Archive of Our Own

===

It was so long ago, is the thing.

Summer was grueling in the Texas heat. There would come a time when the wind began to feel like a cocoon. The lake, otherwise popular, would grow too warm for a swim, with the sun cutting through canopies of leaves down at the forest. There wasn’t much to do before sundown, when the quiet dark compensated for the persistent humidity.

On days like these, Eddie would stay inside. Usually at the mercy of his sisters, keeping an eye on their latest kitchen disasters or his old action figures that Adri would borrow for Ken dolls. There wasn’t a lot to do when his mom didn’t much like his friends nor trusted them to be responsible – because they’re teenagers, Eddie. I know how you boys can be. Stay home, will you? With your sisters? And it was fine. He liked his friends just fine, but not to the point of seeking their companies.

But Eddie liked Shannon. Eddie really, really liked Shannon. So he asked his mom to take his car and the day off from watching his sisters. It was the one day of the week his mom would see her friends from book club, and Eddie was sorry, he really was, but he liked Shannon, and she liked him, too. When a girl liked you so much, wanted to be your friend like that, what else could you do?

So there he was in Shannon’s room. This beautiful girl who had thought he was someone else, who had spent a whole day on a boat talking to him and never stopped smiling at him in the hallways, who laughed with him instead of at him. This girl who seemed to want him around just because.

Eddie never had a best friend. Maybe that’s why it took him by the knees how easy it was being with her, sharing earbuds and sneaking cigarettes under the bleachers, the pieces falling into place all of a sudden. Maybe that’s why he felt his heart break the same way hers did when she said, “I have to get out of this place. I’m going crazy, here, Eddie.”

He sat on the chair of her vanity, a respectable distance because he was in a girl’s room with the door closed. He passed her the tissue box, while she murmured a shaky thank you. There wasn’t much he knew about making others feel better. What would his dad say? Toughen up? And his mom? No use crying over nothing?

But Eddie wanted to make her smile, to make her laugh, so he said, “If it’s anything, I have a truck that drives real smooth.”

It was an outlandish suggestion, and that was exactly why he said it. Something too daredevil to come out of his mouth. She perked up at his words and snorted, a small smile tugging her lips, just like he hoped. “You? Golden boy Diaz is gonna drive me out of the state lines?”

He sputtered at the nickname, this little joke they’ve made. They both knew they were fuck-ups. They both snuck out and drove around past midnight from time to time, but they never went far. Besides, Eddie still tried to do right by his parents and his sisters; Shannon made sure her dad knew she was taking his flask and dollar bills to buy Camels. 

“Who said I’d be the one driving?” he said, sticking out his tongue, and Shannon threw a balled up tissue at him. At least she was smiling.

“I’ll pay for gas, you drive us out of here.”

“Need I remind you that is still my car.”

“And which one of us has the money to blow on gas and food here, smarty pants?”

Eddie pouted. “I’m gonna tell your manager that you mess up my drink on purpose. See how quick she fires you.”

Another ball of tissue came his way, this time hitting him on the temple. “Not my fault you make your orders complicated on purpose.”

Eddie shook his head fondly, picking up the tissues and tossing them to the bin. They joined the myriad of canned drinks and cigarette buds he cleared up earlier. He didn’t mind helping. He knew how hard it could get when everything spun out of control. 

“Do you think we could do it, though?” Shannon asked, solemn all of a sudden. Her eyes grew wide, the way they always did when she was unsure and a little scared. “Like, what if one night we just… left?”

Eddie tucked his lip between his teeth. He liked Shannon for a lot of things, but it was things like this that scared him; how far she was willing to take the dream. Eddie barely liked to wonder on his own. 

“Where would we go?” he asked.

Shannon threw her hands up. “I don’t know, fucking Utah for all I care. Anywhere has to be better than here.”

“Trying to cozy up with the Mormons, Shan?”

“Eddie,” Shannon deadpanned. She was no longer crying, her red rimmed eyes holding that stern determination. Like she was desperate for him to really, really think about this with her. To be in this with her.

And he was, to an extent. Or at least he wanted to be. He also knew how it was to be crushed when you realized you couldn’t break the chain.

So he gave her his best smile, and he meant it when he said, “It is a nice thought.”

“Yeah. You and me, out and about. Go see what people do in places they actually live instead of just getting by,” Shannon said, eyes trained to the ceiling like she was actually thinking about it. Eddie let her. He figured she could do it for the both of them then. 

“Maybe getting by isn’t so bad.”

He didn’t believe his own words, not really. Some things he just had to learn to contend with. 

“Not for me. I think getting by would just– kill me.” Then, Shannon said again, fist curled up around her dress’ skirt, “I just hate it here. I hate everyone here.”

“I know.”

“It’s just so– suffocating. You have to be what all these people want you to be, and– and the second you say something different, like, oh actually, I want to study archaeology and I don’t care that good ladies don’t smoke, they all look at me like I’m crazy or like I’m… I’m…”

“Nothing.”

It came out of his mouth unbidden. He wasn’t even looking at her when she said it, but he knew. He knew the looks that get thrown at anyone who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, play by the rules. That was why he tried so hard, but there were still moments where the cracks would appear. Moments where his dad would look at him and Eddie just knew, with all certainty, that his dad thought he was a lost cause. He didn’t know if it was because of school or his constant fuck ups at home or something else, but it was always that same look. 

He looked at Shannon and nearly grimaced. He hid it better, whatever it was that told the world he was faulty. He’d seen the way adults looked at Shannon; she was never one to hide. He didn’t think she even remembered how to at this point. It was one of the things he liked so much about her, but he knew it hurt her, too. 

Shannon looked at him then, a little startled, before her face melted into relief. “Yeah. That,” she said softly, hand relaxing on her lap. Then, she added, “You know what I’m trying to say, right?”

Eddie nodded. “I think so.”

Then, Shannon let out a big huff and rose from her bed. Eddie’s gaze followed her as she plopped down next to him, making him scoot slightly. They were shoulder to shoulder then, though she was facing the mirror instead. 

He followed, turned his body around and caught her eyes in the reflection. There was smudged mascara around her eyes, but her cheeks were finally drying. Only her nose was still fully red. He offered her a smile, and she took his shoulder, smushing her cheek against it as she got settled.

Eddie didn’t move. Couldn’t. So he kept staring at the mirror, at her face, where her head was pressed up against his neck. When he let his cheek rest against her hair, his gaze flitted to himself for a split second.

Then he was looking at her, taking her in. He was thinking about how right this felt. 

Something grazed his pinky finger, and he realized it was her hand. He closed his hand around hers before she wrestled out of his hold, molding their fingers to intertwine, and God, it felt so right. Them as one.

If only, Eddie thought, if only he could–

“I don’t know how, but sometimes… sometimes I feel like you’re the only one who understands.”

A part of him wanted to tell her she made him feel the same way, but he didn’t even know if he’d ever understood himself. He only knew he liked her, and he liked who he was when they were together, and maybe, just maybe.

She squeezed his hand, almost tugging, and Eddie finally looked down at her. Too much time has passed, he realized when he found her looking up at him almost expectantly. Her eyes swept over his, down to his nose, then his mouth, and Eddie knew what he was supposed to do.

Eddie knew, and he stayed still. Not everyone was as good at waiting as he was. Shannon kissed him and Eddie let her, Eddie kissed her back, and Eddie put his hands on her cheeks. A beautiful girl was kissing him in her room; what else was left to do? His friend was crying and he couldn’t help her get the escape she wanted; what better way to make her feel better than kissing her back?

He liked kissing, Eddie came to realize, and he liked kissing Shannon. He liked the way she held his face, cupping his jaws like he was a soft thing. He liked the way she kept deepening the kiss, like he was something to be wanted. He liked making her gasp and then diving in to draw that sound again and again. 

Then his hands were on the curves of her waist, her chest pressed against his, and Eddie could no longer focus on the warmth in his belly or the softness of her lips against his. 

Then again nothing ever came easy for Eddie, so why should this? Why shouldn’t he need to put time and effort into getting used to this other body making him shake and flush?

Eddie kept kissing her that day, and in all the years he’d known her, he never told her that he’d looked at her reflection wishing it was his too. Wishing they were one, more than the way their fingers intertwined and even when they were the closest two human beings could be with each other.

Wishing that the two of them could meld and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t need to be so sad and stuck all the time and he wouldn’t need to be so scared and weak like a runt. Maybe they would just be angry, or maybe they can be happy for once. 

And maybe, he would make sense that way.

But it was so long ago, is the thing.

Time chips away all memories.

When Eddie saw this woman in the store through a glass pane, a face all too familiar to someone he buried five years ago, he didn’t realize it would feel like looking into a mirror and hoping for something he never got at seventeen. He’s stuck in place, looking at her, and she’s looking back with a smile so mischievous, it takes him right back to his beautiful, wonderful friend, who managed to snag them concert tickets for an obscure band that would disband two years later. Who grinned at him and told him, when he showed up at her window with car keys in hands, way past his curfew, that I’m rubbing off on you, Diaz. 

They made sense, that way. He made sense.

So maybe, just maybe, this time, he could make it right for both of them, and he– they would make sense again.

And maybe, just maybe–

“Dad, come on!”

Eddie tears his eyes away from the glass pane, right to the sight of his son. 

Eddie starts walking again. 

===

Months later, after he drove his son away and the illusion of a second chance disintegrated in one fell swoop, a priest asked him, “What are you afraid of seeing when you look in the mirror?”

Eddie thinks of an empty space that once sat with him in front of a vanity. Eddie thinks of a too-big suit with a white rose tucked in its lapel. Eddie thinks of a frowning face that he can’t ever take off.

Eddie says, “A failure.”

===

There was this puppy at his tío’s house, back when Eddie was six. He was the last to be born, his tío had said. When Eddie found out he didn’t have a name–they’re all too young, better wait until they grow a little–he made it his job to name him, this small cattle dog with a comically short tail. His tío laughed when Eddie settled on Louie, that’s a real pretty name for a runt, that’s for sure.

Eddie didn’t know what a runt meant until weeks later, when he visited his tío again, watching the pups run about the backyard. All the pups except Louie, looking lost in his lone patch of grass, his mom to the left and his siblings to the right. 

His tío huffed when Louis finally did move, an uncertain little run, ending in another break too quickly after. 

“Why isn’t he playing with the others?” Eddie asked, leaning his chin against the porch railing, feet raised on his tippy toes. 

“Cause they don’t wanna.”

“That’s mean,” Eddie said, like his teacher had done when the boys in his class shooed the girls off the sandbox, and the girls did the same at the swings. 

His tío ruffled his hair. “It’s not about being mean. He’s the runt.”

This time, Eddie asked, “What’s that mean?”

“He came out last and the smallest of ‘em all. Sucks to be him, but it just means he’s slow and weak. Can’t keep up with his brothers that way.”

Eddie supposed that made sense. Sophia was smaller than he was, so there were some games he couldn’t play with her yet. His mom always made sure he knew that. Then again, Eddie didn’t mind waiting. He was just counting down the days for her to be big enough.

“Why don’t they wait up for him?”

“What for? Look at that, Eddie.” His tío pointed ahead. When Eddie followed his finger, he saw Louie wobbling over to his mom, nuzzling softly at her fur. She rose, sniffed him briefly, and walked away to the other pups instead.  “His mama knows he’s weak, too. Probably sick. He won’t last long.”

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. That was still no reason to be mean. “Mom gives me medicine when I get sick,” he said indignantly, holding onto the railing as he stretched his body back and looked up to his tío. 

The old man just clicked his tongue, giving Eddie a noncommittal shrug. “The thing with runts is, they just came out like that. Sickly. Small as this one, he’s lucky he’s even still here.”

The stubborn part inside him flared, because that’s still no reason to be mean. Abuela had once tutted at a dying bee dragging itself on her porch, leaving out honey water for the poor thing until it bounced back to health. Mom had told him that Soph had been too small to go home when she’d been born, spending two weeks at the hospital, and now she could easily beat Eddie in pillow fights. Wasn’t there anything that could be done for Louie? Was he just that unlucky for being born that way? Couldn’t they be nice to him and sit with him anyway?

In the end his tío was right. Louie only lived for five more days. When they buried him, they left an unmarked stone on top of the dirt mound, because no one but Eddie called him Louie or any name at all. He snatched up some wild flowers, invasive ones Mom would weed out from the garden if she caught them growing there, and placed them on the grave. 

The next year, when Eddie started primary and found himself one of the smallest in his year, and in the summer when he found himself lagging behind his cousins when they played soccer, Eddie thought of Louie. He thought of Louie day and night and he scolded himself for being mean, but he wondered fervently, did Louie try hard enough? 

So Eddie just kept on walking. 

He kept walking when he lost his breath during P.E. He walked faster when his cousins started chasing for the ball. He started running and kept running and by fourteen he was so damn good at it, fastest in his year, that his dad threw him to the baseball field after he refused to keep dancing.

Eddie just kept on running. 

===

“Your truck still runs smooth, Diaz?”

Eddie couldn’t help but snort at the words. He shook his head and let it fall back against the door. There he was, on the day of his wedding, and he was sitting right outside his bride’s “glam room” with his hands clasped and raised by his knees. There they were, an hour before the culmination of the most idiotic mistake they could’ve made, daydreaming about a plan they never even finished making.

“Can’t make the thing go without the keys, Shan,” he joked back, trying to keep his tone light. His dad had taken the keys after Eddie had told him about the pregnancy, because he obviously couldn’t be trusted with anything anymore.

The truth was, he didn’t need keys to get the truck moving. The truth was, he worried if Shannon knew, he would be convinced to do everything they were taught not to do – and would probably regret. 

He couldn’t see Shannon right now, the walls and closed door separating them. Part of a wedding tradition all the adults seemed hellbent on keeping. Eddie didn’t get the superstition, and he’d thought Shannon didn’t either, which was why he snuck over to this hallway. He’d tried not to feel hurt when Shannon didn’t open the door, sliding down to the floor regardless.

“Bet we could figure out how to hotwire a truck,” Shannon said.

“I work the wires, you hold the extinguisher? Just in case?”

“Honestly? I’m good with blowing up with the car if it happens.”

Both of them were laughing. It helped settle Eddie’s nerves a little, though he knew his hands were still clammy. He hoped they would be dry enough when it was time to hold Shannon’s hands later. 

After their laughter died down, just as the silence was tipping over to suffocating, Eddie heard Shannon say, “I’m scared, Eddie.” 

God, of course she was, Eddie thought. The two of them barely out of high school, barely eighteen, barely knowing what it meant to be an adult, and a baby was growing inside of her. This little human being both of their halves, already so loved and dear to them, and at the same time a looming threat of how much more they could fuck up. 

What do you say to your soon-to-be-wife, scared to death, when you were the one who put her in this situation? Eddie thought of his dad telling him to suck it up, keep moving forward, thought of his mom telling him oh, please, it’s not as bad as you’re making it, Eddie. He couldn’t fathom saying any of that to Shannon. He didn’t want to turn into either of them for his partner in life. 

So he said through false bravado, “I know. But you don’t have to be. I’ll be right there with you.”

“Aren’t you scared, too?”

Of course I am, Eddie thought. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, I don’t know how I’m gonna raise a kid, I don’t know if I can make you happy. Eddie tucked his tongue in between his teeth to stop the words from coming out.

Instead he said, “We’ll get through it as a family. You and me, like always, but… more now.”

The silence stretched on for far too long. Just as Eddie placed his knuckles on the door, ready to do his three little knocks he’d done many times on her window, Shannon whispered, “That’s not what I asked.”

Shannon wore a veil on their wedding day. Her dad walked her down the aisle, then she was in front of Eddie, then the veil was gone.

Eddie remembered the fear in her face. Eddie remembered the barely concealed disappointment in the way she avoided his eyes. Eddie wondered if beneath it all was resentment, and if she really just wanted to let go of his hands and make a run for it.

Eddie remembered realizing that he couldn’t read her, that he never could again, and maybe, just maybe, he needed to be ready for things to never make sense anymore.

===

“Hey Macgyver, how about this one?”

Christopher turns to him, then, head tilted and eyes squinted like he’s truly inspecting the quality of the rock in Eddie’s hand. To be fair, he is. Just five minutes ago, he proposed the idea of skipping rocks, saying it sounds fun. Eddie’s not sure if Chris simply said that because he meant it, if the awkward silence was veering on too much, or if the lake was making things worse. Regardless, Eddie’s now crouched on the ground with the flattest piece of rock he’s found so far.

After a short deliberation, Chris shrugs and says, “Good enough. I found one here that’s probably gonna go farther, though.”

Eddie rises up and clicks his tongue in amusement, following where Chris is pointing at. “It’s not all in the rock, bud. You gotta throw it right, too.” 

To Chris’ credit, he definitely has a keen eye. Eddie picks up the stone and does an impromptu juggle of the two they’ve selected, constantly scanning for Chris’ reaction. Like the first bloom of color in spring, Chris’ mouth twitches into a smile.

Eddie loves the sun and its reflection cast onto the water. Eddie loves the euphony of birds, insects, and leaves brushing against one another. Eddie loves the soft breeze of wind like a balm against Texas’ sweltering heat. Most of all, Eddie loves his son, so he finishes the act by catching both stones with one hand, and beams when Chris snorts and says, “You’re so weird, Dad.” 

From the mouth of the fourteen year old, it’s the closest he’ll get to hearing again how eight year old Chris would say, for no particular reason, “you’re the best dad ever, Dad.” He never assigned objective truth to the words–and now he knows objectively how false they are–but it always served as a sign to him. An unequivocal mark that he’s at least heading the right way. Nowadays, every small smile, every other word, every request for his help, Eddie takes like a lifeline thrown down a pitch black well. He’ll grip it and tread his way carefully, follow wherever it leads him, just like how he trails behind Chris towards the wharf. Eddie grabs a couple more stones for good measure. 

When Eddie oversees the body of water, for a split second, he expects to see a rowing boat floating in the middle. The concave structure sticking out amongst the blue, its chipped yellow paint just enough to distinguish it. He can almost see the silhouette, two kids too old to play pretend, one with her left eye closed and hands acting as a spyglass aimed to the sky, and the other kid craning his neck up, constantly trying to one up her with how outlandish he can imagine the clouds as. 

That other kid says, and Eddie can almost hear it, that one looks like Mr. Cosmo, as he points to a cloud that resembles a shapeless blob, or a pathetic rendition of E.T. She barks out a laugh so sudden it startles him, but it quickly turns into pride. Especially as she jostles him as if to scold, when he knows she doesn’t mean it, because nobody likes Mr. Howard from the corner store and his rowdy chihuahua. Eddie can almost feel the wetness around his foot, the slight panic in thinking there’s a hole in the boat, before realizing they’ve spilled the beer from their jostling. They’re too young to be drinking that. 

But there’s no boat in the distance, nor any kids splashing around the edges, and there won’t be any in a long time. Within the last decade, algal bloom has taken over the lake. Something about the sewage system and fertilizers filling the water with too much nutrients– eutrophication, was it? He’s sure that’s what Buck told him one time. All he knows is it’s a toxic decay in the water. 

The last time Eddie visited the lake was seven years ago, shortly before he and Chris left Texas for good. Though the algae wasn’t as thick as today, the yellow boat was already a wreck by that point, turned over on the sides and waiting to rot or be taken to the landfill. Instead, Chris and Eddie watched the sunset in silence, then Eddie drove his son home and cooked him dinner.

“So, erm,” Chris clears his throat. “How do you do it?”

He doesn’t really look at Eddie as he says it, but it’s more than enough that he even asked. Eddie lines up the rocks on the fencing closest to Chris, leaving one in his hand.

He whistles quietly as he looks around, then he shucks his thumb behind them. “You feel where the wind is coming from? It’s right behind us and towards the water, which is good, that’s what we want.”

Chris tilts his head slightly, then nods. Eddie stands sideways and plants his left foot forward, bending his knees slightly, “Since we’re throwing with our right hand, we’re using our left foot for balance.”

“Cool. How do you throw the rock to make it skip, though?” Chris asks, sounding slightly impatient.

“You drag your arm from the back, kinda like spinning your shoulder, and you flick your wrist when you let go of the rock. Let your fingers push it flat forward– well, not completely flat, kinda tilted, and then– you’d have to push it slightly up when you let go– does that make sense?”

Eddie is fumbling his demonstration and explanation, the lame city dad he is. It’s only because his kid is magic that Chris’ eyes light up in understanding, “Oh, like the pitch in airplanes.”

“The what?”

“You know, when airplanes need to tilt up or down. They have this thing called an elevator on the back that generates the lift for that to happen.”

