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Eddie goes to job interview after job interview. Eddie goes to breakfast with Christopher and his parents. Eddie takes his parents to church, and he doesn't go in, but he drives them back home after. He declines alcohol when Sophia offers him a beer with dinner, because he thinks if he gets even mildly tipsy around his parents, he will start screaming. He cleans his home. He picks Chris up from school, when Chris will let him. He tries to be the perfect son, the perfect parent, and he doesn't think about how much he would prefer being in LA to El Paso, because he won't fail Christopher like that.
He passes by the supermarket he had a job at when he had just been discharged, and he has to park the car just to have a panic attack. It's the first one in El Paso, but not the last one.
Buck breaks his radio silence to send him a picture of his living room, re-decorated, and then he doesn't stop. It seems like his kitchen is being tormented by flour, but Eddie always appreciates it.
Eddie doesn't say much back. He doesn't have a lot to say — nothing good, is the thing. He is eerily aware of the way his mental sanity is pending by a thread, but he's trying to crawl back to normalcy.
“Do you think I could bake macarons?” Buck’s voice asks in his ear. It's eight am on a Sunday, and Eddie is meant to drive to his parents’ place, and he is trying to judge whether he'd be a danger on the road after how little he slept. “I'm looking at the recipe, and I just don't think it's gonna be that hard.”
“Aren’t they famously near-impossible to bake?” Eddie asks, distracted, trying to choose what to wear for breakfast with his parents and stressing about it.
“No, yeah, but I just don't believe it,” Buck says.
“Pink or red?” Eddie asks.
“Pink,” Buck replies, immediately. “Do you believe I can do it?”
“Do I think you can do a master-level baking recipe after a couple of months of baking? No,” Eddie replies, ruthlessly. He smiles when Buck gasps, faux-hurt, as he finishes buttoning up his shirt.
“You'll eat your words, Diaz. And also some delicious macarons.”
“I don't think they'd survive getting shipped.” Eddie finishes his coffee with one final, big gulp, careful not to stain his shirt. “Hey, I gotta go, but let me know how the macarons go, yeah?”
“Sure, sure. Say hi to Chris for me.”
“Will do,” Eddie says, as he grabs his car keys.
*
Chris is still in bed, by the time Eddie gets to his parents’ place. His mom is somewhere inside, because she never let food on the table stop her from doing chores, but his dad has already sat down, looking over the newspaper.
“Morning,” Eddie says. He looks at the coffeemaker and decides against a second cup, because he has constant jittery hands without an excess in caffeine. He makes toast, for him and Christopher, or just for him if Christopher rejects it. He might.
Dad grunts at him, which is not out of the usual, for him. Then, he looks up, and he frowns.
"Why are you wearing that?" His dad asks, and Eddie closes his eyes. He thinks he might be an idiot — this is an argument they've had before, and he's never been able to win it. Years apart from his parents made him forget his defense mechanisms.
"It's just a shirt, Dad," Eddie says, head down. He can feel something rising up his throat, and it might be anger or it might be his breakfast coffee.
"It's pink," his dad says. "Aren't you looking for a job, right now? Do you really want people to think you're gay?"
Eddie doesn't answer.
"Whoa," Christopher says, and Eddie — hadn't realized he was coming in. His back's to the door, and when he argues with his parents blood rushes to his ears and he stops hearing most sounds. He wonders if his dad saw, and decided to insult him anyway. He's at least glad he didn't use a meaner word, this time. "That's homophobic."
Something inside Eddie breaks over his child, still in his pajamas and rumpled over from sleep, defending him. Over his child insisting on defending gay people. He's raised him like that, but — it's great to see it.
"Your dad's not gay," his dad scoffs.
"Yeah, but you're implying being gay is a bad thing," Christopher says. "And he's right. It's just a shirt."
His dad rolls his eyes, and Eddie feels his anger grow, because he's being so condescending to Christopher. "You don't understand—"
"Dad, will you drop it?" Eddie asks, suddenly exhausted. He's raised his voice, and he doesn't, usually. "For Christ's sake, it's just a shirt. No one's gonna think anything of it."
"Don't use the Lord's name in vain," his dad says, but he drops it. Christopher sits down, and he eats his toast, and it's tense the entire time.
