottle.
He wants to elaborate, but he's not sure he knows how. What would he say? Language hasn't evolved enough to capture that relationship into words. How could Eddie tell her that Buck has saved his life more times than he can count, that Buck has been his partner in every way and then some since the first week they met? That when Eddie was in crisis, Chris called Buck instead of 911, that Buck always sees right through to the core of him, no matter what Eddie does to hide. That Buck is in his will, for Christ's sake.
Adriana helps him out. "Chris mentions him sometimes. It seems like he leaves quite an impression."
It's an understatement, but one Eddie can work with.
"Oh, he's a real character, Buck. You'd like him. He's loud and impulsive and always in everyone's business," he says pointedly.
Adriana rolls her eyes at him, and Eddie thinks about how nice it is to tease someone. He's started getting his relationship back with Christopher, if not with his parents, and he's missed indulging the teasing nature that Buck brings out in him.
It's silly. It's really, really nice.
"He's funny," he continues. "But he's also always been there for Christopher. And for me."
He lets the words sink in for a moment, and then adds, "Abuela joked about teaching him to make the tamales, instead of me and Christopher, since he's more of a chef than us."
"Oh!" Adriana says, unable to stop the surprise from escaping her mouth. "He's really important, then, huh?"
"He is," Eddie admits, and the world doesn't stop turning.
"It sounds like he really loves you guys," Adriana says, and her expression is unbearably soft. He looks away, at his hands. Focuses on a speck of something caught under one of his fingernails instead.
Her matter of fact tone strikes Eddie as the second time one of his family members has casually affirmed Buck's place as a pillar in Eddie's life. It makes him feel seen. Not uncomfortably so, not scrutinized. It just... makes him feel understood. Like whatever his life looks like, he'll still be welcome in theirs.
"He does," Eddie says, and the roof doesn't cave in on his head, either.
We love him, too, he doesn't say, but his sisters have always been able to read between the lines. She probably knows. Hell, it's probably all over his face. He was never all that good at poker.
"I'm glad, then. Hey, maybe once you're all settled back home I'll come visit. I'd like to meet this guy everyone keeps talking about," Adriana says. "Especially if Abuela approves."
Especially if Abuela approves, Eddie's brain echoes. Like Buck is a suitor. She's talking about meeting Buck the way people talk about meeting a significant other. Eddie's heart surges like it's trying to leave his chest, to follow that thought into the world until it becomes true and tangible, something he can touch.
"Oh," Eddie says, a little caught off guard. His sisters haven't really visited him before, not really. They've all visited with Isabel when she lived in LA, but that felt different. Like Eddie was only there by coincidence. He recovers quickly. "Yeah, of course, any time you want. We'd love to have you."
He says "we" meaning himself and Chris, but he realizes the conversation makes it sound like Buck is included in that, too. And he is, honestly. He's a part of Eddie's life, a part of his family. And maybe by then, Adriana's insinuation will be proven real. Eddie's face warms, but he doesn't hide from it, now. He's trying to allow himself to feel it all, now.
Adriana smiles, genuine and bright, and he feels grateful to have this love in his life. Despite the time apart, the hundreds and hundreds of miles between them, that she never gave up on him, on having a brother.
"And when Chris starts looking at colleges, he's welcome to come to Austin. I'll show him around UT," she offers.
Eddie's chest tightens knowing that in a few short years, Chris will be planning to leave again. But he knows by then, he'll do whatever is needed to help, as long as it's what Chris wants. He also imagines the insane amount of research Buck will surely do, looking up everything he can about any college Chris shows even a modicum of interest in.
If it's possible, the thought makes Eddie's face flush even more. His baby sister, of course, notices.
"You and Buck can come too, I guess, but you might cramp our style," Adriana adds.
"Shut up," Eddie says, shoving at her.
"Mhm," is all the response Adriana gives. All too knowing.
"Whatever," he says, but he's laughing, and she's laughing, too, and it feels easier than he thought it would be. He's noticing that about a lot of things, lately.
* * *
Eddie facetimes Buck late in the morning on Christmas while Christopher is sleeping in, tuckered out from staying up late with his cousins the night before.
Eddie has to mentally prepare himself to be normal after last night's conversation with his sister. A lot of feelings he'd been burying are now pretty close to the surface, and it's making him feel a little... sweaty. He wipes his palms on his jeans and resolves to tackle one big life change at a time. Christopher is coming home with him, and he can work on the other thing once they're safely back in Los Angeles.