His kid absolutely did not get his brain from him. “Uh huh. Something like that, and then you push the rock and…” Eddie does the motion, swinging his arm and letting the rock skip about five times. He presents his hands like a magician and grins. “Ta-da!”

“Make it spin like if a plane rudder is going crazy. Got it.” 

Eddie blinks. Chris tries to smother his smug smile, “It’s basic physics, Dad, duh.”

Those damn changing curriculums. Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “Alright Einstein, wanna give it a shot?”

Chris takes a stone and gets himself standing sideways. Just as he draws his arm back, a frown sneaks up on his face. It alarms Eddie how quickly and seamlessly it slots into place. He waits for a second before asking, “Everything good, bud?”

“It’s probably not gonna go far. You know, cause…” Chris gestures to his crutches, and then to himself.

It pulls the rug from underneath Eddie’s feet, because when did Chris start thinking this way? How did Eddie let this happen to his fearless, optimistic kid? 

“So?”

“So it’s gonna be lame.”

Eddie pushes. “Why would it be lame?”

Chris doesn’t respond and hides from Eddie’s eyes, which– no. He doesn’t want his kid to feel like he can’t share something, anything, with his parent. More importantly, he doesn’t want his kid to believe that about himself. Christopher cannot be like him.

So he schools his expression, and he feigns nonchalance, because that’s what a teenager needs. “Maybe it won’t skip, or maybe it’ll jump twenty times. You won’t know until you try.”

“And it’s still gonna be lame,” Chris mutters.

A pause, then Eddie moves closer, placing his hand on Chris’ shoulder. “You remember what we talked about? When you wanted to skateboard? There are things you can do and things you’ll do differently, but–”

“Nobody can do everything, yeah, yeah. I know.” Chris rolls his eyes.

Eddie pouts his lips, then shrugs, squeezing his hand to get Chris’ attention. “You know the stones end up sinking anyway, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Which means?” He raises his brows, to which Chris mirrors. Eddie gives him a lopsided smile. “That it doesn’t matter. People skip rocks for fun. People do a lotta ‘lame things’ for fun, like… Ah! Under Pressure?”

As he snaps his fingers, Chris’ face morphs into horror and embarrassment, undoubtedly thinking back to all the times Eddie would break into song when the Queen and Bowie track played in the car. “Oh my God.”

He’d nudge or tickle Chris until he starts laughing or singing along, and they’d have a good time, but it doesn’t make Eddie any less shit at singing.

“I’m always off key, yeah?”

“You’re worse than off key. There is no key,” Chris deadpans. 

“But it’s fun! So why not?” he asks, though it’s rhetorical. “You don’t have to be perfect at something just to do it, like you don’t have to do something just because you’re good at it.”

Something flashes in Chris’ eyes, gone before Eddie could even guess what it means. His face relaxes, then he lets out a breath. “Huh.”

Eddie wants to ask what he’s thinking, to understand this ever growing kid– teenager that Eddie keeps missing out on. He lets the moment pass instead, giving Chris the space to let his feelings ebb and flow.

Then, he offers, “We can do it together if you want.”

Chris shakes his head this time, and when he answers, he sounds sure. “Nah, I think I got it.”

Eddie claps his shoulder and stands back, smiling. “Just like the plane, remember?”

“Like you understood what I was talking about.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Damn right I didn’t.”

Not all the stones drift far nor bounce many times, and Eddie offers assistance for some of the throws, but it doesn’t matter. By the time they go through all the rocks, Chris is beaming and boasting about one of his throws bouncing seven times – beat that, Dad. 

A smattering of orange and purple peek around the sky’s edges, and it’s time to head back for dinner at Eddie’s parents’. Eddie doesn’t want the day to end, doesn’t want to let go of his son to the house that choked him for eighteen years, but what’s there left to do?

Except maybe, Chris isn’t so keen to go back either, because he stops next to the car, gaze set on the lake, and he just stares. Eddie doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, and he waits. 

===

Eddie had known from a young age that there was no winning against his parents. It was an unspoken lesson, understood as irrefutable. Like a toddler swatting the fire on their birthday candle, soft skin burned by the shock more than the heat. A little older, hissing as they wrap their palms against the mug of hot chocolate instead of its handle. Older then, and by this point they knew, so they’d put on mittens to pull the tray from the oven, but sometimes hot oil would crackle and pop when they used the stovetop. It’s not the heat’s fault, not when it also provided many amenities, and avoiding it altogether was illogical. They just had to be careful, that’s all. They knew better. 

Or maybe it was just Eddie. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for it, like Louie, who at least had a reason; a runt with a body too small to keep him upright. Eddie sometimes felt he’d simply given up a lot earlier than Sophia.

He remembered the amount of slammed doors and music blaring from her room, undeterred by their mom’s shouting as she chased her down the hallway. If there was anyone who could go toe to toe with their mom, it was Sophia, who put her foot down and said, I’m going to college out of state. I don’t care what you say. I’m doing it anyway. Their mom had threatened not to fund it; Sophia threw a letter of early admission and partial scholarship to the table.

In the end, their mom relented. Her and dad paid for the entirety of Sophia’s actuarial degree in the best program of the country. In the end, their mom clapped the loudest in her graduation, paraded her to the entire family and neighborhood, and she afforded Sophia the kindness of only asking her the marriage question exactly once a year. 

There was something she said to him once from the passenger seat of his truck, back when they were in high school and the mall had just reopened after renovations. Eddie found out pretty quickly why Sophia had stormed the place immediately; pierced ears, hidden behind her long hair that would usually be tied back. He had asked her, does mom even know? His tone had been a little snotty, like he was the little sibling with dirt on his big sister, as if he’d ever snitched. It happened because there weren’t even two years between them. Sophia had groaned and clicked her seatbelt, saying, I’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission. Now drive me home, you twerp.

She rarely ever did either. Sophia had always been clever, accomplished, and much better at teetering the edge of likability than Eddie. He had been so jealous as a kid, so hurt when their mom would make sure he knew she wished he was a little more like Sophia, how glad she was that Adriana at least had one role model. 

In the end, Sophia rarely came home after college, citing her blooming career as a reason. In the end, Sophia was the one who managed to convince their mom to pack up their bags and go back to El Paso, give Eddie time, mama, you know how stubborn he is, after Shannon’s funeral. It had stung, overhearing those words, but then she had enveloped him in a hug so tight, so unlike anything they’d done, and she had whispered to him, stay, don’t listen to them. I’ll do what I can. Eddie had hugged her back, and in that moment he could’ve sworn both of their Texas-born exhaustion had sagged by their feet.

It didn’t last, of course. They had let go of each other and the exhaustion climbed back up. Maybe if their parents had taught them the art of talking, things would’ve been different, but they hadn’t. All Eddie knew was that the jealousy was gone, but the questions remained: could he have been braver? If he had, would his life be a little less exhausting? Would his mom have been kinder? 

Sophia was the only person he’d told about moving back to El Paso, and he’d been right to do so; she didn’t ask questions, nor did she tattle. She’d told him her calendar was stacked for the next two months, that she’d consider coming down there after, and for him to please let her know how Mom and Dad were. As though he’d told her because they were the sort of family who’d seize every opportunity for a reunion, when they both knew Eddie had told her he was handcuffing himself and she had answered with the reassurance that she’d steal the keys if needed– but please, she had her life, too.

Forgiveness, not permission, though he hadn’t fooled himself into thinking this was anything but a pale imitation of it. He’d only been afraid his mom had the power to make him back out of this decision, of going after his son, and had him cowering back to the old haunt in South Bedford. Either way, he parked his truck out front, and the face that greeted him as he padded around the porch wasn’t his mom.

When she threw her arms over his shoulders, it hit Eddie that he didn’t remember the last time he’d talked to Adriana – or even thought of her. Yet there she was, squealing and swaying him side to side, saying, “I can’t believe you’re here! This is awesome!” 

Before he could say anything about not remembering her being quite this tall, before he could stop her the way he’d always done when Sophia accidentally made her cry, she said loudly, “Mom! You didn’t say Eddie was coming!”

It wasn’t pretty after that. Eddie had barely gotten any chance to look at his son at the dining table, waving at him awkwardly, before his mom sternly ushered him to his room. 

Eddie said he came to see his son. His mom wasn’t happy, because he had no right, because he wasn’t being fair to Christopher, because he couldn’t just show up unannounced, and it didn’t matter that Adriana did the same thing the previous night. It didn’t matter that Adriana said so herself, because their mom whipped her head to Adriana, and in a rare moment of abandon, the disdain so uniquely Eddie was aimed at her. “Oh, this isn’t about you! I’m talking to your brother right now, you know better.”

Adriana went quiet after that, mumbling some excuse about needing to go to her room. Eddie wondered how many years he’d been zoned out of her life; this was the only image of her he recognized. Then, it was just him and his mom again, and this he’d never been able to forget. The exasperated sigh, the quickened breaths as she immediately phoned his dad to get home and help her deal with this problem, the way her gaze either avoided him in disgust or bore onto him once she found her grip on the line of attack she’d conjured up for him.

“You haven’t been here, Eddie. Christopher barely knows how he feels about you, and he has a life here! A life we made sure is possible for him. You don’t get to just show up here and tell me you moved here– impulsively! What kind of example are you setting for your son?”

That was the tail end of her rant, and Eddie had been carrying his son’s plate to the sink when the words hit him. He’d started to help clear the table a minute into it, needing to do something with his hands, because he couldn’t wring his fingers in front of his mom. The plate clattered away from his hand to the counter.

“Careful, Eddie. Don’t you come here and start breaking my plates,” his mom hissed, swatting his hand away, the same way she would when she took over the cooking for family events.

There had been a short time when she would relent to a hug from him, let him have a taste of what she was cooking up, and Eddie had thought he finally had his mom.

She sounded so angry at him just then. Like he was such an imposition. 

“And who made it so I haven’t been here?” Eddie muttered. 

No use, he knew better, but he was so tired. He’d driven out of the Texas state lines and been somewhat happy, then back to his hometown so fucking sad and exhausted, and his mom couldn’t talk to him like he was her child. 

His mom put a hand on her waist. “Well, I don’t remember me or your dad bringing that woman around Christopher! God, your dad was right. Even dead she’s still–”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Eddie gritted, louder than he meant, but he meant it. 

Shannon was the mother of his kid, and before that his best friend. Sshe made her mistake–a huge one that still made their kid wonder if it was his fault–but what the fuck did his mom know? What right did she have being cruel about Shannon, like she was on his side against somebody who hurt him, when she only wanted to wave around how wrong he’d been in loving her, like she always knew?

He stammered a little, fighting the frustrated tears. “And– and don’t act like taking Christopher away from me was the only option you had.”

His mom narrowed her eyes. "That's not fair. We wanted the best for Christopher and you. This is it."

“I know you and dad love Chris, you do, but this? This is a do over for you."

She blinked. Eddie couldn’t tell if it was a look of someone caught in an act or someone who hadn’t ever had that thought before. He didn’t know which one was worse. “Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie. Do over for what?”

Eddie laughed. God, what about him would his parents not do over to get a different outcome?

"If I had said, when I was eighteen, that I was scared about getting married and being a parent, would you have helped?"

No use, he knew better. That time had passed. He knew the answer.

"Of course we would."

They wouldn’t have. The neighbors were already sticking their noses in their business. Father Dale was a family friend and the only person his dad listened to. 

After the tsunami, Chris was scared of the water. The sight of the bathtub had been enough to work him up. Eddie had let him be scared, made a workaround for a showerhead outside of the bath, and covered it with a new curtain that blocked out any shape at all. He had cleaned and dried the space after every shower. Eventually, with enough time and work, the fear dissipated, then the Santa Monica Pier reopened, and Eddie had let Christopher be scared again. With enough time sitting together in the sand, enough fun splashing around the edges, the fear dissipated, and now his son was in a swimming club in El Paso. 

"If I had said when Shannon died, and when Chris– Chris asked to leave because he saw her. If I said that I was still grieving my wife and I needed you to help me be there for my son, would you have helped me?"

Useless questions. Eddie knew better. Like staring into an optical illusion and knowing the spiral wasn’t moving, but there it was in front of your eyes, turning and fucking spinning.

There his mom was, in front of him, throwing her hands up. "What do you think this is?!"

"Me, mom! Me, not Christopher,” he exploded. No use, no good would come from his mom’s startled expression. Eddie barreled on like a car out of control. “Would you have helped me be what I needed for Chris? For myself? Or would you have said I'm dragging him down?"

"Eddie."

His mom would warn him a lot throughout his childhood. Eddie. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Don’t forget what I’ve taught you. You’ll regret it. You know this is what’s best for you. Stop crying, you know better. Pick something that’s not for girls, Eddie, you know what the other kids will say.

"If I had said Mom, I need your help, would you have?"

Christopher had been determined to make his own creation for science fair. Eddie had given some pointers, but Christopher had been adamant on doing it his way. Eddie had let him make his mistakes, Eddie had let him figure out where he went wrong, and Eddie hadn’t said don’t say I didn’t warn you when Christopher had asked him for help. Eddie simply helped his son because he’d asked.

"All parents want the best for their kids. You may not understand, but sometimes you won't like our solution–"

"Mom, it's Eddie. I need your help. I need my mom." 

It was the first time since he’d been a young kid that he was asking for his mom so plainly. Eddie thought he’d grown out of it, but looking at the pained twist in his mom’s face, like he’d hurt her so unspeakably, he knew that wasn’t the case.

It was still no use.

He scoffed. "Yeah, that's what I thought.”

“I can’t– I can’t be in this room right now. I can’t even look at you– and where is your dad? Jesus Christ."

With that, she stormed out of the kitchen, heading somewhere out back. Eddie heaved out a breath like a deflated balloon. The need to cry gripped him so tightly that he found himself storming out into the front porch, counting his inhales and exhales as his hands finally wrung themselves together.

His phone buzzed in his pants. His notifications showed a couple texts from Buck, asking how meeting Chris had gone, but the most recent texts were from Sophia.

You should be in El Paso by now. Unless you crashed your car or something.

How’s it going?

Text me back.

Then, the last one, which he barely got to read before her caller ID filled his screen: Pick up, you twerp.

“Stop calling me that,” he said in lieu of a greeting, making his way to sit on the steps.

“Alright, dickwad. How’re Mom and Dad?” She kept her tone casual, like she always did. 

“Don’t know about Dad, Mom is… as expected.”

She hummed in response. “How long are you staying there?”

Eddie shrugged, before realizing she couldn’t see him. “Don’t know. Indefinitely. As long as Chris needs me.”

A silence stretched between them, though Eddie knew she was still there from her breathing. It sounded as though she was clicking away something on her computer before finally saying, “I’ve got loads of PTO. I could make a trip.”

“Like you aren’t saving them up for a Europe tour or something,” Eddie huffed out a laugh. He knew this trip would be for him. He didn’t want that, and he knew a part of her didn’t either.

“I could.”

“Soph,” he said, gentle but firm. Without even seeing her, he could tell she was relaxing. “It’s alright. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me know if things change?” She asked, and he knew she meant it.

“Yeah. I will,” he said, and he knew he wouldn’t.

“Be nice to Adriana. She feels bad already. Bye, twerp.”

“Not what I’m called,” Eddie sighed, but the call was already disconnected.

He realized pretty quickly that he still wanted to cry, so he stayed put. His thumb hovered over Buck’s texts, debating on calling him, but he didn’t know if he could handle it right now. Still, he typed away, bad, I’ll tell you later. 

The answer came within a minute: I’m sorry, Eddie. Call me anytime, okay? 

Awful fucking decision to text his wonderfully attentive best friend when he was near tears, apparently.

“Hi there.”

The voice made Eddie whip around in near breakneck speed, seeing his youngest sister looming over him. He hadn’t even heard the door opening, much less her approaching – though on second thoughts, it checked out. Adri was always the best at hide and seek.

She stood with her hands behind her back, looking unsure and a little guilty. Much quicker than he’d been able to do when he was a broody teenager, Eddie smiled and patted the spot next to him.

“What are you doing mucking around back home, huh?” he asked, letting humor infuse his tone until she plopped down with a huff. 

“Road trip pit stop. Grad school doesn’t start until January.” Adriana shrugged, arms wrapping around her legs. She began rocking quietly, while Eddie simply nodded.

He wished he had been there for her graduation in May, with how important it was to her and how badly she’d wanted to show him around New York. Eddie remembered how much of a surprise it had been, her excitement when she’d called him after she first settled in her dorm. At the time, he had chalked it up to her excitement about university and leaving home, because she hadn’t talked to him like that since she was seven and he was in high school. Eleven years was a large gap. Eddie and Adri just never really… had a conversation. Still, through her undergraduate years, the updates would come, as would the touristy NYC trinkets in the Christmas and birthday packages. Eddie didn’t really know how to chalk that up as anything but his sister being a gem to her awkward brother. 

He knew he would only have ruined the day, though, with his parents and Chris in attendance so soon after everything went to shit.

Then, Adri spoke again. “Sorry about the welcome wagon. I didn’t mean to make it so…”

It clicked in Eddie’s head then, what Sophia meant in her phone call. Adri had immediately told her about what happened. Then, Soph called. 

A good pain pulsed in Eddie’s chest–the kind that only occurred with love–as he looked at his sister. He shook his head. “Mom would’ve lost her head no matter what. Might’ve been a good thing you were the one who opened the door. You know how it is.”

“I forgot,” Adri whispered, barely audible. “When you two were going at it, that’s when I remembered how it was before you and Chris left. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago,” Eddie said, jostling her shoulder.  Adri had been fifteen. He wasn’t going to hold that against her.

“I forgot she could be mean. When she yelled at me too, that was the first time she’d done that in… I don’t know, years,” she ruminated, chuckling dryly. Eddie watched her continue her slow rocking, and then looked away. 

It wasn’t her fault. Eddie knew that, but it seemed Adri knew what he was thinking, the way she huffed and said, “Not the case for you and Sophia, huh?”

“I’m just glad one of us didn’t go through that,” Eddie said honestly, the same way he felt about how his parents thought of Chris: at least they loved him, if not Eddie himself. 

But then, like the pop of a balloon in the quiet of an empty party venue, Adriana whispered, “Sometimes I think she forgets I exist.”

It was just one of the things you wouldn’t–couldn’t–see until it was brought to the forefront of your sight. A constant blindspot nurtured through years of staying in the peripheral, of trainwreck after trainwreck happening right in front of your eyes. 

Eddie was the ultimate fuck up, mediocre at best and knocked up his high school girlfriend at worst, the first faulty iteration that their parents had prayed and begged and done all they could not to replicate. Sophia was the lit fuse their parents never knew how to handle, clever and tough all in her own rights that she survived with a voice–the only voice–they would hear out. 

Adriana was the best at hide and seek. Adriana was quiet as a mouse. Adriana was smart like her sister but reserved with few real friends like her brother. Adriana never asked for anything, the perfect sweet child that Eddie had thought–a mixture of bitterness and gratitude–came out unscathed. But their parents were still the same parents who never cared nor asked their kids what they wanted, because parents knew best.

Eddie thought he was shaking, guts rolling as bile rose up his throat; Adriana had been nine when she had become the only child in a house haunted by the shadows of one disappointment and one prodigal child. Eleven when Eddie had come back battered, when Shannon had left, and suddenly their parents had tried to take Christopher like it was their life purpose. Fifteen – no, not yet, because her birthday was in October, just like Chris; fourteen when Eddie had left with his son, like a couple of fugitives, and never looked back.

Eddie had been lonely all his life. While he’d always assumed Sophia wanted solitude, he’d never stopped to think if Adriana was lonely too. 

The first tear rolled down his cheek, and suddenly Eddie was helpless to stop the rest. Like a dam bursting, he began sobbing. “Oh, Jesus. Fuck, Adri. Jesus Christ. I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, what is it? What’s wrong? Eddie, what did I do?” she asked, colour draining from her face. It would be funny if the uncertainty didn’t twist the knife in his guts.

Eddie remembered both Sophia and himself telling little Adri to buzz off – when Sophia had had the rare chance of having friends over, when Eddie had been too wired after their mom’s lecture about grades or chores or getting caught skipping trig with Shannon. Eddie thought about how their mom shouted at her just then, this isn’t about you. Had she been confused her whole life too, the way he’d been with how the things he touched seemed to always die?

Adriana scooted closer, awkwardly patting his back. “Please don’t cry, I’ll– I’ll– hey, we could go get ice cream at that old parlor near the park, yeah? Bring Chris with us? Or do you want to get pancakes for dinner? You loved the one from Mickey’s. I’m sure Chris would love that, too. I’ll drive you guys. Eddie?”