Christopher wants to leave with Eddie after breakfast, and those weren't their plans, but Eddie will take any chance he has to spend time with him one-on-one. Chris keeps looking at Eddie, though, and ignoring his attempts at conversation.
"Why do you let them speak to you like that?" Chris asks, suddenly, once Eddie has stopped the car. Eddie was planning on just taking a walk. He sighs, because he has managed to mostly shield him from the way his parents talk to him. And he is happy Chris hasn't grown up thinking that the way his parents speak to him is normal, but — it's not unusual.
"That's just how they are, Chris," Eddie says.
"They don't speak to me like that," Chris replies, and Eddie's glad they don't. He really is.
He shrugs at Chris. “I — it's not worth it, to fight them.”
Chris just looks at him, and frowns, but he changes the subject, starts talking about chess club instead.
*
They don't get that much time together — Chris had plans with a friend, and Eddie agreed to drive his parents to the mid-morning church service. They leave before Chris gets picked up, his parents fretting over leaving him alone at home for half an hour.
They started leaving Eddie alone to take care of Sophia before he'd had his First Communion.
They finally leave, and Eddie looks at the park behind the church, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens, as it does every time. His mom doesn't even ask him to go inside like she always does, and he wonders if she's finally giving up on him.
Eddie drives away to sit in the car until mass is done. He doesn't want to be near that place. He gets a text from Buck, a picture of some browned, collapsed macarons.
I think I fucked up, the text says, and Eddie smiles at his phone, immediately feeling — better. Calmer.
Not that easy, huh? Eddie replies.
Buck sends the rolling-eyes emoji.
I'll get them eventually.
He's almost in a good mood, by the time he picks his parents up. They even manage a half-civil conversation on the drive back.
It's when Eddie is back inside the house, willing to be there for about three minutes before he goes back home to nap, that his mom goes, “You shouldn't have worn that shirt to church.”
Eddie almost rolls his eyes, but it would just make it all worse. He just sighs. “I didn't go inside the church, mom.”
“It's still setting a bad example for Christopher,” his mom says.
“Yeah, because I'm sure he will become so much more interested in church if he is forced to wear uncomfortable clothes there,” Eddie replies, trying not to lay the sarcasm on too thick and failing.
“That's not what I mean, and you know it,” his mom says. “That color—”
"It's just a shirt!" Eddie says, for what feels like the 1000th time, feeling insane. He’s getting flashbacks to being twelve.
"It's not just the shirt — we all know how you were when you were a kid, and you can't be like that around Christopher," his mom says, and Eddie feels a cold chill run down his back, because that's something he doesn't talk about. That's something he doesn't acknowledge. "You can't go around acting like a deviant when you have a son."
"Jesus, mom,” Eddie says. He’s not actively hearing her words as much as they’re just echoing around his brain. He can’t think. "I was twelve! I kissed one boy when I was twelve, you don't have to act like my soul is fucking — corrupted because of it."
"You're filling his mind with — ideas! He doesn't go to church, and he talks about that friend of yours like he's normal, like he's not—"
"You have gay friends too, mom!" Eddie replies, feeling the hypocrisy shoot at something deep within him. Of course it's only wrong when Eddie does it. "I won't let you teach my son that being gay is wrong. We have gay friends, his friends have gay parents. I don't care what you think, and you guys have to stop bringing up that shit around him."
His mom is obviously rearing up to answer when Eddie hears a noise deeper inside the house, knowing his dad’s in the kitchen right next to them, and panic raises up his throat. He whispers, "He's home ?"
"He texted his friend cancelled—"
Eddie leaves. Eddie walks out of the house before he's even thought twice about it, his mom calling after him and him ignoring her. He basically runs, shuts the door after him as loudly as he can, because as much as he hates to admit it, his mom is right that there's certain things about him that Chris should never know. He grew up in that house, though, and he knows the walls are paper thin.
He sits in the car, knowing he can't drive. He can't drive, but he wants to, because he needs to to be as far away from this house as possible.
He remembers, when the fucking nun who saw him kiss his friend in the park behind the church tattled to his parents. He remembers the screaming, the shaming, Eddie trying to defend himself as best he could. He remembers crying for hours, remembers Adriana not understanding the fight but offering a hug because he looked sad. Sophia hadn't been home, because she had been old enough to understand, and his parents hadn't wanted her to ever think her brother could be like that.
He knows Adriana was young enough to forget it, and he’s still terrified of what she might know.
