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Eddie goes on his first real date when he’s sixteen years old.
It’s . . . not a great date. He’s not a great date, if he’s being honest.
Ashley is nice. She’s one of the seven Ashley’s in his sophomore class — which is why he knows her as Ashley M. — and she’s on the stupid volleyball team with Adriana and three other Ashley’s. She had walked up to him in the lunchroom, where he’d been trying to work his way through some math problems, and asked when he was going to take her to dinner.
“Um,” he’d said, intelligent.
“Friday,” his friend Maria had answered for him, smiling up at Ashley. “He’s taking you out Friday. At seven.”
(When Ashley had gone back to her own table with a satisfied smile, Maria had elbowed him playfully and said You’re welcome. He told her to shut up, ducking his head. She had leaned in and whispered Ashley M. kisses with tongue.)
(She would know. They’d made out at a party once, in front of the whole baseball and football teams. She’d cried on the drive home.)
They hit up the local burger joint for dinner — maybe not the classiest place, but one inside Eddie’s meager budget and one he knew had good food that he could eat without cringing through unwelcome textures and tastes.
It should be going fine, but Eddie is doing everything wrong.
She orders a mint chocolate milkshake with two straws; he wrinkles his nose because he doesn’t like mint chocolate and he doesn’t like the implication that they have to share. So he asks for a Pepsi — and the waitress offers a Coke, which he declines in favor of a water because fuck you, they do taste different, and this obviously makes both the waitress and his date uncomfortable. He orders his meal and there’s a long pause where they look at each other before she sighs and puts in her own order.
She tries to tangle their feet together under the table and kicks him in the shin. Rather than accepting it with grace, he jerks away. After that, her feet stay firmly on her side of the table. They make slightly stilted small talk about school, sports, and extracurriculars — which seems to smooth things over. When she heads to the bathroom to freshen up, it’s with a smile.
“Dude,” the waitress — Gabby, who is the friend of one of his older cousins, a girl who goes to his church and has been in his family’s backyard — says as she sets their food on the table, “she wanted you to order for her.”
He blinks. “Why would I do that?”
Her hip hits the side of the table as she leans on it, crossing her arms over her chest. There’s a smear of mustard on her forearm. He hopes it’s not from his burger; he hates mustard. “It’s a chivalry thing.”
“That’s stupid,” he argues. “How would I even know what she wants?”
“You’re supposed to listen to her, estúpido.”
“This is the first time we’re ever hanging out,” he says. “I don’t know anything about her, much less how she likes her burgers. I’m trying my best, here. I’ve never done this before.”
She rolls her eyes and gives him a fond smile, the kind he gets from older cousins sometimes when they think he’s being an idiot in the way they were idiots once. “This is your first date?” She waits for him to nod in response. “If you’re anything like your sister, just be yourself and she’ll be half in love with you in no time.”
“I’m nothing like Adri,” he confesses.
She grimaces: “Good luck,” and disappears back into the kitchen.
Almost as soon as she’s gone, Ashley takes her seat across from him. Her manicured fingers, slightly chipped, tug at the basket in front of her. “Did she just drop off our food?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Should still be warm.”
She nods, picks up a french fry and twirls it between her fingers for a long moment. He’s already picked up his burger, but he pauses and waits. Is there some kind of date etiquette he doesn’t know about? Does he have to wait for her to take the first bite before he can eat his? A glob of ketchup oozes out the side of his burger when his grip tightens on it.
“Is everything okay?”
“Hm?”
He puts his own burger down. “You haven’t taken a bite yet. I was wondering if there was something wrong with it. We can send it back, if there is.”
“No,” she says, “I’m sure it’s great.” Ashley takes a sharp bite of the french fry with her perfect teeth. She chews, looking off to the side, and then meets his eyes. “You were talking to her for a while. Do you know her or something?”
“Who?”
“Our waitress.”
“Oh, Gabby. She’s friends with my cousin.”
“Oh.”
“And we go to the same church.”
“Hm.”
“We were just catching up.” He’s mildly embarrassed. How do you tell your date that you’re so clueless that you were getting dating advice from your waitress? How do you reveal that you’re clueless about girls without revealing the why?
“Do you like her, or something?”
“Or something?”
“You know.” Ashley drops the remainder of the french fry back into the basket.