Eddie laughed wetly before his face crumpled again; she sounded just like him. All the times he’d tried his best to keep the peace between her and Sophia, appeasing her with extra cookies or candies or a trip to the park. Because he hadn't wanted another lecture about not looking after his sisters, because he had wanted to shield his sisters and look after them, because he’d asked then and he had to ask again on that porch, what the fuck have their parents done to them?

What had they ever done but be their kids?

These people were raising his son.

But at that moment, his son was inside, and his baby sister was next to him. “Adri, come here,” Eddie hiccuped, offering his outstretched arm for Adri to scoot into. The surprise on her face only made him sniff harder, which seemed to kick her into gears as she began to move.

Eddie wrapped his arm around her shoulder, shaky hand rubbing her arm, unsure if it was to soothe her or himself. They weren’t the type of siblings who did this, except for the time she’d accidentally dropped her favourite snowglobe–a deer sitting on a patch of grass–and Eddie had been the only one home. She’d just been crying so loudly, and Eddie hadn’t been able to do anything but let her hug his legs until she’d calmed down enough for him to clean the shards and return the little deer to her, miraculously only chipped in one ear.

Later that year, for Eddie’s seventeenth birthday, she’d gifted it back to him inside a used tin of mints, along with a hand-drawn card. It had sat on his shelf until he lost it during the move to LA.

On good days, Adri had been the one waking him up for school, jumping on his bed until he sat up, and then she’d be on his back asking for a ‘plane ride’ to the kitchen. That was as tactile as they would get. 

They were older now. For the first time, Eddie pressed a kiss on the side of his sister’s head and said, “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t his fault, not really. He just wished he’d realized everything he figured out today much, much sooner.

“What for?” Adriana asked, but she settled against Eddie’s shoulder anyway. 

Eddie didn’t say anything. He hadn’t mastered the art of talking, yet. Despite that, he knew that he’d never felt closer to his sisters–even Sophia miles away in Atlanta–than in this moment. He pressed another kiss to Adri’s temple, and eventually let her go.

Then, they got pancakes for dinner. 

===

Chris doesn’t say anything until they’re both in the car, leaving the dirt roads and onto concrete. He asks, “Dad?”

“Yeah, Chris?” Eddie asks, fiddling with the stereo volume to hear Chris better.

“When I gave you the PS-5 back, did you really think I didn’t want you to be here anymore? I mean, did I make you think I wanted you to leave?”

The question hits Eddie right in his solar plexus. He just keeps doing this to his son, burdening him with uncertainties.

He grips the steering wheel, hoping his kid doesn’t notice when he firmly but gently says, “Chris, it’s not you. You didn’t do anything. I was the one who messed up, who made you need space from me – and I’m glad you got it, okay? I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to be ready to let me in, especially after I lied. Again.”

Chris looks at him for a moment, before averting his gaze to his feet, hands clasped together on his lap. “Is that why you didn’t come here earlier?”

“I– yeah, kid. I didn’t want to push you.”

“Oh.”

Eddie glances to the passenger seat, leaning over slightly when he says, “And that’s not your fault, alright? Absolutely not. You had every right to be mad and not trust me anymore. It’s my job to earn it back, not for you to make me feel better.”

“Right.”

That’s all Chris says, before he turns his head to the car window, seemingly finding the moving scenery as they wade through town more interesting. Eddie catches the hazy reflection of Chris’ face, the way he’s fighting a frown, and Eddie has to ask. 

“Chris? Mijo, what is it?”

Without looking over, Chris sighs, and he answers slowly, “I thought… sometimes I thought you didn’t want me anymore, that’s why you never came. And I don’t know, maybe you never really wanted to come here, so you were, like, going to leave anyway.”

How do you atone for that? How do you repair making your kid feel like he’s not worth following and staying for? 

Eddie fights the trembling of his body, so that his voice doesn’t break like his heart when he says, “Chris, hey, listen to me. You’re my kid, okay? You’re my kid. I love you more than anything in the world. There’s never gonna be a day where I don’t want you. Never.”

He watches Chris’ eyebrows twitch, then furrow, and he knows it’s a look of distrust.

“You never asked me to come home,” he says. “You never asked me if I wanted to come home.”

It shatters Eddie’s heart as much as it whips him into realization: live long enough and you’ll forget what it’s like to be a kid – that unquenchable thirst to be wanted, loved, and cared for, in a time when you’re never sure of anything. Not even about your parents.

All these years, and he never learned the art of talking. Of asking. 

“I wanted to, kid. Everyday.”

“But you didn’t want to push me.”

Eddie hums and nods, then looks at his son. “I should have asked, anyway. I don’t ask you what you think nearly enough, huh?”

Chris looks down. “No, you don’t.”

“I’m learning not to do that, now.” After a beat of silence, Eddie adds, “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

Chris makes a noise in between a scoff and a hum. “Is that what you were thinking when you went out with that woman?”

Eddie has to think before answering. It’s just a fact that everything he does ever since Chris came into the world comes back to him. He can count on one hand the things he’s done for himself since then, and he thought Kim would be one of them – but he’s starting to think not really.

There was something more to it. Something more than just Shannon and their time cut short, more than just a pipe dream about lost love. An integral part of him that may as well be a puzzle piece of whatever his core is made of – and if that’s the case, then Chris can’t be separated from it, because at least half his core is being Chris’ parent. 

He starts slowly, “Your mom and I… things were complicated, even though we loved each other. We made a lot of mistakes. I knew she wasn’t a second chance, but grief– it makes you do weird things. I thought I could fix something– about me, that I didn’t get a chance to when I was with your mom, and maybe… maybe that way I’d figure out how to… I don’t know, figure out something I’m supposed to figure out, and then I could…”

Trailing off, Eddie realizes he isn’t sure what his next words are.

Be who I used to be? 

Be better?

Be happy?

Struck with the impossibility, Eddie swallows the lump in his throat and settles on, “I could make you really happy.”

Maybe he’s full of shit. Maybe that’s the only way he can conceive being happy – vicariously and the man behind the scene.

Eddie waits, glancing at Chris every once in a while. “You never left my mind, Chris.”

Chris drops his chin on his palm, still facing the window. Eddie watches how the warm light steadies itself on the parts of Chris’ face he can see, fractions reflecting on the light brown curls falling over his forehead. He looks – he looks like Eddie himself, and Shannon, and – 

He’s wearing one of Eddie’s old jackets, a faded cobalt letterman from high school. The pinched look on his face reminds Eddie, inexplicably, of Buck, failing to hide how upset he really was about Eddie leaving, that day on the highway.

Somehow, Chris sounds a little like him too, indignant as he says, “I was already happy before all of that. Things were good.”

Eddie accepts it, accepts that he’s always been too greedy for his own good. “I’m sorry, Chris. I never wanted you to be involved.”

“Well, I am, now.” Chris rolls his eyes. Then, his face morphs once again to uncertainty. “Did you go out with her because you still missed Mom?”

“I’ll always miss your mom,” Eddie replies almost instantly, because it’s the truth. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t spent the better half of his life thinking about Shannon.

Sometimes all in her own rights: when Aretha Franklin plays on the radio, when he sees floral prints with yellow accents, when he sees murals that incorporate nearby trees and structure into its design – her favourite type of street art, because the whole is more than the sum of its parts. Sometimes in the things they enjoyed together: grunge notebooks in bookstores – how she’d pass hers back and forth with him to talk in class, 90’s horror films rescreening in cinemas, glitter violet nail polish she’d ask him to put on her. 

Sometimes in Christopher, how they have the exact same smile, nose scrunching up high when they laugh, and identical affinities for specific cereals. Sometimes, inexplicably as usual, in Buck, and how he isn’t her, but Eddie suspects that’s why he sees flashes of her when Buck would talk Chris out of his occasional angst. 

“I thought Mom was back, but of course she wasn’t. So it felt like she died again and it sucked. But… if I felt like that seeing her for, like, five minutes…” Chris trails off, the words surprising Eddie and it seems Chris himself. Like he’s coming to the realization and acceptance as he’s saying the words. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I wish I didn’t have to see her, but I wish you didn’t have to either. I still miss her, too.”

He exhales and says, “I’m sorry, Chris. I really am.”

“I know.”

It isn’t forgiveness yet, Eddie knows, but these days, Eddie likes to count his blessings. He bites his tongue from saying more, from apologizing again when it would only be for his own benefit, and he keeps driving. 

They’re driving through streets filled with convenience stores, cafes, drugstores, and mountains sitting far in the background. It’s not the closest route to his parents’ house, but Eddie just wants a little more time. His son’s in his passenger seat.

“It’s cool that you’re here now.”

Eddie turns to the sound of Chris’ voice, unable to hide his surprise and giddy delight. “Yeah?”

Chris looks at him, and once again the spring flowers bloom early in El Paso, because Eddie’s son is smiling at him as he nods, “Yeah.”

“I’m glad to hear that, bud,” Eddie replies, voice warbling. He looks back at the road, suddenly finding it and where it leads less unbearable. 

He chuckles, “You were such a happy baby, you know? Always giggling and grinning. Your mom and I had no idea where you got it from.”

Chris, who whipped out his phone only a second prior, snaps up and scrunches his nose. “Ugh, I bet I looked like an alien.”

“A cute baby alien, sure.”

“Ew.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “No, really. Sure, you got real grumpy when we tried feeding you spinach–”

“I’m a changed man now, let's not forget that,” Chris deadpans, and it takes Eddie right back to when Chris was nine, the age he shook off his picky eating habits. How he’d proudly tell everyone that he loved vegetables now, because they’re good for you. 

“But,” Eddie emphasized, “you bounced back so quickly. Always. It’s like you always found something to be happy about.”

Eddie knows as he says it that he’s not just talking about Chris as a baby. It would take all day to list every single peril Chris has gone through, every failure Eddie had put him through. It can take all the time in the world to explain just how resilient his kid is, however, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

All his joy is resilience. Eddie, for all the shit he’s lived through, can’t seem to comprehend how that came to be for his son. He’s just grateful for it.

Then, after a quiet, Chris says, “That’s all because of you and Mom.”

He says it like he’s commenting on the weather. He says it while looking down to his phone. When Eddie looks at him, heart damn near bursting with love, he doesn’t even look up. 

Eddie has a lot of blessings to count today, he thinks as he makes a right turn. On the sidewalk are two kids, running about in a jumbled game of tag. The kind you do when you and your friends can’t be bothered to set up a rule, and all you want to do is run after each other. Eddie can almost hear their laughter when they trip and nearly topple over each other, holding on for balance. 

Behind them is a mural, one Eddie hasn’t seen before. Two girls standing back to back, nearly mirror images for each other. Their long hair falls over their shoulders, over each other, as though they’re braided into one. JRZ and ELP, Eddie reads underneath, and he recognizes it for what it is: Juarez and El Paso. Two cities so close by, connected by the Rio Grande river, and so similar to each other in culture and language.

Eddie looks at these girls, into their eyes, and from the corner of his eyes he sees the kids running again. Eddie’s still driving, closer, closer, then past the children, past the mural, and now he’s gone from the street. He feels like he’s lost something, like he’s dropped his wallet or his keys or something more important. He doesn’t stop. He has somewhere to be.

“Dad?”

Eddie blinks, throat jammed as he fights to respond. “Yeah, Chris?”

Chris asks him, “Are you happy?”

Eddie doesn’t hit the brakes, Eddie keeps going, and Eddie never answers the question. Because where they are, two blocks away from the two girls on the wall, Road to Nowhere by Talking Heads skids into a stop, and Queen and Bowie’s Under Pressure blares from the stereo.

So Eddie turns to his son with a grin, fingers already fiddling with the stereo volume, the music battling with Chris’ loud groan. Eddie doesn’t answer the question, and he tells himself the thump of cursory joy in his chest when Chris laughs at him is enough. 

===

The first time Eddie visited the ER, he was eight. He remembers this well; he tried very hard to minimize his tears and snots. He remembers apologizing to his mom, her face softening as she draped her arm around his shoulders; of course you didn’t mean for this to happen, Eddie. I believe you. Your dad will, too. 

It wasn’t his fault. He’d told Sophia so many times not to climb the tree next to their house. He hadn’t even known she’d left her room until he’d heard her scream. 

In the following hours, after Dad got off work, Eddie would have to recount the events in great detail. He’d been playing X-box in the living room with their neighbor’s kid Eric, he’d thought Sophia was in her room reading the Tintin comics she stole from him, no he hadn’t heard her coming down the stairs, no he hadn’t heard the backdoor open, yes he ran over to Eric’s house immediately to get his parents, yes Sophia was lucid (screaming, crying, holding her broken leg) after the fall. It felt like the only time Dad was equally, if not more, angry at Mom – how could you leave the kids by themselves? I told you I’d get the eggs after work. 

But Eddie still apologized to Sophia when she was awake. She made a face, like he was silly and even a little stupid for thinking it was his fault. He wanted to swing her broken leg a little for that. 

Then Mom, running her fingers through Sophia’s hair, said, “What a shame you’ll miss your first dance performance. You worked so hard for it. Best little ballroom dancer I’ve ever seen.”

Before Eddie could think about what Sophia’s quiet meant, she knocked off the chocolate pudding she was eating and started screaming. In the end, she said, “I don’t care about the stupid performance! I never even liked dancing! It’s stupid! It’s stupid and I hate it!”

They never talked of it again, but Eddie saw the tears in both Sophia’s and Mom’s eyes. Briefly, Eddie wondered if Sophia had wanted this to happen – maybe not to break her leg, but to be injured somehow, if only to not dance anymore. If maybe that was why she loved the tree so much. 

Eddie helped Mom tidy up Sophia’s room for her return. It was the rare occasion that she wasn’t posted up next to her bed, as Abuela was staying in her stead. Eddie was secretly pleased; he’d missed having mom around, as much as he loved staying at Abuela’s. 

He was bringing in new sheets when he saw Mom standing over Sophia’s closet, the yellow dress meant for her performance still hanging on the rack. Eddie thought it looked like Belle’s dress.

“When I was a little girl, I loved dancing. I even begged my mom to let me go to classes,” Mom smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. 

Eddie remembers this as one of the first trails of breadcrumbs about Mom. She so rarely spoke of her childhood, her family, her life before she met Dad. It was only natural this piqued Eddie’s interest. Setting the sheets on the bed, he asked, “Did you get to go?”

Mom sighed, finally turning to him. “Nope. Your grandparents thought I’d get bored of it in a month,” she chuckled, fixing up the corner Eddie failed to fit correctly. “Guess I thought your sister would’ve liked it as much as I would’ve.”

Eddie didn’t understand Mom’s assumption. He always thought Sophia was very different from her, because Sophia was weird. She liked catching bugs and climbing trees and making mud concoctions. She would stop their game of cards if Eddie wanted to play according to the original rules while she wanted them to play her made-up, impossible rules. She tripped every other time she ran, and then got mad every time Eddie outpaced her. 

Thinking it would upset Mom, Eddie kept that to himself. Instead, he asked, “What if you went to dance classes now?”

Mom’s laughter startled him. She didn’t look at him unkindly, but there was utter bewilderment in her eyes. Like she’d never thought of it – or had, and immediately thought it frivolous. “Oh, Eddie. It’s a bit too late, now. I’m too old for all those moves.”

Eddie furrowed his brows. “But you move around a lot everyday.”

“Uh huh?”

“Yeah! You’re like, super– supermom.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” Mom cooed and patted his cheek. “But no, the time has passed for me. Now I’m just focused on my babies.”

On Tuesday nights at eight though, Mom would curl up on the couch with her throw blanket, a live dancing competition playing on TV. It was the one day of the week Sophia avoided TV time and Eddie snuggled up next to Mom instead of lying down on the carpet. Because he wanted to be near Mom or because she looked lonely, Eddie didn’t know.

What he knew was he liked the show.

He liked the way the dancers moved. The precise twirls, the artful steps, the perfectly broken sways, the way the pair of dancers completed each other – Eddie never knew you could feel so much just by watching people move. 

Mom would point out certain movements to him, and whether the dancers did them correctly or not. She would gasp at some maneuvers, particularly the swings. Eddie watched her eyes light up every Tuesday night, and he felt a deep love for his mom that at eight years old he couldn’t comprehend. 

One night, he tugged on the sleeves of Mom’s sweater, asking, “Can I go to dance classes, too?”

The next day, Mom took him to Sophia’s old dance teacher to enroll him. He’d never seen her look so happy because of him, so hopeful. It was a wonderful thing, he thought, to enjoy something and be able to make his mom happy at the same time. Maybe even make her proud someday, like a good son would.

Dancing made him happy, too. His teacher, Mrs Marty, said he was the best of the boys. She said that his movements were gracious like a cat’s, that he was a singular talent. He was just happy to be in the studio, moving about with a purpose instead of aimlessly roaming about the field with Sophia, who at least had her bugs. 

As time went and competition season unfolded, Eddie was assigned a partner. Mom thought he had a crush on her – Sarah. She was a pretty blonde and the nicest girl in class; for a while, Eddie thought his mom was right. He was always watching her. 

But the thing is, Eddie was a quick learner. Mrs Marty pointed out how he only had to watch anything once. He was good at latching onto the base understandings of the movements. The rest of his body just followed and remembered. It was what allowed him to leave every session memorizing not just his dances, but also his friends’. Especially the girls. Especially Sarah.

Sometimes he’d help her with her moves – she could get tangled up in the rhythm, and Mrs. Marty wasn’t always the best at simplifying things. In the studio, when Mrs Marty gave them some time to practice alone, Eddie would pretend he was Sarah–and Sarah was he–and try to make the steps simpler to copy. Sarah would then learn quickly, and she would be more loose-limbed than he could ever be. Eddie was the best among the boys, and Sarah was the best among the girls.

Sarah’s mom knew the best seamstress, thus her dresses were always the prettiest. Sequined with refined beads, fabric spreading like a peacock’s wings when Eddie would spin her. Eddie always felt so plain in his suit next to her.

But Mom never made him feel plain. With every trophy he took home, she would beam at him bigger and bigger. Walls were soon lined up with his performance photos, and Eddie didn’t care much about winning because he did this for fun, but he also did this for Mom – that made him happy. He liked having this joy to share with Mom.

Because he’d thought about how Mom stood in front of Sophia’s closet, that unworn yellow dress prompting her to talk about an unfulfilled dream. Something she wanted but could never get because the time had passed. Something perhaps Eddie could accomplish for her. 

He’d thought about it again when he was thirteen, when it became clear trophies were all that mattered. At thirteen his body was growing too lanky too quickly. The first year of teenagehood took a toll on him through the stiffness that seized when you’d grown too aware. At thirteen he looked at Sarah, how much more effortless she was at moving her limbs, how beautiful she was in a dress that looked like blue pea petals, and Eddie encountered the dilemma of purpose and joy.

At thirteen, Eddie was unhappy. On bad nights, he could even admit he was hurting. He could admit to being jealous, and then ashamed, like he’d been a leech for a life just on the flip side of the screen that he couldn’t reach through. 

At fourteen, Eddie remained unhappy. He told his mom he was quitting. He watched her face fall and turn into stone at his decisiveness. There was once again that dilemma, and Eddie learned that when your joy and purpose didn’t align, when you chose your joy 

(when you chose to maybe stop hurting)

it came with guilt. For when there was purpose, there were expectations to meet and responsibilities to fill – and Eddie tore himself off all of it.

In the years that followed, Eddie learned that the emptiness that came with an aimless life differed little from that joyless

(hurtful)

purpose. 

===

The priest had said, “Do something frivolous. Something fun. Something that expresses pure joy.”

So Eddie stood in front of his closet, a face clean shaven and smooth, and he chose the sleek pink dress-shirt he never found an excuse to wear. He danced in his living room like he was ten years old again, a time when the movements of his body were still his.

He smiled and laughed and it was easy.

His best friend came over, they had beer, and it was peaceful. 

His best friend went home, his son wasn’t home, and all at once all the joy left.

And it wasn’t surprising. Eddie didn’t feel cheated. It was just another night. He was never one to believe in superficial, purposeless joy. It was simply nice to pretend, sometimes.

===

Approaching three months in El Paso, Eddie is confident to say he’s got the hang of being an Uber driver. He’s found a good rhythm, as unconventional as it is, and as unexpected some rides can be. He’d even argue that after a certain point, he’s seen almost everything – and so has his carseat, unfortunately. 

He does wish people would stop slamming the door on their way in and out, though.

It happens again tonight. If he was less tired, perhaps he would’ve hid his surprise better. Alas, being his last ride of the night, and having waited five minutes before his passenger rocks up to the car–following the message, “wardrobe malfunction, one min, sorry!!”–Eddie considers himself lucky to only jump rather than yelp. 