There's a knock on the door, and if it's his mom wanting a second round of fighting, Eddie is going to start crying, immediately, and he would really like to avoid that.
It's Chris, though. It's Chris, so Eddie smiles at him, and he's sure it looks as fake and broken as he feels right now. "Hey, buddy—"
"Take this," Chris says, and it's his phone. He's become increasingly private about it, with adolescence, so Eddie hesitates for a second. He sees the screen, though, and—
"Hey, Eddie," Buck says. Eddie almost breaks. "Chris said your parents were being dicks."
"They really were," Eddie says, letting out a distressed, weak chuckle. Chris closes the door, giving him an illusion of privacy, but he doesn't turn around. Instead, he starts walking to the other side of the car.
"Wanna talk about it?" Buck asks.
"Not right now," Eddie says. Chris gets on the passenger seat, and Eddie wonders if he even said anything to his mom. He looks, and she's standing at the door. She doesn’t move. “How are your macarons?”
Buck describes the awful texture until Eddie feels like he can drive again, then keeps talking about whatever he can think of. Eddie gets to his place, and he stops feeling the safety of home surrounding him the moment he pulls over and hangs up.
*
Eddie cooks a truly awful lunch, and Chris doesn't even make fun of him for it. He's being quiet, but in a way Eddie understands to be supportive — he hovers while Eddie cooks, he helps with the dishes. He only stops when Eddie says he wants to take a nap, and he goes to his room — what's meant to be his room, anyway. He hasn't slept there even once.
Eddie goes inside his room, and then quietly sneaks outside five minutes later, sits on the bench the previous owners left on the back porch. The garden is ugly, awful and bare, but it still calms him down.
He calls Buck again, who answers immediately. “Jee-Yun, it's Eddie! Do you want to say hi to Eddie?”
“Hi, Eddie,” she says, too loud. It's adorable.
“Babysitting?” Eddie asks.
“No, I'm just hanging out,” Buck replies. “I wanted to check if Maddie's oven was better for the macarons, but I got distracted — actually, I should get the eggs out of the fridge if I want to try again today.”
Eddie listens as he goes into the kitchen, and he asks, in a half-whisper, “How are you, really?”
“I burnt lunch and Christopher didn't even laugh at me.”
“Ouch,” Buck says, immediately getting it.
“Yeah, I must look pretty pathetic.”
"What happened, really?" Buck asks. "Chris seemed kind of — rushed."
"I was wearing a pink shirt," Eddie says.
Buck waits for him to keep speaking, and the ridiculousness of the situation hits Eddie all over again. "That's it?"
"Yeah," Eddie says. "I was wearing a pink shirt and I kissed a boy when I was twelve. And somehow, that means I'm going to taint my son with my deviant ways."
Buck processes for a second too long, and Eddie hears stepping, and a door closing behind him. He just waits. "Sorry, Chimney was — around. And I didn't think you'd want him to hear."
"Who cares at this point," Eddie says, and he doesn't know why he's getting worked up all over again. "Who cares! I'm never going to be — I'll never be the man they fucking want me to be — I'll never be normal, they're going to spend every fucking day of the rest of my life reminding me that there's something wrong with me, no matter how much I fucking try—"
"Eddie," Buck says, low and hurried. "Eddie, you need to breathe. There's nothing wrong with you, okay? There — I can't think of anything about you that is not perfect."
"I can't live in El Paso," Eddie says, and he doesn't know if it's in reply to Buck or just a call for help. "I can't, I just — I hate this city. Trying to keep up the fucking performance of who I am is already hard enough when my parents aren't picking apart everything I say and do to make sure I'm not secretly gay."
Buck doesn't even have time to answer, because Eddie just breaks down. "I don't think it's normal to have anxiety attacks every time you think of settling down with a woman, but I can't be anything else, because if I try to be, they will just—"
He loses it. Starts sobbing, really, childish in a way he hates, but Buck just hums in his ear.
"Hey," Buck says. "Hey, hey. If you get married to a man, I'll be right there with you."
Eddie hiccups. "...What?"
"If you do. Christopher will be there, and I will be there, and Bobby and Hen and Chim and everyone else you invite will be there. You don't have to live your life for them, Eddie. If you try to be happy and they can't accept it you'll still have people."
"I can't."
