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Lettuce, onions, carrots…
“Hm,” he said to no one in particular. What am I forgetting?
He lets go of Cacucu’s hand for a quick second to fish out his phone from his coat pocket, and checks the grocery list he had saved on his notes app.
Tomatoes!
Yes, that was it. He also wanted to get tomatoes today. In fact, he’d heard there was a stand here at the farmer’s market that sold exemplary veggie produce, as well as honey. Perhaps a testament to his growing age, the thought of having some really nice artisan honey for his tea and baking was very exciting. He was primarily here for that particular stand, in fact. Cacucu was picky when it came to veggies. The kid could pack down an infinite amount of fruit, but vegetables? Only the best of quality, or he wouldn’t be eating a bite.
Speaking of Cacucu…
“Cmon kid, we gotta go find that stand!”
No reply. Kinda weird. The kid didn’t talk much, but he always responded to dad.
“Cacucu?”
Looking down to his side, where there would usually be a mop of messy pink hair and his own mini leather satchel was missing.
“Cacucu!?”
Panic struck through him– he’d only looked away for a few seconds! Where could the kid possibly have gone?! Four year olds could be shockingly fast and sneaky, but his son solidly did not fit into this category. Cacucu usually stuck to him like glue, too. He was apprehensive with strangers or new places, unless dad was there with him. Considering the little boy’s difficult past, that made sense. He only got his first taste of stability at two and a half years old. And before that? Rushed changes in guardianship, custody battles, and unsteady income. For him to wander off alone was completely unheard of.
He starts scanning the crowd while running, barely sparing any breath to apologize to all the strangers he bumps into, gripping his satchel and hat tightly as to not lose them in hunt.
Pink hair… can’t miss that, where could he be?!
Finally, out of breath and heaving, he spots a smidge of pink through the gap of two stranger’s shoulders. He pushes past them, and lo and behold, it’s his son.
“Cacucu!!”
The little boy turns to him, beady black eyes staring into him like he didn’t nearly send his father into a panic attack. Red liquid is strewn across his lips and running down his chin– a tomato being the unfortunate victim, still in his mouth, getting nibbled on by sharp front teeth.
He immediately reaches for the child, dropping down to his knees to meet his eyelevel.
“Lil’ dude, are you okay?! Never go running off again like that again, you hear me?!” He sighs, willing himself to calm down, his heart still beating a frenzy, but he didn’t want to yell at his son. “It’s dangerous to go off by yourself, Cacucu. Cmon, you know that. Don’t go giving your old man a heart attack, alright? I can’t treat myself if that happens!”
Cacucu nods with all the seriousness a four year old can, pausing the nibbling of his tomato, “Sure thing, dad.”
Now that the main issue at hand was solved, he takes a moment to assess the situation–
“My man, where’d you get a tomato?”
“Uhh…”
The voice comes from above them. Ifa abruptly stands up, one hand clutching Cacucu’s free hand, absolutely not ready to let go of his son anytime soon, not after that little stunt.
He stands face to face with another man. Dark blue hair down past his lithe shoulders, sharply drawn heterochromatic cerulean and magenta eyes with a tattoo under one of them, hood on his head, and an uneasy expression on his face.
“...He got it from my stand.”
Ifa looks down at his son. Still munching. Looks back up– the man is behind a stand, a small display of vegetables and honey in front of him. Very clearly, on one corner of the display, plump looking tomatoes. A bit of a reach, but definitely within grasp of a four year old that could jump freakishly high.
He looks back down at said child. “Cacucu, did you steal a tomato from this nice man?”
Beady eyes look right back at him. He doesn’t speak, which is the four year old equivalent of saying “Yea I did.”
He sighs into his palm, before reaching down to grab his wallet from his bag.
Before he can get his hand even in the satchel, the man at the stand is awkwardly waving his hands in a dismissive motion, drawing Ifa’s attention. “Oh no, it’s alright. He did kinda swipe it… but it looks like he’s enjoying it. No point growing veggies if they aren’t gonna be enjoyed for what they're worth, yknow? Also I had a couple people come by, thought my tomatoes looked good ‘cause your son was devouring one. They bought some, so really, it’s alright.”