Eddie looks back through his rearview mirror, making sure Ester–as her Uber profile states–is settled. The first thing he notices is the amount of glitter on her, and how he seriously needs to get a car vacuum cleaner. The second thing he notices is that she’s beautiful, all dolled up and clad in a shimmering dress and a pink faux fur coat, which clues him in on a reunion party in his high school tonight, where Ester set her destination to. 

“I’m so, so, sorry for the wait. My heels decided to break tonight of all nights, and I promise I tip well,” Ester says quickly, huffing as she seemingly loses a battle with her fluffy coat. 

Eddie can’t help but snort, smiling as he waves away his hand and makes sure she’s ready to go. He begins to drive, asking the courteous questions: need anything? Air-con good? Music too loud? Ester assures everything’s good, and then she asks him if it’s okay to turn on the dome light, which he gives her the go ahead for. 

When he looks in the rearview mirror again, Ester is fixing her make-up, compact mirror in one hand and lip gloss in the other. She looks younger than him, young enough that Eddie assumes they wouldn’t have been in school at the same time. 

“Ten year reunion, is it?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

He heeds the advice to stay quiet, often spending entire rides in silence unless his passenger starts the conversation. There is, however, something that pushes him to break that rule tonight. He tells himself he’s justified; they both walked the same halls as teenagers, fumbled with the rusty lockers and their often slightly bent keys, and maybe even had the same teachers. Maybe that’s all, or maybe there’s more to it. 

Ester raises her brow. “Wow, guess I don’t have to worry about getting ID’d anymore huh? Spot on,” she jokes, nimbly switching from her gloss to mascara, the rest of her cosmetics rattling faintly in her make-up bag. 

“You can be fourteen and not get ID’d if you know where to go, don’t take it as an indictment,” Eddie responds smoothly. He knows the El Paso heavens for underage drinkers from experience. “I was gonna say you’ll be best dressed of the night.”

This time, Ester snaps her compact shut, tilting her head. “Oh, yeah? And how do you know?”

Eddie smirks. “Cause none of the kids I went to school with knew how to dress.”

Ester gapes in surprise, blinking. “Okay, that’s pretty mean, but also true in my year, unfortunately. Or fortunately.” Eddie chuckles at that, and more when Ester waves her hand and adds on, “whatever. What year did you graduate?”

“2011. We missed each other by a year.”

“Shame. I played some mean brass in the marching band even as a freshie.”

“Did y'all still wear the green uniform?” 

“Unfortunately,” Ester makes a face. Eddie himself always wondered why they went with that atrocious shade, directly resembling a tennis ball. Then, Ester gasps, “My god, did you also get Mr Santos for trig?”

“Oh hell, you had him too? My condolences,” Eddie laughs, then goes quiet. “Is he still alive?”

“Probably. Unfortunately.”

Eddie clicks his tongue in equal disappointment. The road is less busy now upon sundown, but it’ll still take around twenty minutes to arrive. He briefly wonders if Ester lived in the house he picked her up from as a teenager, and if so why she went to a school so far away. Then he remembers he wasn’t far off; there was a public school closer to home, but his parents wanted him to have ‘a better education’ in a private catholic school.

Some good that did him. 

He hears before he sees Ester shifting forward, elbows propped on either front carseats. It’s only then he notices her perfume, a sweet scent coming in wafts. Many passengers have some sort of smell blindness, dousing themselves in cologne that ends up smelling medicinal. But not Ester. The sweetness of rosy vanilla notes feel like a greeting instead of an assault. 

It’s a lovely scent. The lovely that leaves Eddie with some sort of longing, like the movie When Harry Met Sally, and Aretha Franklin’s twelfth studio album, and Los Dos’ Sister Cities mural, and Christopher’s open laughter. 

“You’ve lived here a long time, mister?” Ester asks, rapping on the side of his seat.

“I, uh, moved out actually. I lived in LA for seven years. I’ve been back for three months now.”

“LA? That’s a long way out. Why’d you come back, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Family stuff.”

Ester takes the vague answer in stride, adding, “You like it here?”

Eddie mulls it over, making use of the time he takes turning to a different road. It’s brighter with streetlights gracing the sidewalks, now that they’ve left the residential areas. Past all the lamp posts and bars’ neon lights, however, what stands out most to Eddie is the cathedral. Standing tall with its towers, cross graced upon a spire. Red brick walls well illuminated by lanterns, as though people wouldn’t have seen it otherwise.

He clears his throat. “I grew up here, so it’s… familiar, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, is that a positive or negative answer?”

The church is situated across the intersection when Eddie stops at a red light. He wonders if it’s simply because he’s sitting in a smaller car, or the distance between them, or the shadow cast by the church’s own lights – he wonders why he feels so small all of a sudden. A six year old standing in front of a church for Midnight Mass, short for his age while the church loomed over him.

His cousins had made him watch a scary movie with them; Frankenstein’s creature emerging from a cell door amidst brick walls resembling the church’s, then dying in a burning windmill. A boy can easily mistake a cross for a windmill’s arms, and a tall old priest in dark robe for a monster, when it’s late in the night and Louie the runt is dead and the boy’s scared enough of being made wrong and being punished for it.

“El Paso’s a growing city. There’s lots of new stores, restaurants, and facilities since the first time I left. Go infrastructure.” He pumps up his fist, trying to add levity to his answer. Ester lets out an amused breath.

His eyes once again find the church, and this time Eddie sees movement on the landing. There’s a man–or maybe a boy, Eddie can’t see his face–rocking back and forth on the steps. All Eddie knows is he’s probably real cold, and the doors behind him remain closed. On the wall, the stained glass of Saint Patrick remains aglow from the hanging lamps within. Under Saint Patrick’s feet were the snakes he banished, green as the grass on its rightful ground, and underneath it the man–or boy–with the maroon jacket. Lower on the roadside, its wheels planted on concrete, the car Eddie sits in hums against the quiet. 

“But every place has its good and bad. I don’t know if it’s all about the place rather than…”

“The people?”

Only when Ester clears her throat does Eddie realize the light has changed, green washing over him through the windshield. Eddie switches gears and drives on.

He finds himself clarifying, “I should probably tell you I’m talking about family. My folks can be a bit… uptight. ”

Ester sighs, pushing off of the front seats. “Well, if they’re long-time El Paso residents and community members, then that’s all the same to me. No offense to you, though, mister.”

Eddie smiles. “None taken.”

He thinks that’s all of it. Most of the time, people aren’t keen on restarting the chatter after it’s faded. He’d be alright with that. 

But Ester doesn’t stop. “I left the day after graduation, y’know? I’d found roommates and an apartment on Facebook, and let me tell you–”

“Hold on, you left home at what, nineteen? To live with people you met through Facebook?” Eddie balks.

“I hadn’t turned nineteen yet, actually.” Ester grimaces, putting her hands up when Eddie looks even more scandalized. “They didn’t kill me, evidently! And I had reasons to trust them. Anyway, I went to school for film at Emerson. Didn’t go home until literally last year, and now…”

“There’s a ten year reunion you’re going to. Time flies.” Eddie supplies, offering a smile. He can tell from Ester’s eyes that she’s nervous, so he shifts the focus. “Anything you’re looking forward to tonight?”

“I’ve got some friends I reconnected with over the years that I haven’t had the chance to meet in person yet, and they’re going tonight. That’s mostly why. I was coming home for my mom’s birthday a couple days ago, anyway, so I stuck around.”

“Hey, that’s nice! Bet they’re looking forward to seeing you, too.”

Ester tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, hands clasped together on her lap. “Maybe, or maybe they’d be surprised. I mean, they know how I look now, but given that they haven’t met me as Ester yet…”

Eddie blinks, furrowing his brows.

“Haven’t met you as… Oh.”

The pieces click together, and Eddie immediately meets Ester’s eyes in the mirror.

It makes little sense to him, but it feels like seeing with new eyes. More understanding eyes, perhaps. Maybe that’s why Ester seems even lovelier now, catalogued in his brain whole with her scent. 

She shrugs, smiling. “Yeah. Oh.”

Eddie begins nodding, and when it becomes clear to him that he should say something else, he adds, “Sorry. It's been a long day.” 

“Don’t start acting weird now, mister. I like you.” Ester lightly punches the back of his seat. 

She’s clearly joking, but Eddie immediately shakes his head. “No, no, hey, I’ve got no problem with that. I’m, uh, I’m an ally. That’s what it’s called right? That’s what my best friend said. He’s bi, by the way. I know it’s not the same, but, y’know.”

Ester moves her palm to her chest, tilting her head. “Aww, well thank you, for everything you’ve done for the community.”

The air becomes lighter, and Eddie finds himself laughing. Barely thinking about it, he begins to rattle off, “Funny you say that. My best friend, his name’s Buck, he’s a firefighter. I was too, before I moved here. He was my partner. Last year our house got picked to represent at the LA pride parade. He joked, ‘I think we’d probably be doing gay people more service if we were checking out their apartments for gas leak.’” He shakes his head, smiling. “Just so we’re clear, he had a blast. In fact, he had the most fun. After running the preparations like a drill sergeant.” 

Seeming thoroughly more relaxed, Ester says, “Always good to know that the people saving your lives actually value your life. It's really cool that you guys did that.” She looks out the window, sighing. “My mom, she’s a nurse. Unfortunately, she didn’t handle it well when I came out as trans, and that’s a very generous way to put it.”

“That’s why you left so soon,” Eddie muses.

Ester nods. “And stayed away all those years. Spot on, mister.”

There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Eddie’s lived long enough, met enough people, pleasant and less so, that have called him anything but his name. He’s always let it roll off his back, remnants of his childhood and military years, because it means jackshit. As long as he can still do his job, as long as it doesn’t indicate danger, he’s still Eddie. He knows that, so who cares?

He does, tonight.

“Just call me Eddie.” 

His voice is wound up too tight. It almost sounds like a kid. Almost sounds like his name was Louie yes he had a name so what if he was going to die anyway we’re all going to die that’s what you said that’s what Father Dale said.

Eddie clears his throat, covering it with a laugh. “Sorry. Makes me feel old.”

There’s a moment where the quiet simply sets in. Where Eddie catches Ester’s reflection and sees her with wide eyes and simultaneously lost in thoughts.

Then, before he can apologize again, Ester smiles and coyly says, “Why, Eddie, you don’t look a day after forty!”

They both laugh this time, and it feels… strangely okay. The splinters still stuck in his chest are bearable now. 

“Anyway, she started coming around two years ago. It happened when I wasn’t even waiting for it. Honestly, I’d let that go years ago. Did I miss my mom? Absolutely, but I… I think I got to a point where I chose myself no matter what, y’know?” Ester goes quiet, and then she’s smiling with a faraway look when she says, “It just so happened that one day, she chose me, too.”

Eddie’s foot stutters on the gas pedal. If Ester notices, she doesn’t voice it. That’s enough reassurance for Eddie, because he firmly refuses to meet Ester’s eyes.

“I’m glad. You deserve that. Not that you needed permission, or– or approval, or whatever. Just that– every child deserves to have a parent that chooses them. The real them. No matter what.”

Eddie rids the lump in his throat by faking a cough, and the tears in his eyes by blinking aggressively. There was a time he hoped for that. Nowadays, his only consolation is he knows he would always choose Christopher.

“You okay, there, Eddie?” Ester taps the driver seat, already leaning forwards. 

Eddie nods profusely. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

Then, Ester nods her head at the picture of Christopher in the dashboard, and Eddie is all too willing to talk about him. He gets to be a father, and it’s easy. Because he loves Christopher. Because being his parent is Eddie’s greatest joy. Because it’s a disappearing act. It’s as easy as muscle memory, hand on the gear stick and foot on the gas pedal, driving through the streets he passed everyday in his teenage years.

Eventually, the car pulls to a stop, and Eddie says, “We’re here.”

Ester pulls the window down, breathless as she remarks, “Shit, it’s just like how I remembered it.”

It is to Eddie, too. He regards it with indifference.

Still, he asks, “Yeah? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” 

“Guess I’ll find out. Thanks for the ride, Eddie. Five stars.”

With that, Ester offers one last smile, and she exits the car. 

Except as soon as Eddie hears the door slam, softer than it did when Ester waltzed in, Eddie feels it all at once: longing, melancholy, isolation, envy, admiration, curiosity, hope –

Hope. This almost terrible, horrifying, exciting, hot and cold sensation, clawing up the length of his body. Dull claws from years of disuse tickling him from the inside, and then against his ribs comes the bang. 

Eddie wants… he doesn’t know what, he doesn’t know if it’s something tangible, but he wants. He wants –

He wants to know. 

So he rolls down his window and he nearly shouts, “How’d you do it?”

Ester spins around, her gorgeous fur coat swishing with her movement. “How’d I do what?”

She is so beautiful. Confident, radiant, and… happy. Eddie can’t believe it takes him so long to notice that. Ester chose herself and Ester is happy. The rest just follows. 

“Choose yourself,” he blurts out, and before he overthinks it, “and figure out… the you that you chose?”

Her jaw all but hits the ground, hands moving to her hips. “Eddie, why didn’t you ask that when we were far out?!”

Then, she recovers, and exhales from her mouth. “Actually, even that wouldn’t be enough time to hash all this out. I guess I just… for once let myself dare to envision a happier year. The rest of my life’s too much, but one really, truly happy year, what would that look like for me?”

Eddie swallows harshly. “Was it hard?”

“Yes. It’s worth every damn sweat and tears, though.” Ester beams, then chuckles. “A friend of mine told me that’s the problem with most folks. They lack imagination, especially for the good things. Once I saw that happier year in my mind… Eddie, let me tell you, living any other way was no longer an option.”

To imagine happiness and to make it happen.

Is that all there is to it? 

Eddie finds himself wanting to believe her. 

“Gimme a second.” Eddie sucks in a deep breath and digs into his glove compartment. Quickly, he scrawls out his number on a notepad and hands it out of the window. “I hope you won’t need it, but if you… need a getaway driver for one reason or another. My house is only ten minutes out, and this is my last ride for the day.”

Taking it and raising her brows, Ester grins at him. “Why, thank you.”

Eddie nods. “Have fun in there, Ester. Find out if Mr Santos is still alive.”

“Money’s on yes–”

Together, they say, “–unfortunately,” and promptly bursts into laughter.

Eddie waits until Ester disappears from the glass doors of his teenage years before driving home. Briefly, he thinks, it’s a nice night for a drive.

When Eddie parks in his garage, he lets the engine run. He sits in his car, smelling of amber and peony, and he wonders if every night can be this kind to him. This pleasant quiet and calm; if he ever gets to wanting, to imagining, he figures this kind of peace would be part of it.

His phone rings. Buck’s picture from his contact list fills his phone screen. Eddie smiles, answers the call, and he stays inside his car for a little longer. 

===

It’s midnight in El Paso. Just three hours before, Eddie said good night to his son and closed the door to his bedroom in Eddie’s house. Eddie went to bed with a smile on his face, and before sleep took over, sparks of that happier year appeared briefly in his imagination. He would forget this, but for a moment, he’d caught the scent of vanilla, amber, and peony on his skin. 

It’s midnight in El Paso, and Eddie gets a phone call. 

===

Buck is hovering around the gates of LAX, and Eddie feels sick.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder; sight makes the lungs breathe freer; a dead friend makes for a sorrowful reunion and a nausea that wouldn’t subside. 

Still, Eddie brings his palm to Buck’s nape and nods at him. At the first quiver of Buck’s lip, Eddie tugs him close, inviting him to the crook of his neck. He hides Buck from the world, steals him for a moment, because god knows Buck needs it. They both need it. Eddie’s all cried out, but his knees are weak and wobbly, so he lets Buck be his legs.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says uselessly. He hugs Buck tighter.

Buck grips the back of his sweater, burrows himself deeper, and doesn’t say a word. 

That’s something Eddie would learn in the following weeks: Buck keeps his words to himself. 

He’ll ask everyone how they’re feeling, and remind them to take care of themselves, and show up to check on them if a text goes unanswered for too long. But turn the questions back on him, and he won’t say a word. 

Eddie knows a disappearing act when he sees one. Eddie knows Buck and how he’ll drive himself to the ground for others while denigrating their love for him through shutting them out. Eddie didn’t know that this time he’s no longer the exception. 

(absence makes the heart grow bitter)

And that sickness hasn’t left Eddie. He’s so fucking sick of himself and the futility of his existence and how fucking unfair it is that everyone got to be there with Bobby towards the end – and how unfair he is for being jealous and bitter over his friends’ grief, just because he’s once again the odd one out. Buck isn’t even throwing him a line this time.

(makes the hearts)

Buck won’t meet his eyes sometimes. Like he thinks he’s sparing Eddie this unspeakable pain out of kindness. Like he’s mulling under his tongue the bitterness he’s nurtured since Eddie’s leave to Texas. Sometimes Eddie thinks Buck wants to feel that resentment, the way he bites his tongue around Eddie, but he knows he’s being unfair. Grief is an ocean; a vulture; a marionettist when you’re in its throes.  

Eddie gets a phone call in the middle of the day. There’s a place for him in El Paso, the firehouse captain says, and Eddie thanks him. It feels like a final verdict; less like a place for him and more like a rusty claw machine gripping him and pulling.

He wonders if this is all his life will amount to; crossroads that never feel like choices. He wonders if closing his eyes as he jams his foot on the gas pedal, off into the only direction he’s ever been led to his entire life, would make it feel less like indignity. He wonders if not telling his best friend would mean he wouldn’t be there in the rear view mirror, waiting until Eddie disappears from the street.

But Buck finds out, and Eddie realizes he’s forgotten what in his life feels real. 

Buck questions him once, “You don’t think I would have been happy for you?” and Eddie realizes two things:

One, that his best friend is real – solid, dependable, right in front of him, and he’s been the only thing Eddie can count on not to be a mirage amidst his crossroads and dilemmas and choices that are never fucking real. 

Two, that to Buck, for the first time since Eddie’s stepped back to LA, he’s finally real; not because he’s been by Buck’s side for weeks, not because he’s been hurting and shaky every time he wakes from a nightmare, but because he struck a fucking nerve.

If that’s the only reason Buck sees him now, if they’re both the only real things to each other, and if outside of this kitchen Eddie will be back to a floating mass that’s fated to never gather himself or find a crossroad that matters, then Eddie wants to feel the impact of crashing himself into something solid.

“No, you wouldn’t.” Eddie squares his shoulders. It’s the first time he’s felt his chest contract and constrict since that phone call at midnight. “You’d make it all about you, like you always do.”

“I’m sorry I’m sad that Bobby died.”

“You’re not the only one that lost him.”

In the end, Eddie’s crying, and there’s indignity in how mortifying it is that this is when he feels most real. When he’s cut open and crying in front of his best friend like a little kid; the weak link; Louie the runt, who’s just not cut out for this life. Failure makes him feel real, the way King Midas’ idiot brother would curse everything he touches and be forced to reckon with what his existence means.

When Eddie hears Buck slamming his bedroom door shut, he’s forced to reckon with how he’s hurt his best friend because Buck hurt him in his grief – like the vindictive child he is – and because he was too cowardly to reckon with the fact that he’s leaving again.

Except.

Except he’s lying on the couch, tears drying on his face, and his phone buzzes with a text from Christopher. A simple good night and thinking of you, because his son still loves him.

Except he and Adriana call each other now, and he’ll shoot off a random text to Sophia when he feels like it, and he got his son back by loving him enough to be brave, and he made a new friend who now texts him updates from all the way in Boston about her happier year.

Except he’s still in LA, in Buck’s house, and Buck hasn’t left him despite the hurt splitting them both in the middle.

Eddie’s life didn’t end when he got his first girlfriend pregnant, nor when his helicopter was shot down, nor when he lost his wife to death and his son to his parents. It didn’t end when he received a phone call at midnight, and it didn’t end tonight. He gets sick of it sometimes; thinks it’ll never end.

But Eddie’s still here, like all those times before, so he finds himself sitting up and calling Christopher. As the line beeps in wait, Eddie chooses to try and picture a happier day.

===

It wasn’t my fault.

Eddie had lost count of how many times those words crossed his mind, pointed at all directions like it would absolve him. It rarely did. Repeating it to himself, or others, had amounted to spitting in the wind; in the end, relief never came from within. 

It wasn’t my fault, he found himself thinking anyway, and the sudden wet heat in his eyes chastised him immediately. He tightened his grip on the nail polish cap, careful not to let the brush skitter towards skin, and made sure his other hand remained gentle with Shannon’s on it. 

He knew she was looking at him; confused, worried, and protective at the same time. He knew she was trying to meet his gaze while he set his eyes firmly on the color he was applying on her nails. 