"Why not?" Buck says. He sounds flippant in a way Eddie is sure is trying to get him to laugh. "I’ve been with a guy. It wasn't that hard."
"Asshole," Eddie replies, but he's smiling through the tears.
"You don't — did you know my mom was super homophobic after I came out?" Buck asks.
"What? No," Eddie replies, staring at the phone. That feels like something Buck should have told him months ago.
"Well, she was. Told me my life already had enough going wrong with it without adding kissing random men on top of it."
"What's wrong with her? " Eddie asks, viciously, and Buck laughs at him.
"See! When my mom is homophobic you hate her, but you think you have to accept it from your parents? Don't. Either they accept it or you move on." Eddie hears some rustling, then, "I need a minute, Maddie!"
Then, "No, I don't care that it's getting cold."
Then, "I'm kind of in the middle of something!"
"I should let you go," Eddie says, and Buck makes a hurt noise.
"No, I'm staying right here," Buck says. Then, "What do you think about the gay penguins in the LA zoo?"
Eddie closes his eyes. "I'm not a gay penguin, Buck."
"Do you think gay penguins shouldn't be allowed to raise baby penguins because they're gay?" Buck asks, hitting the nail on the head in such an impressive way Eddie wonders if he said something he didn't mean to. "Because they are. They give them eggs."
Eddie knows that. Eddie's seen the images of two male penguins taking care of an egg.
"You know that I'm in love with you, right?" Eddie says. It comes out before he can say anything else, and he tenses, expecting Buck to hang up any minute now. "Like, you can't just — be so okay with this part of me."
"Be in love with me, then," Buck says, after a second, carelessly like he didn't hear what Eddie just told him. "You are not just going to — to scare me with how gay you are. I'll love you back."
"Don't say that," Eddie begs, and he is suddenly heartbroken. "You can't, you can't—"
"You're not going to push me away," Buck says. "You're not going to disgust me. I love you, okay?"
"Don't," Eddie demands.
"How many panic attacks have you had since you got to El Paso, Eddie?" Buck asks, and that's such a mean fucking question, because he's been acting like he didn't notice when Eddie called him with a shakey voice. "If you can't be happy living the way your parents want you to, then just be yourself. I like you in pink."
Eddie closes his eyes. Buck insists, "I'm in love with you."
"Jesus," Eddie says, like the words hurt him. There's warmth spreading through his chest, but it feels like it burns him. “Stop saying it.”
“I don't want to,” Buck says. “I wish I were in El Paso so I could kiss you right now.”
Eddie — can't touch that with a ten foot pole, right now. “I don't. This place doesn't deserve you.”
“Switch to FaceTime,” Buck demands.
“No, are you kidding me? I'm a mess, Buck.”
“Right, I've never seen you be a mess while we worked together as firefighters for close to a decade,” Buck says.
“Seven years is not close to a decade,” Eddie says, just to be a contrarian.
Buck laughs. “When you come back to LA, I’ll be waiting. Okay?”
“If,” Eddie says.
“What, are you going to stay in El Paso the rest of your life to be next to your parents?” Buck huffs. “When.”
“Sure, Buck,” Eddie says. He doesn’t know anything about who he is right now, but he’s eating up every word Buck says. “If Chris decides he wants to move back to LA five years from now, the first thing I’ll do is call you, okay?”
“That’s all I ask,” Buck says, very seriously. “Speaking of, has he said anything?”
“Not really,” Eddie says. As if summoned, he hears a door open inside the house, and a knock. “I’m outside, Chris!”
“You look like shit,” Chris says, once he gets to the porch. Buck guffaws in his ear. “Is that Buck?”
“Yeah, but he was just leaving,” Eddie says, because he now has an excuse to make Buck go eat lunch and stop confessing his love for him.
“I’ll call again later,” Buck threatens. “Love you both.”
Eddie hangs up. Chris sits next to him. “How are you, Dad?”
“I’m fine,” Eddie says, and then, when Chris doesn’t believe him, “Rough day.”
“Yeah.” Chris is looking at the floor, and not at him. “You were much happier in LA.”
“Not really,” Eddie admits. “I was miserable when you were gone.”
“I mean before that,” Chris says, rolling his eyes. “Have your parents always been like that?”
“Well,” Eddie says, instead of the more truthful yes.
“I don’t think I want to be close to them,” Chris says, and Eddie feels hope bloom inside him.