“I mean,” he says, confused, “sure. She’s nice. I don’t know her that well.”
To be honest, Eddie is a little more interested in Gabby’s younger brother, a kid in Adriana’s grade, only a year ahead of him in school, but he tries not to think about it too much.
“Is that why we came here? So you could see her?”
He frowns, leaning his forearms on the table. His burger is getting cold. He won’t be able to eat it soon; most of the time, he can’t eat reheated food. “Ashley, I am so confused. What is going on? Who cares about Gabby?”
“Clearly, you do.”
“Because I talked to her for five minutes?”
“That’s longer than you’ve talked to me,” she huffs. “I just think it’s not cool to ask a girl out and then spend the whole time talking to some other girl. I didn’t think you were that kind of guy.”
Now, Eddie doesn’t have the time to unpack all of that, so he starts with the most glaringly obvious: “I didn’t ask you out. You asked me.”
Her mouth drops open just a little bit. “Oh.” It comes out deeper than anything he’s ever heard from her mouth before. Scrambling, Ashley M. starts gathering her big bag, the kind that looks like it belongs on a horse’s saddle, and her soft-looking velvety zip-up sweatshirt. Her untouched milkshake with two straws is knocked to the floor in her haste to get up.
“Woah!” The sound is involuntary and he jumps out of his seat to get out of the splash zone.
“Have a nice life, Eddie.” It’s the last thing she says before she storms out of the restaurant.
When he looks up from the shattered milkshake, Gabby and the other servers are watching in total silence, as are the other people just trying to enjoy their meals. He must look as lost and hopeless as he feels, because Gabby shakes her head with a sigh.
“What a mess,” she says, like she means both the milkshake and Eddie at the same time, and then calls over her shoulder: “Somebody grab the mop.”
Senior prom comes up on him fast.
All the guys in the locker room are stressing over asking their girlfriends, about teaming up to talk their parents into hiring a limo, about whether or not they’re going to get lucky. All the girls in class are worried about whether or not they’ll be asked, about finding and fitting into the right dress, about whether or not they’ll be expected to put out.
It’s about as big of a production as Adriana’s was the year before — at least, it is at school.
At home, there is no hustle and bustle. There is no dinner-table discussion about dress shopping and corsages and complimentary colors. Mom is not making an appointment for Eddie to get his hair cut and styled, like she did for Adriana. His tías aren’t planning to come over the day-of and conceal his zits and cover his dark circles and gloss his chapped lips.
Not until the week of, anyway.
The Monday before senior prom — just when Eddie was starting to think he could get away with skipping it all together, stay at home and watch some TV or go out and see a movie without the theater being full of kids from school — Papi looks up from his breakfast and says, “Well, Edmundo, have you picked up your suit yet?”
“Um,” he pauses in the act of shoving his feet in his beat-up sneakers, “for what?”
“Your prom.” Papi sets his fork down and takes a long sip from his coffee. “Tu mamá necesita saber du qué color de flores obtener.” When Eddie blinks at him like he doesn’t speak Spanish, Papi’s coffee cup lands on the table with an annoyed sound. “For your date. The flowers must match the dress these days.”
“Oh.” He swallows. “I — um. I don’t — I don’t know yet. She — um — she’s having trouble choosing a dress.”
Sophia, sat at the table with Papi, perks up. She’s at the age where she thinks everything Eddie and Adriana get to do is just the coolest, especially anything that involves dressing up and dancing. He’s sure it will fade soon.
Mom brightens as well, giving him big smile. “You have a date?” She says it like a revelation, like a blessing. He’s never seen her so proud of him. He’s so ashamed.
“Yeah,” he lies, “I do.”
It follows him all day at school, his lie and his shame.
The entire school day is a bust. He learned absolutely nothing, too anxious and worked up to focus on a single lesson. Luckily, his teachers just assume he’s as excited for prom as his classmates are, because they’re going easy on them and he doesn’t get called on once.
The solution comes to him as he’s leaving math class with a passing grade in his hands. His baseball buddies, jostling each other through the doorway, are bemoaning getting a pop-quiz on the Monday of such an important week (and how they didn’t score particularly high on that quiz). He’s following them out when he looks up to catch the eye of his unofficial math tutor.
