Chapter Text
It’s a normal shift. Well, it’s Monday so that kinda sucks on it’s own, but it at least means he’ll have the better part of the weekend with Chris.
It’ll really only be Friday and Saturday at home, which is a fair trade off considering. It’s close enough to a golden weekend and better than having to work Saturday. As noble and understanding as Chris is often towards the difficult firefighter’s schedule, more so since their many talks about it since… that, he’s still a kid and Eddie often misses the whole weekend. Nevermind that it’s summer, the whole week feels like one long extended weekend for Chris even with the day camp he attends. It’s a hard trade off. At least with this, the disruption isn’t so noticeable as Abuela usually takes Chris to church on Sundays, anway.
The point is it’s Monday and it’s normal. It’s a hand-full of calls from their regulars who chat and flirt with Chimney and Cap, much to Buck’s exaggerated frustration; two traffic accidents that are fortunately minor considering the debris and sprinkled glass; and one fork in the microwave incident with a bunch of teenagers where the team struggles to remain the picture of cool professionalism while Bobby goes off on proper fire safety.
They’re rolling into the evening and so far their luck is holding for an easy shift. Or at least what passes for it in the middle of LA. Cap’s even hopeful, his famous chili sitting on the stove and the promise to make cookies after their next call, no matter the late hour.
It’s normal - except, Eddie’s sitting in the stupidly unprivate, glass-walled locker room, thankfully deserted this time of shift, staring down at his phone. It’s long since gone quiet. He numbly pulled the phone from his ear after Abuela hung up. The screen went dark all on it’s own.
“Eds? Ha! Told Chim I’d find you here.” Buck’s voice rings out following the squeak of the locker room door.
Because truly if it were a normal shift, he’d respond with some wise-ass remark. Something about telling Chim to fuck off or pointing out the obviousness of Buck finding Eddie in a room with glass for walls.
“Eddie?” Buck’s voice is closer now, questioning.
And yeah, he’s aware he needs to respond but Eddie can’t do anything more than stare at the dark screen of his phone. He doesn’t - he doesn’t know what to say. It’s a strange numbness, familiar and foreign all at the same time.
“Eddie.” This time the bench shifts as Buck sits next to him on the bench, knees bumping. “You okay?”
Eddie licks his bottom lip, rubs his eyes. “My dad had a heart attack… he died.”
The bell rings, timely as ever, serving as unintended punctuation to his words. There’s no pump of adrenaline that accompanies the abrasive chime. Normally, it’s a Palovian response on shift; a constant battle with warring adrenaline rushes that never quite abate till the end of shift. Sometimes, not till he’s been off shift for hours. This time, he feels empty. Rooted.
Buck squeezes his wrist, Eddie’s hand still clutching his phone. “I got it,” He assures, flashing a lopsided grin that doesn’t quite shine the way it should. The way it normally does.
Eddie doesn’t move. The thumping of boots and chatter bleed through from the app floor and then silence.
He manages to move from the locker room to the loft kitchen table. Except sitting at the empty table makes his stomach churn, so he curls up in the armchair that Hen usually prefers when she’s not kicking Buck’s ass in mario kart. His phone buzzes, once, twice - Eddie switches it silent then turns it off completely, tossing it onto the coffee table. Out of his reach, out of sight.
Silence drags and it’s not till boots thud on the stairs that Eddie realizes the crew is back. Something hangs in the air, casting the station is that strange haunting quiet he associates with a bad call. When blue eyes peer over the armchair, it clicks. It’s not somberness from a call, it’s somberness because his father’s dead. It’s sad and quiet and moody all for him.
With Buck’s gentle hand on his shoulder, Eddie pushes himself to sit up. His lip wobbles as condolences are passed around, the crew’s familiar voices welcoming and more gentle than he thinks he deserves. After a few minutes, or maybe hours, most of the crowd parts, duties and chores pulling away less familiar faces so just the core of their group remains.
“You’re man-behind for the rest of the shift. I’m sorry -”
“It’s okay,” Eddie mumbles, standing to hug Bobby. The familiarity of this moment echoes around in his head making him shiver.