He sets up the app on his tablet, and waits for Buck to accept the call.
“Merry Christmas, Buck,” Eddie says brightly.
“Hey, Eddie! Merry-hold on,” Buck’s saying over the sound of children playing at the only volume they know how. A door creaks open and then shut in the background, instantly muffling the din as Buck slips outside the house. “Merry Christmas, Eddie,” he says again now that he can hear.
“Sounds busy over there,” Eddie comments. He's giving Buck an out if he’s too busy to talk. Buck doesn't take it.
“Yeah, Hen and Karen brought the kids over for brunch so they could all show off their new toys together before they go to Toni’s for dinner. Jee’s been waiting all morning to show off every single one of her gifts to Mara,” Buck says, laughing.
“Mhm,” Eddie hums. “And how many of those gifts did you contribute?”
“I plead the fifth,” he says. “But seriously, I gotta lock in my fun uncle status before the next time Albert comes to visit. He's going to give me some real tough competition.”
“That's true,” Eddie agrees. “Albert is great.”
“I know!” Buck exclaims miserably. “Jee's going to love him more than me and I'll be stuck with second rate uncle status.”
Eddie’s laughing and shaking his head at Buck’s antics. He’s missed having Buck’s energy around all the time these past weeks.
“But, hey, how was your holiday with the family? How were the tamales?” Buck asks.
Eddie had mentioned a few days ago that Chris agreed to help him make the tamales at Isabel’s. Of course Buck would remember.
“Christmas was… good,” Eddie answers honestly. He wasn’t sure before the words escaped his mouth, but now he realizes it’s true. He was so apprehensive about his parents and his family and Christopher, but in the end, it was a pleasant holiday with people he loves, and his son was happy and under the same roof as him. Really, it couldn’t have gone much better.
“The tamales were a big hit,” he continues. “Which is good, since they took more than half the day to make. Chris says he wants to make them again when we get back sometime. I think he wants to impress you.”
There’s a breathy noise coming out of Buck’s end of the call. He looks stricken by Eddie’s words.
“When you get back?” Buck asks, not even trying to mask the emotion and hope in his voice.
“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie says, half laughing in his own disbelief. He swipes a hand through his hair, brushing it away from his face. “He wants to come home.”
“Oh my god, Eddie, that's amazing! Why didn't you lead with that?”
“Seems like an abrupt way to start a conversation,” Eddie says, wrinkling his nose.
“I can't believe it, Eddie, I'm so happy for you! When, uh, when are you guys thinking you’ll come back?” Buck asks.
“We'll leave in a few days once we've both packed up and said goodbye to some of the family,” Eddie says.
Buck wipes at his eyes and grimaces a little.
“And how are your parents taking that news?” he asks, clearing his throat.
“Honestly, I think my dad is fine with it. My mom's mostly shut down for now, since it came up on the holiday, so, I'll probably have to deal with her for real before we leave. But for now, I'm coasting on that Christmas miracle feeling,” Eddie says.
“Well, they can't stop you, especially if it's what Christopher wants,” Buck says. “Although, that's never exactly stopped them from trying before.”
“They can try all they want,” Eddie says, suddenly full of determination, “but we'll be home before New Year's.”
Buck grins in agreement. “Hell yeah, you will!”
Christopher's door opens in the hall, and Eddie looks up to see him disappearing into the bathroom.
“Hey, listen, Christopher's up and we've got to go over to my parents' so he can start packing,” Eddie says. He feels reluctant to end the call, but excited to inch closer to getting home with his son.
“Of course. I'll see you soon,” Buck says, breaking back into an enormous grin.
They end the call, and then Eddie's up and whistling as he prepares breakfast for himself and his son. At least for the moment, it's a good morning.
* * *
It takes most of the afternoon to explain to Ramon and Helena that Eddie and Chris are really leaving El Paso. At first, Helena simply won't hear it or discuss it- Eddie's just trying to spoil the holiday, even though, as he points out, they all celebrated together the day before at Isabel's house.
Helena studiously ignores him for as long as she can, but when she walks in on Chris packing up his things, she resigns herself to a half-hearted fight she knows she is going to lose.
“I don't want to fight on Christmas,” she says to the living room at large. Ramon is sitting in a big armchair, and Eddie sits on the couch.