It wasn’t his fault that Adriana threw up at school and he had to take Sophia to her dentist appointment because Mom was preoccupied. It wasn’t his fault that he was late to pick up Sophia and get home for dinner because he had to run Mom’s errands for Abuela. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t make it to his baseball team’s hangout and they had to find another ride. It wasn’t his fault when Sophia got upset because of Mom who got upset because of Dad who got upset because of fucking Dwayne from work. 

His teammates called him a mama’s boy. That was fine by him, except for the stab of rejection and unfairness that followed. That was fine by him, except for the tears that accumulated behind his eyelids as he made his way to Shannon’s; the tears she immediately picked up but knew better not to ask about. She was there when Mom called him, after all. 

Eddie knew his face was red. Eddie knew Shannon could see it, and he wondered what she saw. 

“Hey, Eddie?” she said eventually, soft and tentative.

He regarded her with a hum, half scratched in his throat.

Her other hand wrapped around his wrist, gentle, until he stopped painting her nails and looked up.

She gave him a lopsided smile, and in that honest way of hers said, “You know I like you because you’re not like those other boys right?”

Inexplicably, Eddie thought, that isn’t my fault. 

He didn’t say anything, but he offered her a smile and a squeeze of his hand. There were only her ring finger and pinky left. Eddie figured he should focus on that and the metallic purple reflecting the ceiling light. Nebula, the label on the bottle said. They’d picked it up together from the drugstore because it matched the highlight Shannon recently got for herself. 

“Hurry up,” Shannon said eventually, “I can do yours after. It’ll look pretty, and we’ll match. Please?”

That isn’t my fault. 

“You trying to one up me, Shan?” he joked, to which Shannon barked out a laugh.

“I am going to nail polish the crap out of you, Eddie Diaz.”

So she did, and it lasted three hours before it was time for Eddie to go home. He asked for the acetone, and she pouted as she gave it to him, but she knew better than to press. 

The next day, one of his teammates called him up to ask if he could give them a ride downtown. Eddie said yes and hotwired his dad’s truck; like it would relieve him of their stinging rejection; like it would mean he fought back when everything made him think, it was my fault. 

===

When Eddie imagines a happier year– a happier day, he sees flashes of tall grass and specks of purple. He hears laughter and the fizz of a canned beer the second it’s opened, lulled by the water, rocking calmly underneath him. There’s a boat, a friend, and clouds that won’t look much like anything for a grown man, but a massive toy box for a fourteen year old. 

He sees her face, grinning with her nose scrunched. His brilliant friend. They made each other very happy once; he supposes that’s why the vision claws at him in fragments.

But it was a long time ago, and what you had at fourteen can never be given twice. Eddie knows that, so Eddie tries again. And again. And again. And again, until he can see a happier day ahead of him, at the end of the road – or perhaps just before another crossroad.

He sees his son’s smile, his face looking more and more like a young man than a kid. He sees him in LA, in the home they’d built for seven years. He sees him, and he sees his best friend.

Buck, by his side, like he’s always been. He’s smiling, too, like he’s happy to see Eddie back home. Like he’s forgiven Eddie for every missteps he’s taken to get there.

He sees the two constants in his life, the two things that have kept him feeling like a real human being instead of an untethered ghost, under the roof of a house in South Bedford street, safe and happy, and Eddie thinks– Eddie feels like it can be real.

Eddie stops feeling sorry for himself, flies his son home, invites his Tia Pepa, and waits for Buck to come home. 

Buck does come home. He always does to Eddie. He always forgives him, too. Eddie’s just grateful for another chance and more time; this happier day. 

When dinner is finished and all that’s left is the rest of the night, Tia Pepa eventually shoos Eddie off the couch. Something about having her turn spending time with her favourite nephew. The two restart the monopoly board, Eddie wishes his son good luck on account of Tia Pepa’s talent, and turns to the kitchen. 

Buck is there, wiping the dishes and putting them in the cabinet. He smiles when he sees Eddie in the doorway, wide and breathless, like he’s the happiest man alive. Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever understand the depth of Buck’s generosity, but he knows he’ll forever be grateful for it. 

He joins Buck, wordlessly and seamlessly turning the task into a two-men job. Eddie’s forgotten this familiarity, once so routine both at work and at home. With anyone else Eddie may find it dull and mechanical; with Buck, all he feels is reality with gentle hands, and something so effortless it feels innate. 

He breathes out and feels its brushing edges – that relief from within. 

“Thank you,” Buck says once they’re finished, sheepish and earnest at the same time.

“What for?”

“This. Tonight. Christopher,” Buck replies, rounding the table to look at Christopher through the doorway. “Kid grew five feet since I last saw him.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, trailing behind and leaning his hand on a chair. Their shoulders brush, warm and comfortable. “My clothes fit him now. He’s already stealing my flannels.” Then, he says, “He missed you.”

“I missed him, too.”

He’s so honest. Heart on his sleeves no matter how hard he tries to hide it. 

Eddie’s finding that he isn’t the same way, that honesty doesn’t always come easy to him, but it’s not… impossible.

So he says, “I missed you,” and holds Buck’s surprised gaze. Emboldened, Eddie continues, “And I’m sorry about last night. I just… I wanted you to talk to me. I wanted you to let me in.”

“I think I forgot how to,” Buck admits, then winces. “Not– not because it’s you, or– or the distance. It’s me. I keep thinking I need to be strong, like Bobby wanted, and apparently I thought being a hardass about it was the way to go.”

Eddie matches his sad smile. “You know it isn’t. Walking breathing example here, bud.”

He feels vulnerable all of a sudden. There is the temptation to hide, to close his eyes and jam his foot on the gas pedal and speed away.

But Eddie is still here. Right now, Eddie can’t go anywhere, and he doesn’t want to. He gives himself the reprieve of crossing his arms in front of his chest, but still, Eddie says, “It won’t be easy, but… can we try?”

And because it isn’t easy, Buck’s response is, “Are you sticking around?”

Eddie thinks about his happier day, and the subsequent happier days, and his mouth almost forms the word, yes. Almost vomits out, I want to go home. I want to be home. 

Then, Christopher’s laugh bounces off the walls, and Eddie remembers the promise he made. To listen, but more importantly, to ask. 

“I… haven’t asked him if that’s what he wants.”

“Why?” Buck leans one hand against the table, body angled towards Eddie. “I don’t want to overstep, but… looks like he missed LA. Seems like it’d be a welcome question.”

Eddie turns to Buck, almost too sharply. “You never overstep. That’s not possible.” 

He doesn’t let himself wallow in the surprised look on Buck’s face – because if he has to think about why Buck thinks he can ever overstep when it comes to Chris, he may break.

But Buck is asking a question, so he answers, “How do I know if I’m enough for him? If I'm ready to not fuck it up again, bringing him back here?"

For a moment, there was only silence. Buck blinks, and Eddie realizes they’ve swayed closer to each other without meaning to. For a moment, he thinks he can count Buck’s eyelashes and find calm in it. 

Then, Buck pushes off the table. "Okay, listen to me. Chris needs you as much as you need him, and I know that kid missed you just as much. You've always been enough for him, even when you screw up. You wanna know how I know?"

"How?" Eddie asks.

"Because you love him enough to never stop trying, and he loves you too. More than anything. You're not perfect, you made a mistake, but good parents make mistakes, too. That's life, and it's okay. You taught me that.” He pokes Eddie’s shoulder, flashing him a half grin.

Eddie remembers that moment – Eddie remembers everything. He’s always wondered if Buck ever thinks about it, what it means for Eddie to let him inhabit that space in his and Christopher’s lives; he wonders if Buck can tell him what it means.

Because Eddie, all he can think about is what a lucky bastard he is that they crossed each other’s paths. He thinks about how in his series of mistakes, putting his trust in Buck will never be one of them. 

It’s because of this trust that Eddie lets Buck see – or rather, he never even realized he’s swiped the curtain just a slip. The other explanation is he’s always had a weakness in his charade, that little fuck-up peeking through, signaling to everyone that he’s not as well put as he tries to be. Except Buck can see better, that ugly cruelty Eddie inflicts on himself named doubt, which he’s never stopped trying to fix. 

It’s not simple, and he’ll never succeed because it isn’t something one man can fix, but Buck always tries. That’s enough.

Buck jostles Eddie’s arm again, bringing him back. "Whatever you think is best for you and Chris, I trust you. I just want you to trust yourself too, because I think you know, Eddie."

Eddie’s breath shakes. He lets it be that way, and focuses on holding Buck’s gaze. “You just say things like that. How?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

“Things like what?”

“Things that make me think I’m gonna be okay, when I don't know that. You don't either.”

He’s not sure where all his honesty is coming from. Maybe it’s because he’s already soft and raw all over, or because it’s Buck, or because he’s starting to learn that sometimes, you have to flay yourself open to reap the reward of knowing where your best friend’s head is.

Buck looks at him, sighs, and then smiles. 

"I know you’re gonna be okay, because I know you and Chris. You think I’ve been playing mediator for you two without learning a thing or two?" he teases. Then, he leans in, as though he’s whispering a secret. "That's another thing. You're not alone. You’ve got me.”

A slow blink later, Eddie asks, "So I'm gonna be okay?"

Buck smiles, and then he’s covering Eddie’s palm with his own, patting it twice for good measure. "You were always gonna be okay, cause you’re you.” He pauses, glancing at the living room. Eddie follows his gaze, seeing Chris and Tia Pepa laughing together. When he turns back to Buck, he’s smiling so softly Eddie aches.

Then Buck says, “But it sure doesn’t hurt that it’s not just you against the world."

There’s a sudden wet heat in his eyes, one Eddie tries to blink away, but ultimately stops caring about. He doesn’t cry, a byproduct of years restraining his tear ducts, but he doesn’t find it as mortifying as he imagined when he catches Buck’s eyes. 

Eddie turns his palm around, and closes his fingers around Buck’s hand. “It’s not just you against the world, either.” 

He can see the working of Buck’s jaw, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, the rapid blinking he tries to pass off as nothing – all signs that point to him cracking open. Eddie wouldn’t mind if Buck did, but he squeezes his hand either way. 

“Talk to me, yeah? Tell me things.” he pleads, and it isn’t mortifying. It just feels real. 

This time, Buck squeezes back. “Okay, Eddie.”

===

Another night in LA, another day spent by Buck and Christopher’s side, and Eddie finally chooses to trust himself.

He asks Christopher during dinner,  “Would you want to live in LA again?”

Before Eddie can plead for Chris to decide for himself and to be completely honest, Chris replies with enough conviction to nail Eddie in place: “Yes.”

Eddie asks anyway, “And you’re sure that’s what you want? Not what you think I’d want?”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dad. I know what I want.” Then, the indignation disappears, replaced with concern. “What about what you want?”

“I’ll go wherever you go, bud.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Chris retorts, putting his utensils down. “What do you want? And don’t say whatever I want. You just asked me not to do that.”

It drives a chuckle out of Eddie, if a little breathless and unsteady. He reaches over to ruffle Chris’ hair. “I’m your dad, Chris. It’s my job to put you first.”

“It doesn’t have to just be one of us. I don’t know why you think that way,” Chris murmurs tiredly, like he’s been holding it in for a long time – too long for a kid, really.

But perhaps that’s because Eddie never asked, or never gave him a chance to say it, because no matter how hard he tries to adjust, Christopher’s still his baby. Perhaps always will be, as everyone is to their parents – for better or for worse. Yet in that moment, he sees that his son is growing up. It’s been gradual, of course, with him raising Christopher, but every once in a while a shift happens like a layer of film ripped off his lens.  

Maybe he’s forgotten what it’s like to be fourteen, Eddie thinks. To be more perceptive than grown ups realize. 

“So?” Chris clears his throat. 

So, Eddie sucks in a deep breath and admits, “I’d like it if we came back to LA.”

Christopher’s smile lights up the room immediately. “Good. Win-win solution, then.”

Eddie learns, then, that not everything has to be hard.

Moving back is a long, exhaustive process, but it isn’t more difficult than El Paso. He thanks his lucky stars that he’s at least done enough repairs in his El Paso house that it’s not a lost cause in the market. That, and the fact that his LA renter is Buck, who’s just overjoyed at Eddie and Chris’ return, and immediately offers the house back. To which Eddie responds with another offer: “How about we all live here?”

That’s how they end up here, two big firefighters and a growing teenager squeezed in the two bedroom house. Often their friends and family visit too, be it the 118 or Tia Pepa and Abuela bringing their containers of food and chatter into the home. It never feels overcrowded, even with the bedroom-couch-switch situation he and Buck have going on; Eddie just feels warm and, for the first time in a long time, okay. Eddie gets his job, his home, and his best friend back, and though his grief lingers, Eddie wakes up everyday relishing in the sunlight piercing through the curtains. 

He gets up to coffee on the pot courtesy to Buck, sometimes with a post it note saying, went for a run. He knocks on Christopher’s door and opens it to find his son on the bed, grumpily kicking off his blanket to get on with the day. He drives with Buck everywhere; dropping Chris off at school, carpooling to the firehouse, and checking out the new restaurants Eddie missed. When Eddie comes home, his people are there with him. Secretly, he wishes for these days to stretch into a year, and then some. 

“No more screentime. I mean it,” Eddie says, eyebrows raised as he throws Chris’ blanket over him. Christopher’s too old to be tucked in bed, but lately, he’s been letting Eddie say good night for a little longer.

“My phone is literally across the room right now and I’m too lazy to get up.” Chris rolls his eyes, plopping his arms down on the bed. 

Eddie chuckles, patting his bedding down. “Yeah, okay. Good night. Love you.”

There’s no more bedtime stories and forehead kisses, but Eddie’s content with it. He turns to leave, already twisting the doorknob when Chris stops him. “Dad, wait.”

When Eddie turns, Chris is lifting himself to a sitting position. What Eddie notices is Chris’ eyes won’t meet his, shifting around the floorboards and the walls. It’s the same look Chris has when he’s admitting to breaking a rule; the look when he’s nervous and a little scared.

Except, what Chris says is, “I’m glad we’re here.”

Eddie lets out a relieved breath. “Me too. It’s good to be back.”

“I mean, yeah, in LA. But also that we’re…” A pause, and this time, Chris clasps his hands on his lap. Eddie waits and tries not to imagine the worst – that Chris misses El Paso, that he wants to live with his grandparents instead. Improbable, but not impossible. 

Except, Chris finally looks at him and says, “I’m proud of you.”

Eddie blinks. “I… Thank you, Chris. Where is this coming from?”

His hand drops from the doorknob. Slowly, he makes his way towards Chris and sits on the side of his bed. 

“You look happier.” Chris shrugs.

“You think so?”

“Uh huh. You were singing while making breakfast this morning. Badly, though.”

The laugh comes out unexpectedly. Eddie’s been relishing on this, too. “So was Buck.”

“I know. My ears haven’t recovered.” Chris smirks, as pleased as he always is when it comes to poking fun at his dad. 

Eddie doesn’t mind. He chuckles and lands his hand on Chris’ knee. “Well, I am happier.”

“Me too.” Chris nods, before furrowing his eyebrows. “Back in El Paso, you said that you were trying to figure out something you’re supposed to figure out, when you were with that woman.”

A part of Eddie expected Chris to forget, but perhaps it’s because Eddie has forgotten. So many things have happened, so many lessons have entered his manual for living, that a part of him forgot he’d been looking for something all along. Something he still can’t put a name to, or even visualize in a material sense. It just pulses in his chest, except perhaps a tad louder than before. 

Eddie sucks in a breath. “Yeah. I did say that.”

“Have you figured it out?”

“Honestly? I don’t think so, bud,” Eddie answers honestly, and it isn’t as mortifying as he expected.

For a long time, he believed that he had to know everything, so he could anticipate anything. If he didn’t know, then either hightail himself out of there or choose something, whatever it is, to fill that slot for the unknown. 

Maybe that held more weight when Christopher was younger, when Eddie was also younger and he had to survive the weight of uncertainty while shielding his son. He can blame his younger self for letting that boulder crush him within an inch of his life, for making decisions that weren’t always the best for Christopher and even less so for himself, but he’s tired of that. 

“I don’t know everything. I never will… know everything. But I think I’ll get there, eventually, because I’ve learned a thing or two since.”

Chris’ brows perk up. “Like what?”

“What you taught me. Need to actually ask questions before I can listen to the answers, that’s one.” Eddie huffs out a laugh when Chris’ face appears to say, duh. 

Then, he thinks of asking Chris about moving back to LA, and the nights he’s spent with Buck swallowed in a thick blanket of grief. How scared he was to do those things, and how glad he is that he did, because he got his favourite people back in the end. 

“And uh, talking about things makes them less scary. But even scary, they’re not always bad.”

“Do it scared.” Chris nods. When Eddie simply stares at him, he adds, “You used to tell me that when I was a kid. Like when Santa Monica reopened.”

Eddie doesn’t remember telling him that. He wishes he can keep more of those happier days, but he’s just as grateful to share those days with people who can remind him.

“Exactly. See, I can be smart sometimes.”

“That’s generous,” Chris snorts, then laughs when Eddie gives him a look. Then he says, “But it’s okay. I love you. And I forgive you.”

The air might as well have left the room the second Eddie hears those words. He sits there frozen, jaw hanging. His only consolation is not being on his feet at the moment. 

His voice cracked, “Say that again?”

Chris breathes out. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry too, for leaving you.”

It kicks Eddie into movement. Immediately, he shifts closer to Christopher, squeezing his knee. “No, hey, hey, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I understand why–”

“You missed Mom really badly. I understand, too.” Chris cuts him off. 

A million things go through Eddie’s head all at once; that Chris shouldn’t have to understand this, that Eddie never ever wanted Chris to apologize for needing space, that Chris is being generous to a fault.

Chris leans forward and pats his arm.  “You’re a good dad, Dad. You don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

A lump forms in his throat. His vision is almost completely blurred when he chokes out, “Chris.”

“You don’t have to keep feeling like that. Do you understand, Dad?”

Eddie feels something crack open inside him. A faulty pressure valve that’s been sitting unmaintained for years – perhaps even all his life – being allowed to let loose. This guilt that’s been so inherent to him, that he never even thought it needed fixing, and all he needed was to hear it from Christopher.

“Yeah, okay,” he says weakly, immediately wrapping his arms around Christopher. He presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I love you, Chris. So much.”

“I love you too,” Chris replies, muffled from Eddie’s hold on him. His yawn breaks a laugh out of Eddie, and he feels Christopher snort against him. “Sorry. I’m actually really sleepy right now.”

Eddie presses another kiss to his head and bids him good night. When he closes the door to Christopher’s room, he feels like the luckiest person alive. He feels like the lightest feather floating downwards with all the time in the world. He wonders which way the wind will blow; he’s not too worried about it right now.

As he turns, he bumps right onto Buck. All broad shoulders, solid as Eddie finds himself chest to chest with him. He’s taking his earbuds out – he was doing the laundry, Eddie realizes. He always needs music for that.

“Woah, sorry – hey, what’s wrong?”

It isn’t until Buck asks the question, face morphing into concern, that Eddie realizes the wetness in his cheeks. He wipes the tears quickly, smiling as he inhales. It feels like one less knot is tied around his chest.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. The opposite, really.”

“Good tears?” Buck asks, the corners of his mouth already tugging up. He quiets his voice, almost theatrically, and asks, “What happened?”

“Chris said he forgives me,” Eddie whispers back. He’s not sure if it’s to play along, or because he’s sure he’d start sobbing and laughing if he spoke louder.

He sees Buck’s grin grow, notices the way he begins to bounce on the ball of his feet. Eddie can’t help his own matching grin. “I told myself I’d be okay if he never did, but… but…”

As Buck folds him into his arms, Eddie notices two things: that Buck knows before he does – as always – just when he was going to break down, and that Buck feels what he’s feeling now as deeply, so much so that he’s holding him tight with a pained sound leaving his throat.

“Of course he did,” Buck whispers, palm rubbing Eddie’s back. “He’s your son.” 

From anyone else, it would sound like a diminishing of what it took to get here. Like it would be Chris’ obligation to forgive him just because. From Buck, Eddie can hear, because you raised him, and you’ve done right by him. It means more than he can ever put into words.

Eddie lifts his head from where it hid in the crook of Buck’s neck, chin landing on Buck’s shoulder. It still feels like the safest place in the world.

“He also said we suck at singing. When we were making his breakfast,” he says.

Buck laughs, and Eddie can feel Buck’s chest rumble against his. “Oh, yeah, that’s your son, alright.”

Hands squeeze his arms, and then Buck was extracting himself from the hug. Eddie would mourn it more if not for Buck still holding him, face still full of childlike glee. Like he’s so damn happy and proud of Eddie. 