“No no, I really insis–” He pauses for a moment as he takes in the stand in front of him again. Veggies good enough for Cacucu’s taste, and honey that smelled downright heavenly, begging to be put in a warm brew . “Are– are you that one farmer everyone at this market talks about?”
The man looks shocked by the question, before his face returns to a somewhat impassive neutrality. “No, I don’t think so. Probably not. People don’t usually notice me. I’m proud of my work, though.” Something warm tints his last sentence, passion bleeding through a stoic expression.
Ifa finds himself oddly endeared. The man was tattooed all down his arm with a well built frame, and yet it could not be more obvious the man was timid and perhaps rather simply, just a farmer. Not really the kind of guy Ifa had expected to be selling produce when every other stand owner wore overalls and sunny smiles, but if Cacucu was any way to judge, then this man surely had the best veggies out of anyone here. And if his own nose was to be trusted– probably the best honey, too.
“Well, I’m real sorry my son stole one of your tomatoes–” He looks at the nametag on the man. “...Or-or-on?”
“It’s pronounced kinda like aurora, just with ‘on’ at the end instead of ‘ah’.”
Ifa offers a smile, “And I’m Ifa. This is my son, Cacucu.” He tugs very lightly on Cacucu’s hand, inviting the child to talk, but only if he wanted to.
Wide eyes stare up at him and he tugs on his dad’s coat, asking to be held. The stand was too tall for him to see over, of course. Ifa picks his son up, one arm to hold him and another around his waist to keep him steady. The child waves his arms wildly, “Hiya, bro!”
Truthfully, he hadn’t expected Cacucu to want to say hi. But such an excited greeting to a complete stranger– of course his heart warmed. Maybe it meant that, someday, meeting new people wouldn’t be so scary for the little boy.
It seemed Ororon felt similarly. The man behind the stand smiled. Well– more of a vague suggestion of one, his lips slightly upturned and eyes otherwise still sharp, but it was a suggestion of something positive, at least.
“Hi, Cacucu. Would you like to try more veggies?”
“Actually–” Ifa puts his son down, flailing in his arms, upset at being put down and denied the opportunity to talk to the veggie man some more. “I wanted to buy some produce. You see, my son’s really picky about vegetables. If he was enthusiastic about your tomatoes enough to swipe and eat an entire one, I’m sure he’ll love everything else you’ve got. I was going to get some honey for myself, too– the stuff you’ve got smells amazing. What kind of honey is it, bro?”
Ororon’s smile lifts just a little more, and this time it’s visible in his eyes too. “Well, I raise my own aphids, and…”
They chat about honey production and farming practices while Ororon bags Ifa’s produce, as well as that honey he eyes like they’re precious jewels. It’s curious to learn just how much work can go into producing higher quality products, Ororon mentions a lot of things he wouldn’t even begin to think about as a doctor. People in his career are commonly accepted as some of the smartest in society, but talking to Ororon, he thinks that most of society would certainly starve if it weren’t for the people who dedicate their life to farming.
They bid each other farewell that day with Ororon sneakily having stuffed an extra jar of honey in Ifa’s bag, and Ifa having sneakily paid the farmer some extra in tips for both the stolen tomato, and good conversation.
Maybe Cacucu learns the exact path to take to find himself at Ororon’s stand, excitedly blabbering to the farmer about anything and everything, Ifa always following closely behind, because they returned to the market twice a month, every time it opened.
What could he say? Both father and son had gotten spoiled, too used to the good veggies and honey from Ororon’s stand.
And if by the sixth visit or so, Ororon asks for his number– purely to continue their conversations without holding up the line of course (and nothing else, no matter what his beating heart might suggest), then he makes sure Cacucu is swiftly distracted by the purchase of another juicy tomato.
(“You know that tomatoes are fruits, right? Technically he’s still eating fruit, not veggies.”
“Are you serious? The kid tricked me again!”
“...did they teach you anything at all in medical school?”)