“Then lets not fight,” Eddie says. “Let's have a nice time as a family before me and Christopher head back home.”
Home, he says pointedly.
Not here. Not Texas.
Helena looks upset, but leaves the room before she can start the fight she just said she didn't want to have.
“I'll talk to her,” Ramon says, getting up from his armchair. He's almost out of the room when he turns back to Eddie.
“I think it's a good thing,” he admits. “You should be building your own lives, wherever you want to do so.”
“We've already built it, Dad. We just got a little lost. It took us some time to find our way back,” Eddie says. “But we are finding our way back.”
Ramon nods, and leaves the room.
Eddie can hear his parents' muffled voices in the other room, and since he's not interested in eavesdropping on that particular conversation, he checks in with Chris.
“Anything I can do to help?” Eddie asks from the doorway.
“I got it,” Chris says.
Eddie nods, hesitating in the doorway.
“You can come in,” his son says, not keeping the eye-roll tone out of his voice.
Eddie does, sitting on the edge of the bed near where Chris sits on the floor by the dresser. He's got his suitcase open next to him, and a big pile of unfolded clothes. He's in the process of folding them carefully, rolling them up tightly to save space. There are more clothes now than when he left for El Paso. Ramon and Helena haven't been immune to spoiling their grandson, Eddie supposes.
“Are you gonna keep up with chess when we're back home?” Eddie asks, searching for something to say. There's a strange tension in the house with Helena's distressed energy somehow permeating every corner of every room.
“I think so,” Chris says. “Most schools have a chess club.”
“I'd offer to practice with you, but I don't know how to play,” Eddie says, and Christopher pauses.
“Grandpa never taught you?” Chris asks without looking up. He's looking at the shirt in his hand without making any move to fold it.
“No, uh, he didn't,” Eddie says. “He was- it-” He stops. Tries again. “Our relationship wasn't really like that.”
“Oh,” Chris says.
“Yeah, he was- he was away a lot. For work,” Eddie explains. “He was out on long shifts all over the state. We didn't really have time to...” he trails off, unsure of how honest he wants to be. Unsure what color he wants to paint this story.
He’s never found himself in the position of having to defend his father before. Of wanting to. Eddie never had a relationship with Ramon, growing up. But Chris does. As much as Eddie wishes he’d received that kind of love and effort, he doesn’t want to say something that would take that away from Chris. Eddie wants to be honest, but he doesn’t want Chris to hate his grandfather who loves him.
“You do shift work,” Chris says slowly, “but you always have time for me when you're at home.”
Eddie nods at that.
“I do. I spent a lot of time trying not to be like my dad. I wanted to be someone to you, Chris. I didn't want to be like my dad, but then I went away from you and your mom when you were so young anyway. And I knew I had to make a change. That's why I asked you to come to LA with me in the first place. I wanted to be someone to you, not just some guy who was your dad. And I didn't want to build that relationship with you in the shadow of my relationship with my parents. I thought we needed space,” Eddie admits, “and I think I was right.”
Christopher considers this, his clothing now abandoned in his lap as he takes in his dad's words.
“They're different when I'm alone with them. It's different when you're here,” Chris says. “I think... I think maybe you make them sad.”
Eddie feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he swallows them back. Really, he already knew this about his parents. He's been making them sad his entire adult life, for one reason or another. Probably before then, too.
“I think maybe I do make them sad,” he agrees. “But I can't do anything about it if they won't talk to me about it. And I know they're trying. Well, they try with you. And I appreciate that, I do. But I don't want you and me to be like me and them.”
“Yeah,” Chris agrees. He looks away, then, not at anything in particular. Picks up an abandoned shirt and toys with it more than folds it. “I missed you,” he says quietly.
“God, I missed you too, Chris,” Eddie says, and slides onto the floor next to his son to hug him close.
* * *
They leave El Paso two days later, after packing up their remaining things and making their stilted, but civil, goodbyes to Eddie's parents.
It's a long drive back to California, but it feels like it goes by quickly. It's not a perfect trip- there is of course traffic around the cities, but they had a solid head start- Chris had gotten up when Eddie did, even though Eddie said he could sleep in a little, and they'd packed the truck the night before. They leave before sunrise and Chris leans his head against a folded up sweatshirt to use as a makeshift pillow.