“I’d send you home if I could.” Bobby tries again once they pull apart.
Eddie just nods, he doesn’t have the energy to mount an argument - he understands.
They’re low on floaters with two houses down a handful of men due to a nasty house fire that they couldn’t initially contain. Floaters were fine, you had to be capable no matter the position in the department in one so competitive as the LAFD, but floaters had a reputation of being a little green. Worse, sometimes lazy or reluctant to get their hands dirty. He’d work with a few good ones, but it was tough to fall into rhythm with someone who was still finding theirs. So, Eddie gets it: quality floaters were a hard come by; Bobby wouldn’t want to pull one to their house when there was already such a demand. Besides, it’s hopefully late enough in shift, just past 8, that calling someone in would be moot. Someone needs to be man behind, anyway. And he knows he couldn’t be on calls right now too. Going home to more silence, to his phone still likely ringing and ringing - he doesn’t want that either.
Maybe the somewhat forced solitude would do him good when the team eventually rolls out again. Give him time to consider his words to Christopher, to at least peek at his phone even though he isn’t sure he’s ready to return any of the calls or texts that await him.
He’s more aware of the footsteps coming up the stairs this time around, but he can’t place the footfalls. Not that he can guess the whole crew’s. On a good day he might be able to accurately predict Bobby’s or Hen’s face before they come into view; he can always identify Buck’s. It’s harder to guess, or maybe easy to eliminate, with the engine and ambulance out. Even so, he’s a little surprised to look up and over to see Karen placing boxes of pastries on the worn kitchen table.
“Thought you guys could use a pick me up.” She says when she senses his gaze.
Eddie’s stomach somersaults, he’s not really sure he could eat but he knows everyone else will dig into the pastries. He used to think nobody could rival a soldier’s sugar tooth till he started here. It’s been tempered a bit due to the LSD, but boxed pastries are welcome. Home-made not so much.
Karen rattles off small talk as she hunts down paper towels and plates, something about obsessive PTA moms at Denny’s school. Eddie can relate, though he doesn’t share this. Karen’s voice is warm liquid, an easy change to the silence he’s been left with. Moving around the kitchen with an ease that rivals a probie, Eddie watches and listens to Karen from his spot on the couch. He lets the noise wash over him. Dimly, he’s aware that Karen should probably be home with Denny but he can’t make himself vocalize it.
It’s not exactly peaceful but it’s something. Of course, nothing like that lasts, his phone vibrating noisily on the coffee table startling them both.
“Sorry it’s -” Karen waves away his words as he reaches for his phone. Eddie frowns at the screen; it’s another cousin he barely talks to.
During their second callout since the news, Eddie reluctantly turned his phone back on. It really wasn’t fair to anyone. Although, he hasn’t done much in the way of responding to the multitude of well-meaning and karma-appleasing texts and calls. He managed five minutes with Sophia and tried calling his mom. Twice - both times the line was busy; he felt guilty for the brief flash of relief that surged when the voicemail started. He’d settled for a text promising to call again after shift and to be on the next flight out.
Or rather, the next flight he could find as soon as he looked. Which he hasn’t.
A warm mug filled with tea is thrust in his hands, Karen sitting by his side despite the other sitting options. It’s something he learned earlier on in his tenure at the 118, Karen, like her wife, has a way of ignoring personal space in a way that doesn’t feel intrusive or unwanted.
“You want to talk?”
He shrugs his shoulders, lifting the cup of tea to his lips. Chamomile. Eddie isn’t really a tea person - he drinks coffee. Black, dark, and bitter. Maybe a bit of sugar if he’s feeling adventurous. The only tea he has at home is earl grey for Carla and chamomile for Abuela. It’s doubtful that Karen knows the connection, but as the tea warms him up, he’s grateful. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep and there’s nothing to do around the house to pass the time till he gets sleepy again, he’ll sit at his creaky, small dining room table and drink a cup of chamomile.
“That’s okay.” A gentle hand on his knee. “It was hard on Hen, losing her father. Sometimes she’d wanna talk about it. Other days, she just wanted to sit alone.”