Maria, wonderful Maria, waves her pop-quiz in greeting. Eddie can see the bold, bright red 100% at the top of the page. He sheepishly holds his up. Despite his lower grade, she gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up and — it hits him.
Maria likes to kiss girls, even if she only actually does it at parties when the beer is flowing and it can be passed off as doing it for attention. And Eddie, well — Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever be brave enough or honest enough to kiss a boy, but he knows that deep down he’d like to.
He catches up to her at her locker.
“Eighty-three percent,” she praises, excited for him. She’s been helping him with his math homework for years now. “Not bad, Diaz.”
“Prom,” he says.
She blinks. “What about it?”
“Are you going?”
“I’m planning to.”
“Do you have a date?”
“I don’t.”
“Would you like one?”
She frowns at him, holding her sweatshirt to her chest. With her pink backpack hanging off one shoulder, with her straightened bangs and curly hair, she looks small in her concern. “I don’t really date. Eddie, what’s going on right now? Are you asking me out?”
“As friends!” he clarifies. “Just as friends.” He takes a step closer into her space, lowers his voice. “I just — I figure, neither of us can go with the kind of person we’d actually like to go with.” He hopes that’s both vague enough and clear enough. “It might be nice to go together. You know, with someone who won’t have any expectations.”
Maria looks up at him like she’s seeing him in a new light. She bites her glossed lip for a long moment — and then she smiles.
“Okay. Let’s go together.”
He grins, relieved. “Okay. What color is your dress?” He pauses. “Do you have a dress?”
She laughs. “Prom is in like three days, Eddie. Of course I have a dress.”
“Cool. What color? We can match.”
He goes home that night and finishes his homework at the kitchen table. Mom pulls into the driveway just in time for him to head out to pick up Sophia from her after-school club, coming in as he’s going out. In greeting, he kisses her cheek and says, “Her dress is green. Like, dark green.”
“We can work with that,” she promises, delighted. “I’ll get your suit cleaned.”
Friday night rolls around.
Adriana fusses over his hair and Sophia helps as much as an eleven-year-old really can. He whines and complains, but he loves his sisters, really. It’s nice, to be doing something together like this again. When he’s ready to walk out the door, Papi pulls him aside.
“You look good, Edmundo,” he says, straightening Eddie’s tie. “Very grown up.”
“Thanks, Papi.”
“Now, I already know you’re going to be a gentleman. I didn’t raise you to be anything different. You pick her up at the door. You shake her father’s hand. You let her mother take as many pictures as she wants. You get her home on time.”
“Sí, Papi.”
Papi holds his hand out to shake and Eddie takes it firmly, just like he was taught. A little foil packet passes between their palms; Eddie stares down at it as he pulls away. His face heats instantly and he tries to give the condom back.
“Oh, no, Papi. No, thank you. I don’t want it.”
“I don’t care if you want to use it or not. You use it. You need to be smart and safe, ¿entendés?”
“No, really, I mean,” Eddie says as seriously, as firmly, as he can, “I don’t need it. I’m not — we’re not —”
“Mijo, you don’t have to pretend. I’m not so old I don’t know what goes on at parties like these. I was a boy once, too. I know what goes through your mind. I want you to be prepared.”
He ducks his head, turns the condom over in his fingers. “Did you give Adri one of these before her prom, last year?”
“Don’t be vulgar, Edmundo.”
“That’s a no.”
He pockets the condom. He won’t be allowed to leave without it, anyway.
Maria looks beautiful in her dress. She and some of the other girls from the cheer squad all got ready together, so there are a bunch of other guys from his class milling around and a lot of parents flaunting their new digital cameras. He stands behind her, hands politely perched on her stomach, and smiles for the camera. There’s glitter on her eyelids.
The gym is decorated with streamers and balloons and confetti. Antonio from the swim team discreetly passes around a flask, ducking around the dance floor to offer it to different couples. The eye contact he holds when Eddie takes a short sip directly after him is a little intense.
(Eddie decides not to partake for the rest of the night.)
(In fact, he decides not to make eye contact with Antonio ever again.)
Maria’s painted fingernails wrap around his shoulders when a slow song comes on, tugging him in close. “So,” she whispers in his ear, seemingly intimate and romantic, “who would you rather be dancing with right now?”