Eddie isn't sure if he's really sleeping, or just doesn't want to have any conversations this early in the day. To his credit- it's a fair way to feel, even if they didn’t have the car packed full of emotional baggage in addition to the physical stuff.
Eddie feels good about how things have been going with Chris. They've talked through a lot, but even with Chris agreeing to come home there's still a thread or two that hasn't been completely resolved. And maybe that's just part of raising a teenager, he thinks. Or part of being a person in a world full of other people. Nothing can ever be perfect, but it won’t even be close if you don’t put in the effort.
There's a familiar shape in the driveway when they pull into the house on Bedford Street. Light spills out of the windows illuminating the yard, pale and dark and glowing gently. Chris looks at Eddie, suddenly re-energized despite the long day on the road. There's an excited question in his face. Did you do this? Eddie is smiling when he shrugs, shaking his head to say, No, I didn't.
They climb out of the car, leaving their things behind for the moment. As soon as Eddie unlocks the door, Chris is through the threshold and calling out, "Buck!"
Something clatters in the kitchen. Christopher bursts through the open doorway and Eddie follows closely, seeing Buck a moment later, wearing an apron and a distracting pink flush.
"Chris!" Buck exclaims back, surprise written all over his face. "You guys are back early!"
He says this over Christopher's head, looking at Eddie while he squeezes Chris in close. Eddie can tell Buck is noticing how Chris is taller now than the last time Buck hugged him. Eddie knows this, because he had the same thought a week ago, when Chris hugged him for the first time in too many months.
"Dad drives fast," Chris says with a grin.
"Traffic was light," Eddie corrects. "I would never speed.”
“Uh huh,” Chris says dubiously.
Buck pulls an exaggerated face. “No, of course not,” he says.
Chris laughs at both of them and Eddie ruffles his hair as revenge. Chris tries to duck out of the way, but he's still laughing, and Eddie's heart soars at the simple action of being able to kid around like this again.
“I’d ask what you’re doing here, but it looks like you’re making us dinner,” Eddie says, taking in the kitchen and the delicious smell coming from the oven. “Again,” he adds, still teasing.
“Homemade mac and cheese,” Buck proclaims. “And green beans with crispy onions. I gotta make sure you boys get your vegetables in. But I’m not done here, so go bring in the rest of your stuff and wash up, and then we’ll be ready to eat.”
It’s so domestic, Buck sending them out of the kitchen, telling them to wash up. Eddie has the thought that his home is more complete with Buck in it. Sure, he would’ve been happy to have Chris back home even if they’d returned to an empty house. But with Buck there, not only waiting for them, but welcoming them in to celebrate, keeping the house warm and lived in and loved for their return. It sets something aflame in Eddie’s chest, spreads through this whole body with a pleasing, bright sensation.
They do as they’re told, with Eddie doing most of the heavy lifting, before settling in for dinner. They’re halfway through eating and catching up with Buck when Eddie has a startling realization.
“Buck.” Eddie’s voice is serious.
Buck’s head pops up and he stops chewing for a moment.
“Is this… the cottage cheese recipe?” Eddie asks
Buck’s shit-eating grin is all the answer he needs. Eddie groans.
Chris looks confused but delighted at the drama, and Buck explains about the recipe, and why it’s so genius. Meanwhile, Eddie finishes his plate because, unfortunately, the damn thing might be the tastiest mac and cheese he’s ever eaten.
He gets up for another helping and studiously avoids the way Buck is positively beaming in victory.
After dinner, Chris retires to his room. He has, after all, spent the entire day in close quarters with his dad. He loves his dad, and he’s happy to be home, but it has been quite a week for him, and he needs space, which Eddie can understand.
Eddie and Buck share clean-up duty. Eddie packs away the leftovers while Buck takes the pans to the sink and starts washing. Eddie wipes the counters with a rag and starts drying and putting things away. They work in perfect sync, as if they’d never been apart at all. As if nothing has changed. And in some ways, it hasn’t changed. But in other ways…
Eddie looks over at Buck, elbow deep in the dishes. Quiet, as he concentrates on scrubbing a pan, his muscles briefly hypnotizing Eddie. Seconds, or maybe minutes later, Buck sets the last pan down in the rack, and Eddie snaps out of it enough to dry it and tuck it back in the cabinet. Buck wipes away the water that’s splashed up around the counter and wrings out the rag. He sets it aside and settles against the counter as Eddie finishes his own task and meets him back at the sink.