It’s hard to imagine Hen, with her bright personality, would sometimes prefer silence. Then again, Hen is sometimes reserved in a way Chim and Buck aren’t. And oh. Eddie should’ve made the connection sooner. “It’s not - it’s not the same.”
“I know, it probably isn’t.” Karen acknowledges. “But whatever it is, whatever you are feeling - Hen and I are both here. Whatever you need.” She promises.
Eddie manages a nod, too fearful to speak. He doesn’t know what to do with that. The fear, the guilt that he might relate to Hen. That maybe it is the same: a father who was there versus a father who wasn’t; a father who left versus a father who was gone too often.
He stares at Buck, eyes catching on the keys held in his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Driving you home. Duh.” He says it so plainly, so easily. Like he’s - and of course he is - a few steps ahead of Eddie and Buck’s just waiting for him to catch up.
“You look dead on your feet,” Eddie points out. Actually, Buck looks like literal shit but they’re both pulling their punches today it seems. If the remaining calls that had them out late were tougher due to his man-behind status, no one let on.
“Always honest,” Buck chirps back, that little crinkle back in his eyes. “I’ll blast the AC.”
“If you have to blast the AC then I’ll drive.” He says a little too forcefully.
Buck scoffs. “Dude, you’re the one who taught me that trick.”
Which, at the time, had been a little surprising. It’d been the first time they went to grab beers post-shift and they’d fallen into talk about the woes of having to make it home after draining calls. Eddie wouldn’t admit it then, still wouldn’t now, but he thought Buck, with one more year of experience, would have more insight there. Not that Eddie didn’t have experience driving while exhausted when he crisscrossed between three jobs, his house, and his parent’s back in El Paso. He just thought that Buck would want to brag, show off a little about his knowledge despite the first shift being behind them.
“That isn’t the point,” Eddie says, exhaustion creeping into the shortness of his tone. “How are you gonna get home? What about your jeep?”
“I’ll uber,” Buck says with an easy shrug off his shoulders.
They both know he won’t. Eddie’s lost count of how many times Buck’s driven him home or followed in his jeep after shift, all with the vague promise he’ll get back to his apartment eventually. And most days it doesn’t matter. Most days it doesn’t matter that Buck’s driving Eddie’s truck or he’s crossing over the threshold of his house with a bounce in his step and a departure time unset. Most days it doesn’t matter that he and Chris silently communicate reasons for Buck to stay: a leaky faucet, syrupy pancakes in the next morning, a movie that demands all three of their attention. Most days it doesn’t matter that Buck has clothes mixed in with theirs or a toothbrush by the sink or fancy oat milk in the door of the fridge. Most days it doesn’t matter but -
“I need to do this myself.” He tells Buck, voice rougher than he’d like. He pins it on the exhaustion but Eddie isn’t foolish even if he often tries to fool himself.
Something flashes across Buck’s face, there and gone in a second. Most days, Eddie can decipher every single one of Buck’s expressions, no matter how quick. Especially if it's a quick flicker; Buck’s someone whose openness is often a mask. There’s a tiny, reserved smile in its place; the kind of smile Eddie knows Buck uses to reassure someone on a call that’s scary or daunting. If it’s a mask this time, it’s a good one.
“I know,” Buck says, with that same easy confidence he walked into the locker room with. “I’ll uber back here or maybe Chim will pick me up.”
Eddie shoulders his bag. There’s something to be said about choosing your battles.
Like Karen, Buck fills the silence of the truck cab with talk. This, though, the way Buck speaks doesn’t feel the same. Buck’s voice, a little raspy from the long shift, soothes against Eddie’s skin. Most of it is mindless and Eddie’s long since given up trying to decipher how Buck jumps from one subject to another.
He sits up, glancing over at Buck. “Wait - Maddie’s back at dispatch?” Eddie feels like he missed several jumps in Buck’s one-sided conversation.
Eyes focused on the road, Buck doesn’t look over as he speaks. “Yeah, first shift last week. Sue’s pretty great and worked the schedule so she can come in two mornings a week when Chim’s off.”