Eddie points at him, raising his eyebrows. “Who you encourage when he makes fun of me.”

“Guilty as charged,” Buck smirks.

His eyes soften, locking onto a spot on Eddie’s cheek. He raises his thumb, then, and wipes the wetness off Eddie’s face. His stomach flips at the gentleness of the touch, Buck’s utmost attention on him, Buck’s parted lips, Buck being constantly two steps ahead of him when it comes to his emotions.

Eddie can’t pull his eyes away from Buck’s mouth, how full and soft they look, perfectly made to be kissed.

He blinks. Once, and then again.

It doesn’t make him want to kiss Buck any less.

“Sorry. That was weird,” Buck chokes out, stepping back. 

Eddie leans in, all but forcing Buck’s hand to remain on his arm. “No, it wasn’t.”

He wants to kiss Buck so badly, so desperately, that he doesn’t have anything to compare it to. Strangely, he readily accepts it, and it slots perfectly in place. 

Buck squeezes his arm one last time, stepping  back for good. He points his thumb to the end of the hallway. “I, uh, I should… bathroom, you know, brush my teeth.”

Dazed, Eddie nods. “Yeah, yeah. You do that.”

He watches Buck’s back as he turns around, the vast expanse of it, and it’s easy now to put a name to it: Eddie loves him. 

Eddie’s in love with him.

He readily accepts this, too, and so it slots perfectly in place.

And perhaps because it’s so infinite and all-encompassing, fear seems to have lost its place. 

===

Being in love’s not so hard, Eddie learns, when it’s with his best friend who happens to be a man. He’s leaning more on the first factor, but he’s slowly letting himself accept that the second factor is, indeed, a factor. 

Eddie doesn’t tell anyone about it. He worried in the beginning, that it was his decades old shame boiling over the pot – but it isn’t. Eddie’s not ashamed of loving a man.

Over the years, he’s learned that love doesn't need to look the way it did when he was a child. He can love his son loudly, unlike his dad, and kindly, unlike his mom, with all the grace Abuela and Tia Pepa lent him. He can love his sisters as an annoying brother, instead of a convenient chauffeur on busy days. He can love the women he knows as one does a friend; a connection that isn’t just one stage off a manual. He can do all of that, so he too can love a man and want him in ways that are new to him.

Then, there’s also the fact that it’s Buck. He doesn’t think he can ever be ashamed when it comes to Buck. 

Eddie still doesn’t tell anyone about it, and he realizes it’s because he wants to get to know it. This newly discovered part of him that’s both tender and burning, equal parts of desperation and tentative curiosity. He examines it every now and then, turns it over and out in his hand. Buck doesn’t even have to do anything but live in his house, smiling and laughing at him, and Eddie feels it grow every morning spent with a sleep-worn Buck. 

He wants to look at Buck everyday, wants him to smile at Eddie every time he makes a joke, and wants him to live under his roof with no lease. He wants to keep touching Buck; a pat on the back, a side hug, an embrace, his hand in Eddie’s, a kiss on the lips. He wants Buck to touch him, to close the gap between them, reach deeper, and make them both feel good. 

It grows in his heart and his body. Eddie lets it take root and grow upwards; a tree rather than a festering infection rotting him. The problem, he realizes, is he’s not sure if his body can house it. 

Under the purple light of the club, faces resemble shadows and silhouette, but Eddie sees Buck just as clearly. He’s dancing with Hen, May, and Ravi to some 2000’s song Eddie vaguely remembers from Sophia’s mixtape, jumping up and down like he isn’t 6’3’’ and a bag of muscles. He looks beautiful, gleefully twirling Hen before she swats him on the chest. Eddie feels it grow, steady as it always has.

“How long do you think until he gets tired?” Karen asks, bringing Eddie back to the booth they’re in. She nurses her drink and wiggles her eyebrows.

Eddie shrugs, still smiling. “Either two a.m. or never. Until he starts whining about the hangover and pulled muscles tomorrow, at least.”

He’s sipping his beer when Karen leans her chin on her palm and asks, “Roommates life treating you two well?”

“We split the rent, he cooks, I clean, what’s not to like?” Eddie replies, feigning nonchalance. He can hardly list out all the reasons living with Buck and Chris has made him love coming home. 

Karen nods. “It’s nice living with your best friend. I did that with my gal pal back in college.”

“Isn’t Hen your best friend, too?”

“Well, yes, I just thought…” Karen looks at him, blinks, and straightens up in her seat. “Huh.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“Nothing. I mean, unless…?” Karen raises her eyebrows. 

Unsure, Eddie looks around. “Did I… miss something?”

The loud staggering footsteps and laughter catch Eddie and Karen’s attention, turning to see Hen once again swatting Buck’s chest as she makes her way to the booth. Buck remains several steps behind, not quite ready to leave. Eddie can’t help but stare at him, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to reveal the skin of his forearms, as if his biceps aren’t bulging out of the fabric. 

Eddie takes another sip of his beer. 

Buck points at him and grins. “Eddie! Get your ass down here!”

“Why? Did the floorplan change since I last saw it?”

Buck rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, come on, get over here and dance!” He continues waving for Eddie. Then, putting on his best pout, he mutters under his breath, “Ballroom dancer, my ass.”

As Hen piles onto the booth, Karen catches her and turns to Eddie. “Ballroom dancer?”

Eddie shrugs. “I did competitive ballroom dancing as a kid.”

Hen cackles, clearly more than a little tipsy, while Karen’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, what?!”

It’s then that Buck calls out his name again, and while Eddie slightly fears the idea of dancing with a tipsy, sweaty, and very tactile Buck, he's way more averse to telling Hen and Karen about his ballroom dancing past. Besides, there’s an illicit excitement to dancing with Buck. Eddie’s already in a gay club, and he’s already gay, so why the hell not?

He takes a big gulp from his drink and points his thumb Buck’s way, feigning regret to Karen. “Best buds, you know how they are.”

With a pep in his step, he ignores Karen’s calls for him. It makes him feel a lot less guilty when Buck immediately pumps his fist in the air at the sight of him, wrapping a hand around Eddie’s wrist to drag him away 

Eddie stares at the point of contact as he gets pulled here and there, until they’re somewhat on the dancefloor. Buck’s still smiling, flashing his pearly whites as an apology to everyone he bumps against – which is a lot, considering the size of him. Eddie thinks he’s the most endearing person to ever exist.

“Where’s May and Ravi?” he asks, clearing his throat. 

Buck blows raspberries. “Dunno. They abandoned me.”

He slouches as he says it, ever the dramatic. Eddie doesn’t understand how his years of fondness only now translates to infatuation, but he’s not here to worry about that. He chuckles, tilting his head. “Is that the only reason you called me down here?”

“Noooo! C’mon, Eddie, don’t be mad. Dance!” He puts his hands up in the air, just in time for the beat drop. Eddie huffs, shaking his head. “You haven’t danced all night. It’s exercise!”

“I get plenty of exercise, Buck.”

“But not of the best kind. Dance!” 

“I also got plenty of that until I was fourteen.”

Buck’s face twists into something complicated. The last time Eddie came back to Texas, Buck couldn’t come with. He still insisted on being there through FaceTime. In his childhood room, packing up the last of Chris’ things, his trophies were still there. They never mentioned it again after Eddie told him why he stopped. 

Someone bumps into Buck, jostling him closer towards Eddie. He can almost feel Buck’s breath on his cheek when Buck asks, “You liked it?”

Eddie swallows, trying to back up to no avail. Curse this busy, overrated WeHo gay club. “The fun parts, yeah. The competitions, not really.”

“Then let's do the fun parts. It’s been too long,” Buck says. He grabs Eddie’s wrists in his hands, pulling each one and swaying.

For a split second, Eddie thinks he’s thirteen again, doing Sarah’s choreo instead of his own. The purple light flashes indigo just a second longer, before he snaps back to himself. 

Then, the song changes, and Buck gasps. 

“Oh my God, it’s Shania Twain.” He tugs Eddie closer, mouthing the lyrics as they come: Let’s go, girls!

Eddie’s breath stutters, and he’s gone long enough for Buck to pull him even closer and say, “Come on, dance with me? Rock out a little?”

Rarely can he say no to Buck. Rarely, also, does he feel genuine wanting like this: to keep touching Buck, and to dance. 

“Just one song,” he replies, though he knows he’ll stay there as long as Buck wants – and he’ll likely want that, too. 

So they dance, and Buck keeps holding his wrists, as if Eddie still needs to be tugged along for the ride. He doesn’t, but he appreciates the support. Eddie’s also not going to look at a gift horse in the mouth, the way his wrists feel tingly all the way to his chest and stomach. 

I only wanna have a good time

Buck’s got two left feet, always has, but especially when he’s drunk. Eddie doesn’t mind one bit about the twinge in his toes every time he gets stepped on. He pulls some moves from his youth, mostly basic arm styling and footwork. The awed look in Buck’s face makes Eddie glow. 

The best thing about bein' a woman

Buck yells out the lyrics, shimmying closer to Eddie. It makes him laugh, and for something else inside him to be set alight. He’s never heard this song before, hasn’t listened to the lyrics prior to the present, but the beats and dancing come naturally – finally, it feels natural.

Is the prerogative to have a little fun and

In a move unforeseen by Eddie, Buck’s hand lands on his, and he’s being twirled around not unlike Hen. Except Eddie, in his dumbfounded moment of being fucking twirled around by Buck, did not move to swat his chest like Hen did. It gives the smiley and inebriated Buck enough time to pull Eddie against him, his chest to Eddie’s back, while his mouth is inches away from his ear. 

“See! Isn’t this fun?!” Buck shouts, because he’s too drunk to realize his mouth is inches away from Eddie’s ear. 

Eddie doesn’t breathe, heart pounding with every hot breath Buck unleashes on his cheekbone. “All your ideas are.”

Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy, forget I'm a lady

They sway against each other, fire crackling throughout Eddie’s entire body as they press closer together. Eddie’s got a man all up in his personal space, touching him and sending heat all over his insides, and he likes it. The knowledge itself makes Eddie laugh.

Before Buck can ask him what’s so funny, he turns around and returns the favor: he pulls Buck by the wrist and jives with him – if it can be called that with how minuscule their dancing space is. But Eddie’s having fun, and if Buck’s giant grin and loud whoops are any indicator, so is he. 

Eddie’s not as smashed as Buck is, but he’s tipsy enough to let his palms land on Buck’s shoulder and hand, just like Sarah had done to him on a very different dancefloor in his youth. Buck, to his credit, was quick enough to put his hand on Eddie’s waist and begin swaying him around very enthusiastically. 

Oh, oh, oh, I wanna be free, yeah, to feel the way I feel

Eddie does. He wants to be so badly. He thinks he can be that. 

Which is why it’s more perplexing that he knows he isn’t yet. 

“You ready?” Buck asks, close to slurring his words. Though it’s less the alcohol and more the fact that he’s constantly giggling.

Eddie’s head snaps back to him. “Ready for what?”

Within the next beat drop, Buck’s hand shifts from Eddie’s waist to the space behind his shoulderblades, never letting them part. Then, Eddie’s being dipped to the floor, like they’re the only two people waltzing in the dancefloor. Like Buck is him and Eddie is Sarah – graceful, loose-limbed, blue pea petals dress Sarah; best of the girls.

Man, I feel like a woman!

Eddie holds on to Buck’s shoulder for dear life, fighting the yelp threatening to leap out of his throat. Looking up, Buck is beaming boyishly at him, and Eddie wants to kiss him so badly. Then, perhaps ask him if he can tell Eddie why the words, I do, I feel, I do, are running laps in his head, and why in Buck’s arms, his body feels like it’s molding into the shape it’s supposed to take. 

The whoops and whistles from their friends – mostly Ravi and Hen – catches their attention. Eddie looks to the side, and finally realizes that they’d moved closer to their own booth throughout the song. May and Karen are clapping, throwing in a “Bravo!” here and there.

Buck pulls him up, and before Eddie’s ready, guides him to bow together. It’s then that May and Ravi join them, then Buck’s all but stolen from Eddie for the next song. Still, he finds himself unable to leave, joining the group in whatever absurd dance moves they’re making up for Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield of all songs – which he only knows because Buck will play anything in the car. 

Eddie stays, and he catches each one of Buck’s gleeful smiles and bashful glances. Eddie stays, and with every song they get through, he replays how it felt to have Buck’s hands all over him, his eyes and grin only for Eddie, and he hears Shania Twain in the background.

===

“We’re getting old,” Buck groans, thudding his head against the linoleum tabletop.

“I warned you not to drink too much,” Eddie says in a sing-song voice, pushing Buck’s coffee closer.

Eddie wasn’t quite hungover when he woke up, but dealing with a hungover Buck was reason enough to drag the two of them to their favorite diner for brunch. Buck only groans louder, thudding his forehead again.

“You know that’s not enough.” Buck raises his head only to let it fall back against his seat. “You should handcuff me after the fourth drink next time.”

The coffee goes straight up Eddie’s nose. He thinks it’s commendable that he only coughs twice, and that Buck doesn’t notice it. The waitress arrives with their food, a hearty and disgustingly greasy plate; the perfect hangover remedy. 

Eddie pushes Buck’s plate towards him, hands him the fork and knife, and tells him to eat. Without looking at him. Because his mind is still reeling with the image of Buck in handcuffs, and that’s not something Eddie’s willing to reckon with on an empty stomach after a night out at his first gay club. 

They eat in silence – a rare occurrence when Buck is in the picture. Somewhere between finishing his own bacon and stealing Eddie’s, Buck starts to come back to himself. Only then did it occur to him that he has a cup of coffee, and he gulps it almost in one go.

“Jesus Christ, Buck. Go easy on that,” Eddie mutters, instinctively pushing Buck’s napkin closer to him.

He scrunches his nose, grabbing the napkin to wipe his mouth. “What? It’s not even hot anymore.”

Eddie’s convinced Buck’s burned off the temperature receptors on his tongue. He opens his mouth to complain when Buck digs back into his food, humming as he gets another bite of his pancake. Eddie can only duck his head to hide his smile. 

“I still don’t get how they make the pancakes this fluffy.”

“You’ve made fluffy pancakes for me and Chris before.”

“Yeah, but mine deflated, Eddie. These things are consistent,” Buck says, pointing to the cut he’s stabbed with his fork. 

“Maybe you should ask the cook.”

“Why would they give me the kitchen’s secret?”

Eddie makes a face. “It’s a diner, not a Michelin restaurant.” 

Buck points his fork at Eddie. “Oh, so you’re saying old-school comfort food is less valuable than fancy, high-end food?”

“When the hell did I–” Eddie cuts himself off just as his voice pitches up, catching the corner of Buck’s lips twitching. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Eat your pancakes, Buckley.”

Buck cackles, before shoving another forkful of pancake in his mouth. He eats like a horse sometimes, crumbs flying everywhere. Eddie thinks it’s endearing. Like the lovesick lost cause he is. 

Then, Buck tilts his head, and once again points his fork at Eddie. “Hey, have you been growing out your hair?”

Eddie freezes. From the corner of his eyes, he sees an incomplete reflection of him in the mirror. Getting a haircut hasn’t exactly been a priority in the last couple months. The usually shaved sides of his head are fully covered now, and the length is slowly creeping down his neck. The most noticeable thing though, are the longer strands atop of his head. When he’s not pushing them back, they’d fall down to frame his face.

He used to hate missing his annual haircuts, like being unkempt is another tally to how much of a  mess he is. Now, he sees himself in the glass pane, and he doesn’t hate it. 

“Not intentionally. Just haven’t really thought about it.” Eddie shrugs, tearing his eyes away.

Buck nods. “You gonna get a haircut soon? I’m thinking of getting one next week.”

Everything in Eddie twists and squeezes at once, stomach acid climbing up to his tongue like it’s trying to spit out, no. It’s the first time he realizes it, but he thinks he’s been neglecting the haircut for a reason. Something like comfort. 

But Eddie replies, “I mean, I guess I have to, right? Follow the firehouse guideline?”

Buck scrunches his nose again. “The guideline doesn’t say you can’t have longer hair. Collins from 126 has a man bun,” he points out, snapping his fingers. Then, softer, he asks, “Do you want to cut it?”

Eddie knows he just has to spit it out, and Buck wouldn’t question him. But it doesn’t seem enough. Buck’s silence about it wouldn’t be preferable.

He shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know how to maintain longer hair.”

“Give me three hours with Google, consider it solved.” Then, Buck adds, “For what it’s worth, I think it looks good.”

Eddie’s head snaps up. The look in Buck’s eyes is so earnest, filled with honesty and a base understanding that Eddie himself can’t grasp yet. He only grasps that somehow, he needed to hear that, and it sated the wild thing pulsing right beside his heart. 

Buck’s eyes move around the length of Eddie’s hair, then remain stuck on the strand falling over his eyebrow, curled towards his ear. Eddie finds himself shivering. 

“You think so?”

Smiling, Buck nods vigorously. “Uh huh. It suits you.”

Eddie mutters a thank you, and they resume eating in silence. When Eddie looks over to the glass pane again, the sun has changed its spot, and it’s too bright to catch his own reflection. He’s running his fingers through his hair when his fingers linger over a strand in particular. His fingers curl, like he’s gripping air, and lead that strand behind his ear. A move he’s done many times to past lovers, but never to himself, and never accompanied with this erratic thump beside his heart. 

Those beautiful women who melted every time, who knew they deserved that softness, whose rosy cheeks were translated to accomplishment for Eddie. 

He mulls it over as they finish eating, then in the car ride home, then in the shower with scalding hot water beating over him. He wonders how many times he’s mistaken one thing for another. Hurt for anger; companionship for desire; compensation for accomplishment; self-punishment for endurance.

He makes quick work of drying himself as he steps out of the shower, letting the towel fall to the floor. When Eddie stands in front of the mirror, stripped bare as the day he was born, he sees himself staring right back. Old scars, scrapes to bullet holes, tallies of how often he’s fallen down; how often the ground has caught him and told him to get back up. He sees the work he puts into it; muscles in all the places he needs to be strong, legs that have brought him out of burning buildings, arms that have carried people into safety. He sees the nourishment he allows his body; he’s not as young anymore, his stomach’s gotten softer, and really, he wouldn’t trade Buck’s home-cooked meals for anything. 

Eddie sees himself, and all the jagged edges are still there. The things he saw and hated when he was thirteen, seventeen, twenty five, they haven’t left. The persistent knowledge – or a feeling that insists to be venerated as one – that this isn’t all he can be, claws at him again.

He’s imperfect, he knows this, and he’s made peace with it because nobody is. But sometimes Eddie thinks he’s incomplete – he’s trying to stop thinking he’s poorly made and unfixable – and that’s when it starts hurting. 

Everyone’s a work in progress moving at their own speed, so why does it feel like Eddie’s left without the manual everyone else got? Why does it feel like he’s spent his entire life going back and forth between looking for it, and trying to mimic what everyone else is doing? 

The damnedest thing, Eddie realizes as he grips the edge of the sink, is that it's about nobody else but himself. Christopher forgave him, gave him another chance, and absolved him of guilt. Eddie figured out that he’s in love with Buck, that he always has and always will be, and he’s made peace with the different way he loved Shannon. Eddie has let himself atone, forgive himself, and love, and it’s still not enough. 

He looks in the mirror, and he sees the person staring right back. He sees himself and all the hollow spaces that still can – need to be filled.

Shakily, he reaches for the clothes he’s prepared on the counter. He puts on his boxer, hand grazing the skin of his own thighs, and he wonders what it would be like if he could stand just as strong, run as fast, and walk as far as he has, without feeling like he’s got screws in his legs; locked outside of its base functionality. 

Ester broke her heels, the thought pops up in his head. “That’s why she was late,” he murmurs. 

But Eddie remembers dropping Ester off in front of their high school, nowhere near too late to enjoy the festivities. Eddie remembers how Ester walked out of the car, her fur coat swishing behind her, and how her silver knee high boots hugged her long legs. Eddie remembers admiring them. 

He shucks his jeans on. He doesn’t know why his fingers are trembling as he does the button. Next he reaches for the cologne in the cabinet, as he always does, except this time, Eddie pauses.

He sat in his car for a long time, after Ester. Buck called him about his shift, and Eddie didn’t leave the car. He sat there and breathed in the sweet scent of Ester’s perfume, and Eddie remembers now how fitting he thought the scent was. Like the signature of someone who knows who she is, what fits her, and allows all that she is to take up space in the world. 

And Ester was so damn happy. Is happy, if the text chain between her and Eddie is anything to go by. She’s off in Portland shooting her movie. She’s still wearing funky coats even with a clapperboard and megaphone in her hands. 