“Just you.”
“Really? In your wildest, most fearless fantasies, you’re still dancing with me? Even in your imagination?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine I’ll ever be free enough to dance with a — with someone like that.”
“I’m sorry, Eddie. At least it’s easier for me.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs, “I’m sure it’s really easy only getting to be you when it makes some jerkoffs from the football team hard.” He smiles down at her. “Who would you rather be dancing with right now?”
“Sam,” she admits. Eddie admires her bravery, even just between them. “From softball.”
“Is she—?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“I’m sorry, Maria.”
She puts her head on his shoulder. “Me, too, Eddie.”
He gets her home on time, kisses her cheek at the door like a gentleman.
(The condom never leaves his pocket.)
(He hands it to Papi the next morning and lets him take from that what he will.)
He and Shannon, they never really have a first date.
They just . . . start dating.
She sweeps into his life a year after senior prom. She’s the coolest person Eddie has ever met and he wants her to like him so much. One day, they’re friends. The next day, they’re more. She kisses him in the bench seat of his rusty old truck and changes everything.
(Its Eddie’s first kiss.)
When he stutters through trying to plan a real date for them, somewhere fancy and romantic, she throws her head back and laughs. It’s a sight to behold, free and open and beautiful. He doesn’t even feel bad that she’s laughing at him.
“I want our first date to be special,” he explains.
“Eddie,” she presses a kiss to his mouth, then another, “we don’t need to go on a first date. We’ve been dating.” Another kiss. “Stop worrying so much.”
He hadn’t realized that they’d been dating. Those nights out, the drives around town, the trips to the movies or to dinner or out for a hike — he’d thought all this time they were just things friends did together. Just another thing he missed, another thing everyone else knew before he did.
The time spent together is what made him love her. He thought it was just the kissing that made them a couple.
“I just want to treat you right,” he explains.
“You do,” she assures him.
(So, he and Shannon, they never really have a first date.)
(They do have a last date, though.)
The first day he meets Buck, he takes him out to dinner.
Together, they pull a grenade from a man’s leg and explode an ambulance. (Okay, maybe the last one is more on Eddie than on Buck.) Either way, they shake hands and Buck’s shy, pleased smile looks like coming home. Eddie feels something settle in his stomach — something he’s felt before, something he always ignores.
(Eddie reminds himself that his wife lives in this city. Eddie reminds himself that he’s married.)
Bobby interrupts, not that there’s anything to interrupt. The ambulance explodes.
Buck and Bobby turn to look at him as the ambulance burns, bright and hot, behind them.
“You guys hungry?”
Bobby declines. Buck does not.
They sit across from each other in a shitty booth in a shitty burger place Buck claims is the best. They each eat a burger, share a big order of fries, and a basket of chicken tenders. Eddie has to admit, the food is pretty good.
The company is even better.
It seems one split second and a few kind words won him Buck’s friendship and changed his entire personality on a dime. Gone is the antagonism. Gone is the posturing. Instead, Buck preens under his approval and the adrenaline of a save well-executed. He laughs at Eddie’s jokes, flutters his pretty blue eyes and his pretty blonde eyelashes like Eddie’s attention makes him nervous.
(Eddie reminds himself that Buck has a girlfriend, no matter what Chimney and Hen told him.)
(Eddie reminds himself that he has a wife.)
Buck sips on his strawberry milkshake, then easily trades Eddie for his vanilla when Eddie asks if it’s any good. Eddie puts his mouth on the straw Buck used and watches as, across the table, Buck does the same. It sets something alight low in Eddie’s stomach.
“So,” Eddie leans his elbows on the table, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “be honest with me. Why is Chimney called Chimney?”
Buck matches him, a big grin stretching his face. “Honestly? I don’t know. They won’t tell me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” Buck leans back in his seat, plays with the straw still in the vanilla milkshake, the one that had been in Eddie’s mouth and then in Buck’s. “Hen and Chim, they’ve been a team for literal years. And Bobby, he’s the captain, you know? I’ve kind of been on the outside, waiting for a partner of my own.”
“And that’s why Bobby hired me.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”
Eddie steals the last bite of Buck’s burger, leftover on his plate. “Let’s come up with our own thing to confuse them with, then.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a secret handshake or something? What are the kids doing these days?”