Eddie catches Buck watching him with a tiny smile.
“What?” Eddie questions.
“What do you mean, what?”
Eddie resists the urge to roll his eyes like his son.
“I mean, what are you looking at me like that for?” he asks.
“How am I looking at you?” Buck asks. Playing it cool would suit him better if he wasn’t very pink.
Like you love me , Eddie thinks.
Instead of saying it, he steps a little closer into Buck’s space and lets his hand find its home on Buck’s shoulder, thumb brushing over his collarbone. He feels Buck shiver a little under his touch, despite the warm kitchen.
“Thank you for making us dinner,” Eddie says. “For being here. For waiting for us. For having our backs. All of it.”
“Uh, yeah,” Buck says. “Of-of course.”
Eddie thinks of all the things he could say. Things he wants to say. I did a lot of thinking in Texas, or stay here, with us, forever, or even those three little words, the scariest of all. But it all gets stuck under his tongue, and he can’t find a way to force them out now, when it matters.
His hand shifts so he’s cupping Buck’s neck more than resting on his shoulder. Buck’s breath hitches like he might stop breathing all together. For a second, Buck starts to open his mouth, probably to ask what the heck is happening. Eddie cuts him off quick by kissing him.
Eddie’s on him in a rush, pressing his mouth insistently to Buck’s. Here are the words I couldn’t say, Eddie thinks. I want you to have them. I want you to know.
For Buck’s part, there is no hesitation. He kisses back immediately, sinking into it like it’s a balm over his heart. Eddie’s free hand finds Buck’s ribcage, and Buck gasps a little into the kiss, opening his mouth to let Eddie in.
Eddie pulls back a moment later, smiling and trying not to laugh.
“Sorry,” he explains, “Sorry, it’s not—you just taste like cheese and onions, a little.”
Buck huffs. “I would’ve made something else if I knew you were going to kiss me!”
All Eddie can do is smile at him, shaking off the laughter. Buck’s hand lands on his arm, and it feels hot against Eddie’s skin. He tries to commit the feeling to memory as if he’s never going to feel it again. He wants to feel it forever.
“Are you-are you going to kiss me again?” Buck asks.
“I think so,” Eddie says, and he leans forward to give Buck a quick peck to test the waters. “Yeah,” he decides, and then he’s kissing Buck again.
He’s gentle, at first. But after a few moments he can’t keep himself from nipping at Buck’s lip a little. Buck makes a pathetic sound that makes Eddie’s knees go a little weak, and he pulls back again without letting go of Buck. Buck is still holding him, too, he notices.
“Wow,” Buck breathes, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “I’ve actually wanted to do that for a while.”
“You have?” Buck asks, breathless again.
Eddie nods, dragging a thumb over Buck’s lower lip affectionately.
“I think I have, too,” Buck admits. “I just couldn’t name it for a while.”
Eddie understands that, the not-naming. There are a lot of reasons for that, but there’s also the simple fact that what they have, whatever it is they’ve always had, is impossible to put into words. It’s all-encompassing. It’s what makes the Earth move. It’s love, but that would be putting it mildly.
“Well, it felt like you packed me a cooler full of your feelings to say it with,” Eddie says. They’ll have time to name it later.
Buck laughs.
“I kind of did do that, didn’t I?” he says in that bashful way of his.
“I appreciated it, as both food and feelings. It was like having a piece of you with me,” Eddie says. It was comfort, and support, and a hand on his shoulder. It was a hug. It was an extra layer in the cold.
“I’d do anything for you,” Buck says, and Eddie knows he means it.
“I know,” Eddie says. “You won’t have to.”
Buck squeezes Eddie into a hug and holds him there for a minute. When he draws back, he looks at Eddie with singular focus.
“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.
“Pretty sure you don’t have to ask me every time, Buck, you can just-”
Buck doesn’t even wait for Eddie to get to the end of his sentence before kissing him again. Eddie laughs into Buck’s mouth.
It’s feels good and right, and maybe a little silly. He’s in Los Angeles. Kissing Buck in the kitchen. Chris is home. It almost feels too good to be true, but Eddie is determined not to ruin this for himself before it’s begun. Maybe this can just be what it is: something good.
“Will you stay?” Eddie asks at the end of the night, when they’re finally kissed-out. Stay the night, the year, stay forever, he thinks.
“Of course,” Buck says. “I’ll make French toast in the morning.”