And Eddie is out of El Paso, just like she is, but he’s standing in the middle of his bathroom, and he can’t bring himself to spray his cologne. He can’t bear to have this scent on his skin, musky sandalwood, masculine and rough on his senses. There was a time when he barely noticed it; he realizes there wasn’t really a time he liked it. He can’t bear it being what he brings when he takes up space. He can’t bear to cut his growing hair, either, for its absence would mean another square inch of his hollow spaces. 

He puts the cologne back, and he wonders briefly, if this is the limit to his happier days; if maybe the novelty finally wore off and the rest are ordinary bits he has to settle for, no matter how unsettled his body feels.

He’s still half bare. His henley is in his grasp and Eddie can only stare down. When was the last time he cared about what he covers himself with? Did he ever, past the popular and affordable male catalogue at the mall, where he’d tell himself it was to avoid the hassle of choosing? 

It’s a nice shirt, a burgundy colour with soft fabric. Buck said it looks good on him. Eddie’s still just holding it. He thinks about a pink fur coat he’d never wear, because LA’s heat is no joke; the knee high boots he’d never walk on, because bending would be a challenge; the blouse with a smatter of soft pink floral on mustard, the one colour he’s adamant clashes with his skin; the nail polish in the shade of Nebula that they got together to match her purple highlights, that he’d never keep it for longer than three hours because he can’t and it’s not his fault.

“It’s not my fault,” Eddie whispers. Even as the words tumble out, he doesn’t know who they’re for. Maybe they’re just out there to take up space.

When Eddie looks up in the mirror, he thinks he’s seen a ghost. He thinks he sees her there, sitting down next to him in front of her vanity, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, while his cheek rests atop of her head. He can almost feel her; the weight, gentleness, and space she takes up. She’s right there in the mirror, and Eddie wants to reach out to her through time and space. To grab her wrist and cling, tell her how much he’s missed her, how there’s so much he needs to say and ask, how much he’s grown and how he wishes she could have, too. 

She’s right there in the mirror, and when Eddie wants to call out for her, he realizes it’s not Shannon. He realizes that there aren’t two nor just one person in front of him. Like an amalgamation that keeps flickering in and out of what liminal space it’s taking up right now, one that Eddie has to strain his vision to look, really look, and–

And he realizes, or more so remembers with a pang of terror, that all along the reflection of two teenagers pressed against each other across a girl’s vanity has just been one entity, because Eddie wanted them to be. 

It’s always been Eddie – different, better, melded with the one person who made him make sense. Eddie, complete. 

Eddie, with a gentler smile, longer hair, soft curves distributed elsewhere. Eddie, who still loves and laughs the same way, except he would be –

And so it dies like a fire snuffed out, because who would Eddie be?

===

The only downside of not having to climb a wood lattice to get into a girl’s room–like Sophia’s ex boyfriend whom Eddie had been threatened not to snitch on–is how loud the metal staircase underneath him was. 

Shannon lived in an apartment complex fifteen minutes away. The distance wasn’t an issue with Eddie’s car and driving license – if anything, it was an added bonus. The further away from home, the better. Plus, it had an emergency staircase with a deck conveniently leading to Shannon’s window. Five flights of stairs were light work; Shannon’s nosy neighbors were not.

Still, Eddie found himself tip tapping quietly from the fourth level’s deck, shoulders raised vigilantly. He heard a snicker from above, and caught the sight of Shannon peeking her head out of the window. 

Eddie snuck a glance to the window on his level and grinned, looking up again. “Blabbera’s snoring right now,” he whispered, pointing to the window. Through it, he could see Mrs Barbara Wilson–the miserable old tattletale–dozing on her couch.

Shannon nearly cackled, to which Eddie immediately shushed with a finger over his lips. He couldn’t help but giggle when Shannon had to muffle her own laughter. She waved him over. “Get up here!”

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. The second he was close enough to climb through the window, Shannon’s hands were on his cheeks, pulling him in for a clumsy kiss. She’d been trying out lip gloss, he noticed. Their kisses were… wetter now. His lips are always smeared and stained in gloss after they part. Eddie didn’t mind. He liked the taste, as far as artificial cherries go. One time Shannon joked that it suited him, and she was smiling so wide that Eddie attributed the flip in his stomach to it. 

He gave her another peck and pulled back. “I’m trying to get in there, Shan.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.”

Eddie deadpanned even as his cheeks flushed, and Shannon smirked in spite of her blushing. Dating Shannon had been a series of revelations. He thought he knew what being in a relationship meant. For all his friends’ dicking around in the locker room and the school’s cafeteria, they did talk about dates and girlfriends occasionally. But none of them talked about how different it would be going from friends – who’d had to tell people they really were just friends – to more.

For instance, when Eddie came over before, they’d just pore over Shannon’s records, or smoke on the rooftop, or if her dad wasn’t home, push the coffee table aside and play Just Dance in the living room. Now, they usually made out and groped each other before they did the usual stuff. Then they’d make out again. It wasn’t hardship. Eddie had always liked hanging out with Shannon. He just had to get used to the additional steps. He reckoned he was doing alright.

Especially when Shannon bit her lip to hide her smile as he closed the window and curtain, before diving back in for another kiss. He’d learned to be quick to respond; hands on her waist, move his lips but not like a fish, and slip a little tongue while pulling her closer. More often than not, she’d start laughing into the kiss, and that would make him laugh, then they’d break apart and he could finally see her face again.

It happened just like that, and Eddie couldn't hold back his grin when Shannon giggled and covered her mouth. She had yellow nail polish, one of her favourites. He always teased her for having a weird combination of favourite colors – yellow and purple, especially mustard and indigo. 

“What?” he asked. Hand still on her waist, he tickled the spot until she laughed again.

“Was she really snoring?”

Eddie threw his head back. “Swear to God I could hear her from outside.”

Shannon rolled her eyes and pushed away from him. “Swear on something else, you haven’t been to church in eons.”

“I was an altar boy!”

“And you croaked. Funny how life works, hm?” Shannon plopped herself on the bed, poised on her elbows. She glanced around her room, like she was trying to be nonchalant. “My dad said he’s gonna be home late.”

Eddie hummed. “He said that?”

He found himself looking around Shannon’s room too, copying her. The first time he’d stepped foot there, he marveled at how much of her was in it. As time passed, he noticed less space on the wall, another poster or photo held up by sticky tacks. The ticket stub from a band they had gone to see together right next to a photobooth strip they had taken at a country fair. Her shelves were lined with books, memorabilia, and various owl trinkets she’d accumulated through the years. She’d likened him to them once; Mr. Broody, she said. 

Eddie had thought it was a girls thing, to fill their bedroom to the brim with everything they liked. Eddie had a couple sports posters, but his shelves were reserved for school books and old trophies. Then, he realized neither Sophia nor Adriana had much to display in their rooms; Mom liked her house tidy. It made Eddie feel better about being a little jealous of Shannon’s room. 

“Uh huh, he called earlier. Something about a late cargo drop off,” Shannon says. She lied down on the bed, before going back to her elbows. It made Eddie less nervous, and a little amused. 

Eddie hummed, walking towards the door. “And if he’s testing you?”

He twisted the doorknob slowly, finding it locked. Shannon chuckled behind him.

“Two steps ahead of you,” she said in a sing-song voice. Between smirking and grinning, she lowered her voice, “Don’t worry. I do this with my girls all the time.”

Eddie barked out a laugh. “Oh, sure you do.”

“What? I have friends!” Shannon balked, sitting up straight.

Biting back his smile, Eddie walked over to the edge of the bed.

“Not the ones you have sleepovers with. Also, your dad hates having anyone over.”

Shannon scoffed. “No, I have secret slumber parties. You’re just not invited.”

It was a joke, because she was clearly bluffing. Shannon wasn’t exactly popular nor the sort of girl who hosted sleepovers. Eddie didn’t understand why the little quip made him sad, the feeling both distant and a bruise. He wanted to chalk it up to feeling left out, like when he couldn’t make it to his baseball team’s plan because his mom said no, but that was real. This wasn’t, nor was it possible. 

Before his silence stretched too long, Eddie tamped it down and joked back, “Uh, rude.”

Something flashed in Shannon’s eyes, like she sensed unease in him. He wasn’t sure if she could decipher it any better than he did, probably not, but Shannon often found ways to make things better regardless.

She rose to her knees, moving towards the edge of the bed until they were face to face. Arms around his neck, she smiled up at him, soft to coy. “Aw, hon. Chin up. You can be one of my girls tonight.” 

Something lit up inside Eddie, the unease popping like a strained muscle set right. It wasn’t enough to help him decipher it, but it was okay. The sadness sailed further, warded off from the shore.

When Shannon dove in for a kiss, Eddie replayed her words in his mind over and over again, and relished in them despite the impossible.

===

If there is any place Eddie frequents that he hates fervently, it’s the fucking drugstore near his house. It’s a maze of teeny tiny aisles stocked up to the inhumanely tall shelf; Eddie’s lost count of how many times he’s bumped into people, said ‘excuse me,’ to no avail because people lack situational awareness, and been asked to grab something from the top shelf by shorter people. Not to mention the obnoxious yellow, blue, and red–which is fine for a logo that’s supposed to attract people from outside–everywhere his eyes land, clashing with the pink and yellow price tags on every item. 

The point is, Eddie hates the drugstore. The only reason he’s still standing there is because Buck hasn’t made his mind about which compression sleeve he should get for his knee, and he’s currently going back for the third time to change his pick. Eddie decides to take one for the team and keep their place in the ridiculously long line. 

Because the universe fucking hates him, however, it repays his kindness with a guy bumping against him and sending his and Buck’s antidepressants spilling to the floor.

“Seriously, man?” he mutters, to which the guy–who’s wearing a stupid neon green shirt–simply shrugs at. 

Eddie sighs and bends down to gather his things when he catches them on the corner of his eyes; a wallful of nail polish. It occurs to him that he never noticed them there before. He never looked for them, is all. He used to trail behind Shannon as she pored over the options, only giving his input for the last two choices.

A metallic shade of purple catches his attention, glowing under the light of the display. It’s not called Nebula this time, Eddie reads when he turns the bottle over. He doesn’t realize he’s picked it up until then, like he was in a trance as he inched closer to the display. 

It’s a nice color, but Eddie puts it back. He’s not sure what he’d do with nail polish. Chim told him the other day how Jee’s been begging to match her mom’s nails and has appointed him as nail technician. It’s adorable, and Chim’s a great dad, but it’s not like Eddie has any girls in his house. Neither Chris nor Buck are into it, either. 

His breath hitches when he moves up the line, and the display beside it is lined with various lip products. He’s never been well versed in makeup, but he knows there are different types. Sophia swears by red lip stain, Adriana prefers lip balm, and Tia Pepa hasn’t strayed from her signature mauve lipstick for decades.

But Ester loves lipgloss. She mentioned that it’s all she’d put on, along with some mascara, on low effort days – which are most days, according to her. Eddie had said that some days, he splashes his face with water, fluffs up his hair, and just hopes he doesn’t look like death. Esther recommended a dry shampoo spray, because, “A little goes a long way to make you feel good about yourself, Diaz.”

Eddie isn’t sure why those words from their text chain are circling his head and rooting him to the spot. The jackass with the neon green shirt clears his throat, alerting Eddie to move further in line, and Eddie tells him to skip over him instead. 

He reaches up, fingers tentatively trailing over the options. He doesn’t understand how women – well, people – can choose between all the shades. He’s sure finding the shades one likes wouldn’t be so hard, but to choose one that suits you? That feels like it belongs on your lips– your body, your person, he can’t imagine it as anything but paralyzing.

His fingers trace over a darker lipgloss. Reddish plum in a tube with a silvery cap. It contrasts well against his tan skin. He isn’t sure why the thought occurs; it was never a goal. Yet he’s still standing there, unmoving, like he’s paralyzed. 

There’s a stretch of time before realization morphs into understanding. In times like these, Eddie has a sneaking suspicion that he’s been real good at looking, running, and hiding away before anything tangible forms. 

“We got our winner!” Buck says, a decibel too loud for the store. Eddie pulls his hand away like he’s been zapped. “Best compression in the game, I googled the reviews.”

Eddie feels like he’s been caught; a hand in the cookie jar, or taking too long in the dollhouse aisles to help Sophia carry her pick because he had opinions on teal over red roofing. Cheeks burning, he clears his throat, and feels pathetic regardless when he says, “Oh. That’s– that’s great. Great compression. Cool.”

Buck glances at the display, and inexplicably, Eddie feels the heat in his cheeks roll down under into anger. Like he wants to ask if Buck dares question him and beg him to look away, just like Eddie has, simultaneously. 

His eyes flicker back to Eddie, and to Eddie’s horror, soften just a fraction. Eddie takes a step back and hopes, begs, bargains with the universe, for him not to be caught. 

“Everything okay?” Buck asks, light and gentle as always. It still feels like being cornered.

Eddie nods, turning to Buck, hoping he looks and sounds convincing. “Yeah. Yep. You’re ready to pay?”

“Yes, sir.” Buck mock salutes, and Eddie tamps down the urge to say, just call me Eddie, sorry, makes me feel old, when it’s never been about getting older. “Did you want to get something else?”

Eddie’s voice pitches up an octave. “No! No. No, I’m good.” He fucking hates the drugstore. The bright lights and the towering shelves and the inherent suffocation of the aisles. “Lost our spot in the line. Sorry about that.”

Buck follows as Eddie leads them to the back of the line. His voice regains its lilt when he says, “Some jackass cut over?”

“Something like that,” Eddie murmurs.

He doesn’t glance at the two displays again when they pass it in the line. 

===

After the mud buried him under, when the water submerged him entirely and Eddie’s chest burned with his impending doom, Eddie felt like an outsider looking in. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling nor sight.

He’d witnessed his burial before. The soil falling over a casket, a seven year old Christopher on his hip, trying to be brave when Eddie himself wasn’t. The small mound in his tío’s backyard, the price of being sickly–wrongsmalldifferent–and an unmarked stone. Every single time he looked into the mirror, his face and body distorting and leaving him feeling queasy. So he bargained with the universe, bartered changing for looking away, and the soil continued falling over his head.

===

Eddie notices it after a twenty four hour shift. The small tube sits on the bedside table, big enough to be an imposition. Among the books Buck keeps on the nightstand, underneath the lampshade, the lipgloss lies underneath. Reddish plum with a silvery cap. 

For a second, he considers being haunted, that it’s showing up like an apparition because he wanted it, but he knows that’s impossible. A child’s grappling. Eddie drops his clothes he just changed out of and approaches the gloss. 

He bites the inside of his cheeks, because the universe must be laughing at him right now. He figured out he likes men– loves Buck, spent a minute or two looking at a lip gloss because he thinks it’s a pretty shade, and Buck brought a woman home when he wasn’t. 

A woman who just happened to have this color on her lips.

It makes sense. Buck is an attractive man with needs, he had an empty house with Chris staying over at Tia Pepa’s and his cousins; Eddie can’t fault him for that. Eddie can, however, glance at the grey bedding while acidic bile burns his throat. The sheets were blue yesterday.

He wonders if the woman had longer hair, strewn across the pillow. If her smaller frame and softer hands were grasping at the sheets. If Buck kissed her mouth and got reddish plum all over his own. If Eddie would be able to smell what’s left of her in his room and ask her how to be. 

But Eddie can’t do any of that, so he takes the lipgloss, and he feels the shape of it in his palm with the recognition that it’s almost weightless. It’s small, light, and harmless; this shouldn’t feel heavy. The jealousy should manifest as painful, angry throbs at Buck not choosing him– and it does, except it’s not alone. 

Eddie unscrews the cap and pulls the brush out. The smell has a sweet note when he brings it closer to his face. The liquid looks silky and shiny at the same time, and it still looks good against his skin, just like he thought.

He wonders if it belongs on her lips, her body, her person, or if it’s just another shade in her collection, or if every single shade belongs because it’s never been about finding the right one, not really. Maybe it’s just about if you’re the right lips, the right body, the right person.

The gloss shines as a dollop on the brush, so Eddie asks a question; he brings the brush to his lips. He coats his lips as best as he can with trembling hands, feeling the odd, unfamiliar stickiness cling to his mouth. It isn’t unwelcome, and it’s every bit as terrifying as a structure fire– perhaps even more. 

Then Eddie turns to the mirror in the corner of his room, and he doesn’t dare breathe. The lipgloss is a little smeared and uneven, but his lips now glisten in color. He tucks his hair behind his ear with a shaky hand, notices the growth behind his head in slivers, and he thinks, this is right. It’s a gut feeling so inherent and poignant, not unlike the utter conviction the first time he thought, my son is my world, and I’m in love with a man; I’m in love with my best friend.

It’s startlingly unwavering, that Eddie thinks, after I wipe this off, it can still be right.

I can still be right. 

But Eddie doesn’t know how that can be true, and he’s never been good at letting a moment breathe long enough to grow from recognition to understanding. 

“Eds! You wanna eat or not?!” 

Buck’s voice travels from the kitchen. Eddie didn’t even remember Buck was waiting on him, that Buck postponed breakfast for him. And Eddie’s still just standing there, red on his lips, tears of frustration rearing its ugly head. 

“Coming!” Eddie shouts back.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then curses himself for the stain on his skin. He grabs his dirty laundry, blessedly turned inside out, and wipes himself with it harshly. He spares a quick glance to the mirror, hoping he looks somewhat normal, and throws the clothes in the hamper. 

Buck is already sitting at the end of the table, two plates of french toast set on it. He’s smiling brightly, a constant reminder that he’s the light of Eddie’s life.

Eddie crosses his arms in front of his chest, and before he can stop himself, the words come rushing out, “Did you bring someone home last night?”

Buck scoffs. “Nope. Dry spell still at work.” He pushes Eddie’s plate to where he assumes Eddie will sit, the closest to him, before he does a double take and looks up at Eddie. “Hold on, why do you think that?”

Eddie doesn’t dare shrug when his shoulders feel this tight and the jello trick fails him. He says quickly, “The lipgloss on the bedside table. And you changed the sheets.”

“Ah,” Buck murmurs. Eddie’s head snaps up at him like a question. Buck has the gall to look sheepish, before explaining, “I changed the sheets because you had it in the calendar, and for the lipgloss, it’s, um. I got it from the drugstore.”

Eddie blinks. He completely forgot about the scheduled sheet change he made a law in this house. But that’s not where his focus is currently. 

His grip on his own arms loosen. “It’s… yours?”

“You were looking at it the other day,” Buck answers slowly, like he’s approaching a jumpy animal. Eddie doesn’t feel far from it right now. “I- I mean, you might’ve wanted to get it as a gift for someone. Only I don’t know anyone you’d give that to, so I thought… maybe you… you know, it wasn’t for anyone.” 

“So why’d you get it?” Eddie asks. He hates how his voice rises shakily, that he’s still rooted to his spot with his jaw clenched. He doesn’t want to feel slighted, but it’s there underneath his ribcage.

“You’ve got this… whole thing about holding yourself back when you want something. I figured… Eddie, you know guys can wear lipgloss, right? Doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

It should make him feel better. It should be what he wants to hear, but it’s not. Like a sentence delivered before he can make his case.  

He brings a hand to his face and wipes. “Jesus, Buck. Of course I know that.”

Buck’s breath hitches, and Eddie hates himself for doing this to him. He hates himself for being an angry man. He never wanted to be one.

“I overstepped. I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it. I can– I can just chuck it out–”

But Eddie doesn’t want him to. Now that he knows this isn’t some random woman’s belonging, he wants it there. Neither his nor not his, but under his roof nonetheless. Where he can reach for it when– if– when–

Where he can reach it, and nobody else can take that chance away from him, nor can they hand it to him, because all he’d do is slap the thing away, irrelevant to how he feels. 

Because it looks nice, because he liked looking at it at the display, because for a moment the drugstore aisles had twice the breathing room than the entire world, because–

“Ester looks pretty with lipgloss.”

Buck stops talking, raises his eyebrows, and tilts his head. “Oh?”

Registering what Buck is assuming, Eddie quickly shakes his head. “No, it’s not– It’s not for Ester. It’s– back in El Paso, she was one of my passengers”

Sighing, he cuts his losses and sits down. He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, puts them on the table, and crosses them again. 

“Yeah?” Buck probes, searching his eyes. 

Eddie never told Buck about Ester. He’s not sure why. He tells Buck everything.

“She was late because her heels broke, she did her make up in the car, and she got glitter all over my backseat. We got to talking and I gave her my number in case she needed someone to drive her around.”

Buck nods. “And you two are…?”

“No. We’re– we’re friends. I made a new friend, okay?” Eddie whips an arm out. He considers telling Buck right there and then why they’ll always be just friends, but he loses his voice just after his last word.