“Eddie Diaz,” Buck says, “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”
They clink their glasses together.
It’s not long after Shannon dies that his other parent-friends try to set him up.
Honestly, he doesn’t blame them. Most of them — the ones he’s gotten to know pretty well over a summer of setting playdates and heading to birthday parties — never really met Shannon. Or, if they did, it was in the capacity of Christopher’s mom more than Eddie’s wife. For a majority of the time they’ve known him, he’s been a single dad.
It’s Tacha who tries first. Her son’s name is Dillion and he’s probably Christopher’s best friend, always inviting him over for dinner or to the movies or to swim in their CP-friendly pool. They’ve kind of latched on to each other, hiding together from the overly enthusiastic PTO Parents and the snotty parents who’s kids don’t rely on scholarships to afford the school. She doesn’t make fun of Eddie for being a helicopter dad, but she does pull him aside at a child’s birthday party and say: “I want to set you up with my friend.”
“Oh,” he answers, taken aback. “Um, no, thank you.”
“Eddie,” she laughs fondly, giving him a smile and linking their arms, “come on. She’s great! She’s a single mom, around your age, she’s —”
“Thanks, really, Tacha, but no. I’m — I’m just not ready yet.”
Her big, dark eyes meet his. There’s a sense of disappointment in her expression.
(Disappointment is something Eddie is familiar with.)
“She hasn’t even been dead six months,” he says. “Give me a little more time.”
“Oh, Eddie,” she says quietly, “of course.”
She doesn’t pressure him about it again.
Eddie’s first date with Ana comes in the middle of a pandemic, two years after his wife died, only a few months after he and Buck slept together for the first time.
He sits across from her, outside in the California sunshine, and feels something begin. For the first time since Shannon, he believes for a minute that he could love a woman again.
(He believes for a minute that he could fall out of love with Buck.)
Ana is everything he could want — everything he should want. She’s stunningly beautiful, with her big curly hair, her big smile and dimples, her big eyes. She’s good with kids, already knows and likes Christopher. She’s kind and vulnerable and totally understanding about his need to take things slow. Most importantly, she’s a woman.
They drink coffee and eat small, dainty plates of breakfast food. The waitress offers them mimosas from behind her face mask and they accept. They toast to new beginnings and the new normal. He makes her laugh. She makes him smile.
The date goes well. In fact, it goes better than any other date he’s ever been on.
They go on another.
And another.
And another.
Every date, Buck stays home with Christopher and sends periodic updates to calm Eddie’s nerves. It makes Eddie long to be home with them, but he can’t give up this chance with Anna. And after every date, he goes home to them, to his boys.
He tells Chris. (That goes less well.)
He invites her into his home. (That goes a little better.)
During one particular date, his phone pings with a notification multiple times in a row. He pulls away from Ana and their PG-13 makeout session in the front seat of his truck, scrambles to pull his phone from his pocket. “Sorry,” he says, “it’s Buck.”
Buck: 8:43 PM:
Just a head’s up: Chris says he’s not feeling well.
Buck: 8:43 PM:
It’s not COVID. We tested.
Buck: 8:43 PM:
He just has a headache. I think he needs new glasses.
Buck: 8:44 PM:
We’re just gonna curl up and read a little until you’re home.
Buck: 8:44 PM:
DO NOT WORRY!!!
“Would you mind if we head back to mine?”
“Of course not, Edmundo.”
He might drive a little faster than the speed limit to get home — but, hey, his kid is sick. It’s his job to be with him, to ease him through it.
As soon as he opens the front door, he calls out. Both Buck and Chris answer, though less enthusiastically than they usually would. He follows the sound of their voices down the hallway to Chris’s bedroom, where they’re waiting for him.
“Oh,” he coos when he sees them. They’re curled up together in Chris’s bed, Chris’s head resting on Buck’s big arm where his bulk is balancing along the edge of the bed. His eyes are closed, a damp towel on his forehead, but he peeks his eyes open.
“Hi, Dad,” he whispers.
“Hi, mijo.” Eddie drops to his knees beside Chris’s bed, reaches to put his hand in his son’s hair. Instinctively, his other hand finds Buck’s shoulder, the bugle of his bicep, and his thumb strokes gently over the muscle. “How are my sweet boys?”