He grins, probably for the first time since his Abuela called. “I’m really happy for her.” It was outpatient therapy instead of a treatment center, appointments instead of half-days, Chris at home instead of a partner and a baby, but Eddie thinks he gets it. Some of it at least. He knows what it’s like to leave something that means so much. To come back and feel the weight of every single stare following every step. It wasn’t - isn’t - easy.
“Me too.” Eddie lets himself twist in his seat, lets himself take in the smile that lights up Buck’s face. He can hear it in his voice too. It’s a tangible thing, Buck’s happiness. “I know everything’s not magically okay now.” Buck continues, brow crinkling. “But it’s more good days than bad so I’m gonna let the wins just be wins.”
He nods; he can’t find the words again. Doesn’t trust himself to speak with the way his throat stings and his eyes burn, anyway. The subject shifts and Eddie relaxes in his seat. Then they’re rolling into the driveway, Carla’s small car parked on the street.
Breakfast should be over with. It’s closer to 8 due to the morning traffic, but Eddie knows Chris sometimes will want to wait for him, and Buck, to get home despite his and Carla’s insistence it’s okay to eat without him. He hops out of the truck, halfway to the front door when he realizes something’s off. He turns, a frown already forming when he clocks why: Buck’s just climbed out of the cab, staring down at his phone, making no move forward.
He bites off a sigh, turns completely, marches forward, and clamps his hand on Buck’s wrist. “What are you doing?”
Buck looks up, eyes wide. He looks caught. “Uh, ordering an uber,” he offers.
Eddie isn’t sure if he wants to hug him or shake him more for his stupidity. “Dude, after you come inside.” He knows Buck knows this, his place in their family. But - maybe he was a little too short earlier.
Predictably, as soon as they step through the front door, there’s a long, excited “BUUCK!” from Chris. Buck scoops Chris up in a bone-crunching hug. It looks like a lot of their hugs, but Eddie has the knowledge to know it’s different than usual. He passes them by with a ruffle to Chris’ hair.
Carla, watching from the hallway, frowns at him. He’d like to think he’s holding it together, at least enough to not immediately tip Christopher off. Carla, though, she’s a force of nature - nothing gets past her.
“What’s wrong, Eddie?”
Glancing backward quickly, Buck’s returned Chris to his feet and he’s sufficiently distracted, Eddie lets his shoulders drop. “My dad, uh - He died.” Carla pulls him into a fierce hug and Eddie sags into it. Tears spring to his eyes and he has to blink them away.
“Jesus, Eddie.” She says, voice low for just them to hear. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“Heart attack. Widowmaker, I think.” If the texts he’d received were anything to go by.
“That’s awful.”
To anyone else, the words might just sound placating. The kind of thing you’re supposed to say when someone’s relative has died, but coming from Carla, Eddie doesn’t question her sincerity. Carla’s always seen him, seen behind the curtains of his life before a lot of the others: the frustration of insurance and red tape, his complicated family dynamics. She confided in him about her husband when a disagreement arose, had him laughing over her takes on the Dodger’s string of poor performances. The whole team might joke about their tiny, work-related friend circle and maybe it’s not all that different considering but Eddie's glad he has her in his and Chris’ corner.
He follows Carla’s gaze behind his shoulder where Buck’s crouched down to Chris’ height, can just hear something about the zoo. “I can drive him to school if you’re not feeling up to it.” She frowns, not so much at him, more that she’s thinking it through. “You’re gonna tell him after, yeah? I’d offer to stick around, but I think you’re both in good hands.”
Eddie’s throat constricts. If anyone were to understand why he needs to do this himself, he thinks it’s Carla, but something holds him back. It’s easier to say: “Yeah, we will be.”
Carla takes her leave, with the reminder of the leftovers from last night’s dinner, the insistence that he call if he needs anything, and finger tapping against her watch to remind him he only has about forty minutes to make it for school drop off. Her goodbye to Chris is like Buck’s hug, normal if you don’t know what to look for.