“My head hurts,” Chris complains.
“Too much screen time,” Buck explains, keeping his voice low. His fingers brush Eddie’s, where they’re both stroking through Chris’s curls. “And he needs a new prescription.”
Eddie pouts. “Pobrecito. I’ll call the eye doctor in the morning.”
“Okay,” Chris sighs — and snuggles further down into his blankets.
“Go to sleep,” Buck instructs, climbing out of the bed and easing Chris down to his pillow. They both kiss his forehead and step out into the hallway — and into Ana, who stands waiting in the doorway. “Oh,” Buck says, “hi, Ana.”
“Hi,” she smiles. “You must be the famous Buck.”
“I am.” He fidgets uncomfortably with his sweatpants pockets, like he’s suddenly very aware of being in his bare feet and well-loved pajamas while they’re both still in their date clothes. His sweatshirt says Diaz on the back.
“Is Chris okay?” she asks.
Buck nods immediately. “Oh, yeah.” He tilts his head to make eye contact with Eddie. “He’s had some Advil and it’s helping. He’s just had a lot of screen time recently, with online school, and I don’t think he’s had a new prescription since we got him new glasses after — well, after the tsunami. I called the eye doctor and left a message.”
Relief lifts a weight off Eddie’s shoulders. “Thank you, Buck.”
They stand in the dark hallway for another long moment, awkward silence settling in.
“Well,” Buck says, pointing with both thumbs towards the living room, “I’m going to take my own advice and, uh, go to couch.”
“Good night, Buck.”
“Good night, Buck,” Ana echoes. She’s holding herself awkwardly, one hand wrapped around her opposite her elbow, one arm folded across her stomach. It’s the stance of someone out-of-place, someone uncomfortable. Eddie usually sees it in the relatives of patients, waiting to see if their loved one will be okay.
Eddie reaches out, touches her wrist softly. “Hey,” he smiles. “Let me get you home.”
“No,” she protests. “You should stay with Chris.”
“He’ll be okay for the length of a drive,” Eddie insists, even if the last thing he wants to do is leave his son. “Buck’s taking good care of him.”
“I’ll get an Uber,” she counters. “Really, Eddie. Stay with your boys. Your son is sick. He comes first.”
“How are you so perfect?”
She flushes, smiles, pleased with his flattery.
He kisses her at the door, watches her drive away in the backseat of a stranger’s car.
There’s another date or two after that — then Eddie gets shot.
They don’t go on another date for a long time.
His and Buck’s official first date is . . . something.
They go to a relatively nice restaurant, not one they’ve been to before. It’s not particularly pricey, but definitely fancier than their usual beer-and-burger meals. On the ride over, Eddie had to read the menu aloud to Buck so they could decide beforehand if it was a place they could actually eat at, with their combined dietary restrictions and sensory issues.
The waiter approaches the white-clothed table and sizes them up for a moment with a grin. “Hello,” he greets them both and introduces himself. Then, he turns his head slightly and addresses mostly Eddie. “Would you like to see our wine list for the night?”
“Um,” Eddie furrows his eyebrows and sneaks a glance at Buck, who has his face tilted downwards to hide his smile. He looks back up at the waiter. Wine would be more romantic, it would be what Shannon or Ana expected, but — “Got any beer?”
“Certainly. I’ll be right back with that list for you.”
Buck waits for their server to take five full steps away before he starts giggling, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He’s trying to keep it down, Eddie can tell, but he’s absolutely delighted by what Eddie took for a pretty strange interaction
“Shut up,” Eddie teases — or he means to tease.
But maybe he missed the mark, because Buck goes quiet for a long while. For some reason, the easy camaraderie they’ve had every single other time they’ve ever sat across a table form each other has dissipated with the addition of tablecloths and some dress shoes.
“You know,” Buck says, finally, “last time I was at a place like this, it was with Abby.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. It’s no secret he hates hearing about Abby — and Taylor — and Ali — and every single other person Buck has ever been with. He always has.
Maybe he can be a little jealous. So what? He’ll work on it.