“Daaaad,” Chris makes his way over, hugging Eddie and popping his chin on his stomach to stare up at him with wide eyes. “Can I have extra cookies in my lunch box?”
He makes an exaggerated show of thinking it over before giving in. Buck snags Chris’ packed lunch from the table and the cookies from the pantry. School backpack double-checked because Eddie would rather not deal with the disapproving looks that accompany papers and flyers he’s forgotten to sort through and sign, they make it back to the truck. Buck drives, Chris apprises them of the latest schoolyard drama, and it’s the most natural thing in the world.
But left alone in the house after dropping Chris off and an uber has collected Buck, Eddie doesn’t know how to keep natural and normal going.
He paces through a call with his mom, torn between mournful and relieved it connected. She asks questions he can’t answer, expects an arrival time that he can’t give her yet. He tears up each time her voice breaks and skips, his eyes rubbed raw by the time he hangs up an hour later.
There’s a lot to figure out, as his mom managed to remind him despite the evident pain, but he’s more exhausted and worn down than he realized. Despite being man behind for about half of a 24, he flops onto his bed just like he would any other shift. After, he manages to pick around the edges of a slightly burnt grilled cheese. No matter Chris’ and his friends’ teasing, Eddie can cook - just basic, easy recipes. He’ll blame the burnt bread this time on Abuela’s call, which he answers halfway through cooking and he pays more attention to her soft voice than the sandwich in the pan. Call over and the rest of the sandwich binned, Eddie finally pulls out his laptop and starts the frustrating task of trying to find flights for himself, Chris, Abuela, and Pepa.
“Is Buck still home?” No hello, no instant recap of his school day or a play-by-play featuring his friend group who also do car-line. Given he got an extra fifteen minutes with some of his friends while Eddie waited for his teacher to gather up a week’s worth of school work, he thought that’s what Chris would lead with.
Eddie’s heart does a little flip in his chest. “No, buddy,” he answers, eyes finding Chris’ in the rear-view mirror. “Abuela’s coming over for dinner.” Which, expectedly, makes Chris smile and ask if she’s cooking rather than just coming to visit.
Thumbs tapping against the steering wheel, Eddie’s thoughts turn to the upcoming conversation as Chris moves on to talking about his art project they started last week. Eddie hums along at the right places, asks leading questions, but he can tell himself he’s lacking his usual after-school enthusiasm. He’s distracted, thinking of his own Abuelo. Fat tears on his cheek and Abuela’s soft hands; his father, after, telling him to wipe away the mess. He thinks of Shannon, bile burning his throat the rest of the drive.
Snacking and iPad time occupying Chris, Eddie sorts through the week’s assignments and adds it to the ever-growing list of things he needs to figure out. Chris reaches for today’s homework from one of the piles and Eddie frowns. He doesn’t know how much longer to keep delaying it, but looking at Chris - pencil in hand, curls askew from the school day, face peaceful yet concentrated, Eddie knows he’s not gonna do a thing to disrupt it.
Maybe he’s a coward, but today, at this moment, Eddie thinks just this once being cowardly is okay.
“Just checking in,” Buck’s voice fills his ear before Eddie has the phone fully raised.
“Yeah, it’s…” Eddie rubs at the bridge of his nose, voice low as to not alert Chris from his spot tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. He watches Chris for a second, still focused on the page in front of him. Homework time is rarely a struggle for him, Eddie and everyone else that helps has worked on keeping to a schedule for Chris. It means home-work-related meltdowns are few and far between. And a lot of it is Chris just being Chris, he loves learning.
“Hard,” Buck finishes for him after what Eddie guesses must have been a long pause.
Eddie blows out a breath, tension creeping up his neck. “It’s just a lot to get down by tomorrow. And I still haven’t found a flight for all of us yet. Shit - I haven’t talked to Bobby about time off.”
A million different thoughts float through his mind: expensive flights, a tight budget, one of Chris’ doctor appointments that’ll need to be rescheduled, at least two loads of laundry to do who knows when, lack of coverage at the house. He needs to take an Advil. Or a dozen.
“Hey, Eddie?”
He hums.
“Let me help. I can look at flights. You just be with Chris.”
It’s not that simple and yet, he knows Buck gets it. It’s not condescending; it’s easy, the way Buck offers. As natural as breathing. There’s still a part of Eddie that recoils a little at the offer of help, the part of himself that’s been conditioned to carry everything no matter the hand held out to help him. He’s still learning to let that go, to acknowledge the voice but not let it dominate.
“Please,” he manages. Eddie wipes at his eye, not quite tearful but tittering on the edge of it. “Um, Abuela’s coming over for dinner. Come by too. Please.”
“Of course - give Chris a hug for me.”
For when Eddie tells Chris, he means but doesn’t say.
Chris is wrapped up in Abuela’s embrace on the couch, eyes dangerously close to falling closed. Abuela continues her soft humming and it’s like they’re in their own little bubble; Eddie and Buck situated at the kitchen table, plates pushed aside to make room for Buck’s laptop, feels miles and miles away.
“Okay, five non-stop round trip tickets from LAX to ELP.”
Eddie blinks and nods at the information parroted to him: arrival and departure times, baggage limits, and in-flight snacks or lack thereof. And then it hits him.
“Five.”
The tips of Buck’s ears go pink. “I, um, bought five tickets. My way of… Okay, I know it sounds like I’m inviting myself to your father’s funeral. And I guess I kinda did, it’s just. An option. If you want it.”
“You already bought the tickets?” Jesus. Eddie’s cringing at the small fortune it costs.
If possible, Buck’s ears go redder. “It’s not that big of a deal. And if you don’t want me to come, I can transfer it. You got, like, a lot of family here, man.” It’s said with the same kind of awe Buck had when Buck came with him and Chris to a family barbeque for the first time. Even before Buck’s family consisted of just himself and Maddie, and by extension the 118, Buck had never been to such a huge get-together.
“Of course I want you.” It slips out impossibly fast, brain-to-mouth filter be damned. He licks his bottom lip. “What about the house?”
“Bobby?” Buck shrugs. “He said he’d figure it out and not to worry about it. Plus,” fingers drum on the table. “Dee from C shift owes me a favor.”
“People owe you a favor,” he asks, just a touch skeptical. Buck rarely says no to covering shifts or staying on a few hours extra while the rest of them make it home to their families. He just accepts shifts without expecting anything in return.
“I covered two shifts for Dee so he could get away with cheating on his girlfriend. Obviously, I didn’t know.” Buck explains, mouth twisting up in disgust. Eddie mimics the expression. “Piece of shit, really. But a piece of shit who’s gonna cover my shift so I can be there for my favorite Diaz’s.”
“I can’t ask you to come.”
“Why not,” Buck challenges.
Eddie shakes his family. “You know my family.” It’s a mess on a good day and his apprehension of the surefire family arguments has kept him distracted from the reason for returning to begin with.
“You know mine,” Buck shoots back.
They could go round and round if Eddie doesn’t stop it now. “And Bobby really agreed?”
“He said not to worry about it.”
It seems a little too simple for Eddie but he’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. He can’t name one of his bosses in Texas that would give him that amount of time off. Most had barely tolerated Eddie needing to modify his multiple schedules to accommodate doctors and therapy appointments.
“I’m giving you an out, you know,” Eddie says, eyes flicking back to the living room. Buck’s familiar with Abuela’s sweet chatter as they eat dinner, Pepa’s smart commentary at the park. He’s used to a few cousins and uncles and aunts who are all more welcoming than his mom has ever been. He’s not used to Eddie’s sisters and his relationship with Maddie is so different that Eddie isn’t sure there will be that much familiarity there. And with his dad’s death sure to taint every moment, a house turned into a museum of memories and regret and pain, Eddie isn’t sure it’s fair to let Buck come to a place riddled with mines.
He can play the expected dance of Buck refusing to let him pay him back for the flights till he’s finally worn down, but this feels like too much. Asking for too much. Eddie saw how his parents, how his family, wore down Shannon. He was too passive; he let it happen. He can’t let it happen to Buck, all because he tried to be noble.