Buck powers on anyway, running his finger up and down the tines of his silver fork. “It was a little before her mom passed. When we tried to order drinks, I got carded and she didn’t. And the hostess assumed she was my mom. It was super awkward. And our first ever date, I—”
“Buck,” Eddie interrupts, “no offense, but I don’t want to hear about the dates you went on with your first love.”
“I’m just trying to say,” Buck reaches across the table, puts his hand over Eddie’s clenched fist, “that this is not the most awkward date I’ve ever been on.”
Eddie smiles, turns his hand over so they can hold each other. Buck’s palm is a little sweaty against his. “It is awkward, isn’t it?” At Buck’s shy little nod, he breathes out a laugh and ducks his head. “Why is it awkward? We’ve never been awkward.”
A shrug. “Maybe we’re putting too much pressure on this whole first date thing.”
That . . . makes a lot of sense, actually. “I think you’re right. This isn’t a first date. We don’t have to get to know each other. We’re not feeling each other out. We made dinner together last night, ate it at home with our awesome kid. We’re a sure thing.”
“It’s not a first date,” Buck agrees, “it’s date night.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Me, too.”
Their waiter appears from the ether again and hands Eddie an extensive beer list. “Here you are, sir. Would you like a minute to decide?”
Eddie hands it back, suddenly filled with a confidence he didn’t have when they sat down for the first time. “Actually, I think we’re ready.” He doesn’t need a menu. He’d studied it for way too long in the car, memorized what he and Buck were thinking sounded good.
He orders for them both — drinks and food and, when the time comes, dessert.
The rest of the date goes smoothly, like every other time they’ve ever gone out together. The only difference is that he can hold Buck’s hand over the table and feed him a bite of his dessert and he knows they’ve got a child-free house waiting for them to take advantage of.
Buck backs him against the side of his truck in the parking lot, face tucked into his neck and sucking a dark mark under his jaw.
“That was so hot,” he moans. “I love a man who knows what he wants.”
“I want you,” Eddie groans in response, getting his hands in Buck’s hair.
“You have me,” Buck insists. “Take me.”
“Get in the car.”
“Yes, sir.”
Buck scrambles to get into the truck, but Eddie stays frozen where he is for another long moment. It takes him that moment to get the sudden, unexpected stirring in his stomach under control.
“Best first date ever,” he whispers to himself — and gets in the truck.
Chris is asleep on the floor in front of the couch.
Buck is reclining back against his chest, feet up on the arm rest at the other end of the couch, snuggled up in his arms.
Pizza, soda, beer, their ongoing video game tournament. The addressing of wedding invitations. Complaints from Chris that he’s going to develop carpal tunnel. A break for gummy worms, popcorn, and the newest Marvel movie.
That lead them here.
There’s a hole in the toe of Buck’s sock. Chris is starting to snore a little bit. The after-credits scene is lighting up the room, hinting at something important for the next movie that Eddie doesn’t understand.
Buck tilts his head back against Eddie’s shoulder. “Not a bad date night.”
“No,” Eddie agrees. “Not bad at all.”
“You want to wake the kid up or should I?”
Eddie groans. Chris has been harder and harder to wake as he gets older, growing into a grumpy night owl like his dad. He’s also getting harder to carry, no matter how many weights he and Buck lift, and more resistant to it, too. “I’ll rock-paper-scissors you for it.”
“Deal.”
In the middle of their rock-paper-scissors competition, Buck leans up and steals a kiss. It’s enough to distract Eddie, gives Buck enough time to change paper to rock and slam his fist on top of Eddie’s scissors.
“You lose,” he teases.
“I hate you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Love you more,” Chris grumbles from the floor, forced into wakefulness by Buck’s laughter and Eddie’s sputtering. He sits up and gives them both the stink-eye.
“Love you most,” Eddie counters, shoving Buck off of him and climbing to his feet. “Let’s go, kid. Bed, now.”
Chris rolls his whole head around on his neck, rather than just his eyes. He inherited that dramatic tendency from Buck. “Ugh. Fine. Good night.”
“Good night!”
Eddie starts to follow Chris down the hallway, because sometimes the kid tries to get out of brushing his teeth and they can’t afford cavities on top of braces. He turns around, walks backwards, to tell Buck: “Date night isn’t over yet.”
Buck grins, mischievous. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Oh my god,” Chris complains, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Can you at least wait until I’m asleep to be gross?”