It’s not the same and Eddie’s not sure he should even be comparing the two this way, but it’s impossible to not think of it now.
“Don’t want it.” Buck shrugs, pauses like he’s going to say more but whatever it is lost to the moment, Abuela interrupting to tell them that Christopher’s asleep.
“He’s had a long day, my poor boy. Both of you,” She says, hovering at the end of the table.
“I got him,” Buck announces, chair scraping back. Eddie watches as he scoops up Christopher, carries him over so Eddie can brush back his curls, and whisper goodnight before disappearing down the hallway.
“He’s good with him.” A pause, then, “You didn’t tell me how telling Christopher went.” Unlike his mom, Abuela’s words aren’t biting. He doesn’t suspect some ulterior motive behind the questioning, just curiosity, an offer to carry some of the weight.
She takes Buck’s empty seat as Eddie picks at his cuticle. Ultimately, he had waited till about an hour before dinner. He still wasn’t sure if it was the right timing, but he had hoped that Chris’ knowledge of her upcoming visit would mean that he knew he had someone else to lean on if he felt like he couldn’t talk to Eddie about it. He had cried, of course, and they talked about what would happen in the coming days, all too aware that Chris’ knowledge of death was too intimate. By the time Abuela, and then Buck, arrived, the discussion had turned to some of Chris’ memories in Texas and what that would look like now that his Abuelo was gone. His memory of the man was sweet and Eddie almost envied him, wishing he could share in that child-like innocence that colored his view of most of the world.
“He asked me if it meant that Dad and Shannon would be together.” And that had gotten Eddie, tears hot on his cheek as Chris asked. He hadn’t hidden them away, doesn’t now either as fresh tears well up.
“Oh, Edmundo.” Abuela’s soft hand cups his cheek. “You both have gone through too much.”
It’s instinct to open his mouth, to disagree, but something keeps him silent. Abuela pulls him down into a hug, the angle a bit awkward due to them both sitting, and Eddie lets himself be a kid again. He lets himself feel: sadness and anger and everything else at his dad dying. He lets himself be comforted.
The moment doesn’t last, it rarely ever does in his life, his traitorous phone once again the culprit. At least this time it’s not a random family member passing on rehearsed words, but his mom’s contact photo flashing across the screen.
“I got this,” Abuela says with a pat to his cheek. By the time Eddie’s brain catches up, she’s already greeting his mom. “No reason to worry my dear, Edmundo’s just putting Christopher to bed.”
Eddie can’t hear enough to decipher whatever his mom responds with so instead he watches how Abuela’s expressions shift. “I think we’re renting a car so you don’t have to play chauffeur. You have enough to worry about as it is.”
He’s never been able to exactly pin the relationship between Abuela and his mom before. It’s never been as intense as his mom and Shannon’s, or at least if it was they’ve hidden it well, but Eddie recognizes tension now. He thinks it might’ve always been there, a type of tension that’s grown and stretched after she moved to LA when he was eight.
Abuela hums a few times, letting his mother talk and guide the conversation. “Oh,” Eddie watches as she frowns. “No, it won’t be just the three of us. Pepa wouldn’t miss her brother’s funeral.” A pause. “Yes, she’s flying out with us but she won’t be staying with you.”
It’s the first Eddie’s hearing of it, but then again, the fraught relationship between his aunt and his mom has always been more apparent. Eddie and his sisters used to joke about world war three needing to be declared after an epic argument between them when they drove to LA when he was in fifth grade. His mom had threatened to load them all up in the car and make the twelve-hour drive three days ahead of their planned departure time. His dad, surprisingly, had been the peace-maker.
“Five not four, dear.” Abuela corrects again. “It’s Eddie’s partner, Buck. You know him, yes?” A longer pause this time, Abuela’s face shifting to something that Eddie pins as annoyance. “It’s late, Helena. I’ll tell Eddie you called. Get some sleep, my dear; we’ll see you tomorrow.”
It doesn’t hit Eddie till much later, sorting through the second load of laundry and cursing all the mismatched socks, that his mom might interpret partner for something unintended.