Buck is still listening to him, enrapt, a neutral expression on his face. His eyes flick down to Eddie’s hand, where it remains stained, so briefly Eddie chooses to believe he imagined it.

“Okay, Eddie. You made a new friend.”

“She was a local. Her mom still lives there. We went to the same high school, but not at the same time. She grew up Catholic, too.”

“Sounds like you two have a lot in common and hit it off.”

Eddie freezes. The only thing he can think to say is, “She’s a woman.”

Buck scoffs good naturedly. “Well, yes. Betty White is also a fine lady and I relate to her.”

“She didn’t grow up as one.”

He avoids Buck’s eyes as he says it. His nails dig into the flesh of his arms, in and out. It’s not comforting, but it reminds him he’s still here. That he isn’t completely numb for this conversation. 

Buck breaks the silence. “Oh! That’s cool, but, uh, why are you…?” 

“She’s also a filmmaker. Left home at nineteen to study in Boston. Found her thing and her place. She has a horror movie coming up.” Eddie keeps going. He’s not sure why. He adores Ester, but Buck’s never met her. He won’t understand. “And she has this whole thing about… a happier year. Made it sound so easy,” he adds quickly, and then chuckles.

He feels like a hypocrite, like he hadn’t believed and tried to will this happier year into existence. Like it’s complete bullshit when it’s not, Eddie knows it’s not, he just thinks he’s hit a wall because that’s his fate. “So no, not that much in common.”

It’s quiet for a moment, burdened with everything unsaid. Eddie wonders if there’s even enough space in this kitchen for it.

Eventually, Buck leans in and starts speaking, “O-okay, Eddie. Can we just–”

“You know, I used to wish Shannon and I were one person,” Eddie blurts out. It wasn’t what he meant to say. He was aiming for silence, but he wasn’t sure what Buck’s next words would be, so this felt safer.

“Y-you did?” Buck asks, clearly puzzled at the direction the conversation is taking.

“We were both screw-ups. Really angry, too, so I thought… Well, she was braver than me, and I was better at… letting shit roll off my back, I guess? So…”

“You… completed each other?”

Eddie’s eye twitches. He never figured out what people meant about lovers completing each other. That’s not what happened to him and Shannon after they became one, if in a slightly different way. For years, he’s just assumed whoever came up with that saying was full of shit.

“No, I just… thought we’d get by better that way. If we were one person. Things would make more sense.” He pauses, then adds. “Or maybe just me. I’d make more sense.”

“What about her would make you make sense?”

“She always knew what she liked, what she wanted to see out there, and that she wanted to get out. You know she wanted to study archaeology?” Eddie smiles despite it all, finally looking at Buck.

Though startled, Buck catches himself and returns the smile, genuine as ever. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, that or hairstyling. Or fashion design. She cycled through those any time somebody asked her what she was gonna do with her life. Usually to annoy them, because none of those jobs make good money,” Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. He’s glad to hear Buck’s pleased huff. “The point is, she was much better at dreaming and… going after them.”

“Grown ups gave her so much shit. Kids at school too, sometimes. She smoked, and she wasn’t nice to people who thought she wasn’t a ‘good girl,’ or whatever. It never stopped her from doing whatever she wanted.”

It was one of the things he loved most about her. She was so young when people started prying into her, when her parents separated and the town latched onto the child in its midst, and she bared her teeth to them. Somewhere between her room, the bleachers, the lake and its yellow boat, Shannon had sequestered a world where she could just be.

He considered himself lucky that she invited him in so often.  

“You wanted to be like that? Be… her?” Buck asks softly.

“Something like that.”

“Because she was freer and didn’t care what people said about her.”

“She didn’t care what people said about me, either,” he whispers.

It’s not something he ever told Buck, because it’s not a big deal. It shouldn’t be. There were moments where his parents scolded him in public, where his coach would tell him to run faster, faster, Diaz, you run like a girl, where his friends thought him a mama’s boy– but he was well liked enough. He got off easy before he knocked up his girlfriend fresh out of high school. 

But when those things happened, when you were that young, everything felt so big. He remembers the bone deep aches he felt to this day. Shannon let him forget and just be. He thinks he was that for her, too.

 “She didn’t try to make me someone I wasn’t. Well, when we were kids anyway. After that…”

Eddie thinks about marriage, fatherhood, being a provider, not being given enough time before she packed up and left into the night, and then he starts laughing. The memory hits him all at once, and he just can’t stop laughing, like he’s joining the universe for once. Both the joke and the audience.

Buck furrows his eyebrows in concern. “What?”

Eddie’s wheezing when he says, “It’s funny. I just remembered. She asked me if I was scared, before our wedding, and I just said we’d be getting through it together ‘as a family.’ Then I fucked off to war and left her there.” 

That’s why she was so disappointed from the very beginning; the myriad of questions he sidestepped, then he was gone, and so she never asked again, because would Eddie have treated them as anything but landmines?

He laughs again, throws his head back until it thuds against the back of the chair. “I could’ve stayed. I would’ve been there for her and Chris, and I could’ve figured out how to do things our way, like we always did, and maybe I would’ve been…”

Another memory hits him. It feels like a death knell.

“You would’ve been what, Eddie?”

The ceiling lamp’s too bright for the kitchen, Eddie notices. His walls are too white, and the soft teal accents aren’t helping. It takes him so long to notice these things. Eddie keeps staring at the lamp until his vision blurs, until he’s seeing splotches and blobs of colours.

A hand lands on his shoulder. When Eddie moves his head, he can’t even see Buck’s face.  “Hey, you’re scaring me, Eds.”

“She started wearing lipgloss when we started dating and making out. Went back to lip tint sometime after we got married. Said it was never really her thing. I just remembered that,” Eddie says, then snorts.

Those years when he was overseas and she was in El Paso, having to be cordial with his parents who he knew treated her the way they treated him. This woman who used to flip off teachers that dresscoded her over ripped jeans. 

His chest feels so tight, and he doesn’t realize until then, that he’s been breathing too quickly. He chokes out, “I made her into something she wasn’t, too, didn’t I?”

Eddie blinks a couple times, willing the tears to stay back, before the spots disappear and Buck’s frowning face takes over his vision. He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, simultaneously dragging himself closer to Eddie.

“I think you two were really young, and you were pushed into being a family before either of you could understand or be ready for it. You… did what you thought someone in your shoes were supposed to do. Maybe both of you did.” 

Eddie jams his eyes shut, shakes his head, and shudders. “But who would I be if I didn’t become that?”

“Who do you want to be?” Buck asks, trying to meet his eyes. Eddie looks away. The hand on his shoulder squeezes once more. “Eddie, I think you know, and I have a hunch about it, but I need to hear you say it.”

That’s the crux of it. There’s a word just waiting to be formed in the back of his tongue. 

Would he like that word? Would he want to keep it?

He tries to breathe through his nose. It comes in and out hitched. So Eddie shakes his head, and shrugs Buck’s hand off his shoulder weakly. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago. The time has passed.”

He clears his throat, feeling the hammering of his heart from all the way up. The chair scrapes against the floor as he drags it closer to the table, ready to get on with breakfast. Buck pulls his plate away, and suddenly he’s swiveling Eddie’s chair to face him.

“What if you can still be all those things?” Buck asks. He sounds desperate, eyebrows pinched tightly. He hears Buck’s chair scraping closer, feels Buck’s hand over his on the tabletop. The back of Eddie’s hand is smeared with red. “What if you can be free, proud, and… happy, in the way you’re thinking of right now, and still be you?”

And this time, Eddie knows he’s been caught. 

The word is just at the tip of his tongue.

He doesn’t know why he’s still fighting it, but it feels appropriate. There’s never been anything in his life that he’s earned without a fight. Buck understands.

Maybe that’s why he looks at Buck like he’s crazy, and challenges him. “How would that even work, huh? Look at me.” Buck flinches, taken aback. Eddie barrels on, following his gaze. “Buck, look at me. You know me. There’s no way, there’s no time, there’s no fucking point–”

“What if there is? What if you let yourself think there is?” Buck grabs his hand, grasping it so tight it’s crushing. Eddie fights it by curling his fist, but Buck finds a way to wiggle his fingers into his palm.

 “Eddie, I know you. I know you’re not a quitter, and I know you’d push through even when it hurts like hell if you think there’s no other option. So I’m asking you, what if you let yourself believe that there is another option?” Buck gasps, blinking back his own tears. “Because I’m telling you there is, Eds.”

It feels like everything has bubbled over to the surface, and there’s nowhere else for it to go but out. Eddie’s mind and body have housed this growth long enough, and there’s no space left for it, unless it’s set off into the world. The world with its many options and the time for a happier year.

It’s what Ester was trying to say, Eddie realizes. A happier year that starts from wanting, imagining, then believing. This happier year that now, with tears slowly rolling down, Eddie can see in clarity. There’s no need to mesh the two teenagers sitting across the vanity to make sense of the sight. There’s no more distortion between the face, the body, and the heart. They don’t need to blur together for Eddie to look it in the eyes. 

Eddie sucks in a deep breath and whispers, “Buck?”

“Yeah, Eds?”

“Can I tell you something?”

Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand, eyes soft and open. “Anything.”

“I think I’d be happier if I was a woman,” Eddie admits, and it’s the most honest thing she’s ever said in her life. 

Somewhere deep inside her, she feels the flutters of wings that have been there all along. Collecting dust for decades, now answering to that call of happiness.

All it took was Eddie taking the leap. 

Buck smiles at  her, his other hand tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear, before settling on her shoulder. “You still can be.”

Eddie feels a sob punching its way to her throat. “I don’t know how… if I can even… I’m scared.”

“That’s okay. You can do it scared, and I’ve got your back.”

That was it. Eddie sees that happier year, and there’s no more bargaining to be done; she can’t imagine living any other way. 

Eddie clutches Buck’s hand on her shoulder and gasps, “Then I’d really want that.”

Buck smiles and nods. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

When Eddie breaks down into sobs, Buck catches her in his arms. It’s the hardest and scariest thing she’s ever done; it’s a relief from within, thirty three years in the making. 

Through the tears, her lips quiver into a semblance of a smile, and Eddie thinks she’s finally going to be okay. 

===

After she’s all cried out, after breakfast is finished and the table has been cleared, Eddie slumps against her chair. The ghosts of her sobs still wrack her in shivers, but the tears have long dried. What’s left is bone deep exhaustion, but it’s a good one; a dislocation set right. When her eyelids begin to droop, Buck leads her to the bedroom.

She lies down on the freshly changed sheets. The only thing she smells is the fabric softener Buck insisted they should invest on. Her breath doesn’t hitch anymore, lungs expanding twice the breadth they once had.

Buck turns on the ceiling fan, before hovering awkwardly next to the switch. He looks soft underneath her bedroom light, bright and blurred around the edges from the tears clumping on her eyelashes. Briefly, Eddie muses about finding him in the city of angels.

She pats the spot beside her. “Lie down with me for a bit?”

With a soft exhale, Buck nods. He lies down slowly, like he’s afraid the slightest creak of the bedframe would disturb her, then like he’s afraid to touch her. Eddie huffs in amusement, because it’s so Buck, overthinking how far he can go, when all Eddie wants to do is curl up against him. 

She doesn’t quite do that, but she turns her head to him. When he looks back at her, his birthmark looks redder than usual. Eddie reckons it would look good against her skin, if she brushed her thumb against it.

“I don’t know where to start,” she breaks the silence. 

Perhaps her face shows the worry steadily growing in her chest, because Buck turns his body to fully face her. She follows suit, like she always does. Fully bowed towards each other, the phantom grip of imminent changes loosen just a fraction.

“Give me three hours and Google, consider it solved,” Buck says, then scrunches his face. “Well, more than three hours. A lot more than that. And you’ll be Googling with me.”

Eddie chuckles. “I can see all the open tabs.”

“You never know if you’ll need that article you opened two hours ago,” Buck argues, smiling through it all. He shuffles closer, smelling like cinnamon and home. “Okay, so… maybe we can start with your name. Do you want to change it?”

Eddie mulls it over. Name isn’t something she ever thought about. She was never fond of her full name, draped over her like an oversized suit, handed down from a grandfather she never knew. But she is Eddie, and she likes the idea of keeping that part close to her. She wonders how it’ll grow and mold to fit her – and if it can’t, if she needs something different to encompass all that she is, she doesn’t have to think about that now.

She shakes her head. “Not for now. Probably won’t ever.” 

“Okay, then I guess… pronouns! She and her?”

This time, she nods. “She.”

Over and over again, she repeats the word in her head, each iteration like an exhale. 

“Cool. Do you… want me to call you that around other people?”

It makes her pause. On the one hand, being referred to as something she’s not sounds like being boxed into a corner she just escaped. But the thought of the puzzled reactions and questions she doesn’t have answers for sounds like inviting a scalpel straight to her core.

Seemingly noticing her dilemma, Buck calls to her softly, tracking her eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to answer now. You’ve had a long morning,” Buck reassures, knocking their fist together.

Eddie lets go of the breath she was holding, scoffing good naturedly. “I’m gonna have the best nap of my life.”

“You do that,” Buck chuckles, then purses his lips. “Can I try something, though?” 

“Uh, sure.”

“Because there’s something I want to tell you, too. It’s, um, about a friend of mine.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Eddie looks around. “Who?”

“I’ve known her for a while now. She’s super great. She’s, like, overqualified in the life skills department,” Buck says sheepishly.

Eddie blinks. The only reason she hasn’t screamed into the pillow is the faith that surely Buck isn’t telling her about his new talking stage right now, god help her. 

“Do I know her?” she asks, calmly.

“You’re probably familiar with her. One time she changed my booted tire so we wouldn’t miss a basketball game.”

Buck’s smirk turns into a shit eating grin, and Eddie catches on to what he’s doing. A startled laugh escapes her chest, fondness exploding all at once, and so does the giddiness. 

He’s always trying so hard to make her laugh. Not for the first time, she wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it; how little he has to try to succeed; how much more she loves him for it.

She shakes her head, biting her smile. “Sounds illegal.”

“Eh,” Buck shrugs, and the simple nonchalance sets her off laughing again. “She did it in under five minutes, by the way. In case you didn’t already think it was impressive.”

“She must’ve really wanted to see that game with you,” Eddie mumbles.

She knows Buck heard it, judging by the way his breath catches. His beaming grows larger, a telltale sign he’s pleased with himself.

“Yeah? Well, I had a great time. We always do, me and her,” Buck says. Eddie finds herself nodding in agreement. “She’s also a really great mom. Her kid’s the next Einstein, which is probably genetics.”

Eddie snorts. “You’re breaking the immersion here, bud.”

“Okay, fine. It’s not genetics. One time a fake guy named ‘Freddie Fakeman’ signed up for her house viewing and she didn’t realize it was a scam.”

She’s never going to live that one down. “Dude,” Eddie deadpans, and Buck starts giggling. 

“But you know, that aside, I think being in her and her kid’s lives is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His voice softens, hand knocking against hers. “Bar the five minute tire change. Which is related, but still. It was awesome.” 

She feels the rumbling of the mattress, shaking with her and Buck’s joint laughter. Eddie is so grateful, so happy, and so… proud already. That she’s still here right now, that she hit a wall and she smashed through it, and that she’s not being punished for it. 

Because she believes in that and in Buck, she dares herself to tangle their pinkies together over the pillow. The twitch of Buck’s finger sends a jolt of electricity down her spine.

Then, she asks, “And… what do you think of her?”

Buck, with an earnestness that’s rivaled by nobody, tells her, “I think she’s the most wonderful person I know, and I think you’ll love her the more you get to know her. Just like I do.”

Her finger curls instinctively around Buck. It’s the only part of them that’s touching, but Eddie’s never felt more held than in this moment. Seen, revered, and loved, with no need to doubt it.

A tear rolls down her cheek. She quickly wipes it, chuckling to lighten the mood. Buck grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers regardless. He’s warm against her cold and clammy hand. It spreads through her as one would if they’re held gently by the sun. 

She sniffles and smiles. “Thank you, Buck.”

Buck squeezes her hand. “Get some rest, Eddie.” 

Eddie does. She’s earned it. 

===

Eddie is thirty-three when she tells her son she’s finally figured out what she was supposed to figure out.

When her son hugs her the tightest he’s ever had, tells her he’s proud of her and, “I love you, Mom. I love you so much,” she thinks she’s done a pretty good job at being a mother. 

===

Eddie is fourteen, looking up at a bright summer sky on a shabby yellow boat, and her friend is sitting right across her. Eddie squints against the sun, and keeps looking for a cloud that resembles a shape. Something cool, or at the very least amusing. 

“Tick tock, Diaz. Found anything good yet?”

Shannon is looking at her with raised eyebrows when Eddie turns to her. She’s wearing her favourite tank top layers, orange on blue, and the cargo pants she found in her neighbor’s garage sale. It’s what she was wearing that day, the real day, all those years ago in their youth. Eddie remembers it as a happy day. 

“Do you think Indiana Jones found the Ark of Covenant in one day?”

Shannon looks at her incredulously, jaw dropping. “Do not bring Indie into this. How is cloud-hunting anywhere near the same level as archaeology?”

“You know they took seventy years to find the wreckage of Titanic.” Eddie bites her teasing smile.

Like all those years ago, Shannon dips her hand into the lake water and splashes her. Over Eddie’s yelp, Shannon says, “Seventy-three, actually. Get it right.”

“You want me to read a history book or do you want me to find a good cloud?” Eddie asks, and dips her hand into the water as well. “I’ll splash you too, don’t think I won't.”

The corners of their lips rise at the same time, breaking into a grin, and together they splash water up onto the other. Leaning their bodies down isn’t the safest practice, and it gets the murky lake water into their soda cans, but you don’t think about those things at fourteen. Their screeches devolve into laughter, then a truce, then Shannon looks up for her turn. 

After a while, she points at a cloud. “If you squint, that one kinda looks like a cat.”

“Where?” Eddie follows her finger, furrowing her brows. 

Shannon pushes her head gently to the right direction, and points more vigorously. “There. Tail on the left, and the triangles are its ears.”

Eddie sees it then, the vague shape of a cat with its body hidden behind another cloud. Its tail curled and its head tilted. She smiles at it, grateful she can still see what she saw at fourteen.

“Cuter than Mr. Cosmo, that’s for sure.”

Shannon scoffs. “Anything’s cuter than that spawn of satan.”

It’s a lovely day. When the sun’s not scorching hot but bright enough, when the wind is a breeze instead of a blast, and when the water’s calm enough for a boat ride. It was a good summer, that year. 

“I like the new look, you know.”

Shannon’s voice cuts through the silence. It startles Eddie, how real it sounds, because this isn’t part of the memory. Eddie didn’t look this way back then; she looks down, and finds herself in a pink tank top. It reaches her thighs, and below are her knee length jeans. There are flowers embroidered at the hem. The only item she recognizes is her Saint Christopher medal, and that doesn’t belong to this time, either. Five years too early. She looks up when a gentle blow of wind hits her hair. It’s long enough to tickle her shoulders.

Eddie swallows the lump in her throat. “Yeah?”

“Yup. It fits you.”

“Thanks. I think so, too.”

“You know, weirdly enough, you look…” She pauses, then leans in. “Okay, promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”

Eddie salutes her, tipping her chin. “Scout’s honor.”

Shannon levels her with a stare. “We get it, you’re going to a jamboree.” Then, she half whispers, “You know how I thought you were someone else when I first saw you?”

“Yeah?”

Shannon purses her lips. “I never had anyone in mind about who the someone else was. But… you look like her now. Or I guess, she looks like you.” 

“Oh.”

It’s all Eddie can say with tears pricking her eyes. She knows it’s just a dream; in the real world, they kept talking about clouds. In the real world, Shannon won’t have the chance to know Eddie as she is now. Yet a part of Eddie believes that if Shannon knows her today, she would say something like that. They were both too young to understand many things, including each other, but Shannon saw her from the very beginning – the quiet kid with bullshit icebox duty. 

Then, Shannon says with all the lightness in the world, “Your bangs are getting long, though. Do you want me to trim it for you?”

It amuses Eddie, how fourteen year olds can be both perceptive and so, so clueless. She tilts her head. “So I can be your guinea pig?”

Shrugging, Shannon offers, “I’ll give you my star clips? I’ve got a bunch in all colors. You’ll still look good if I mess up.”

“Hm. Sold.”

“Atta girl,” Shannon grins, grabbing a paddle. “Come on, then. Let’s get back to shore. I have a curfew. You have to go soon too, right?”

This is always the hardest part. The first seconds after she wakes up, Eddie always feels like she’s lost something; like she’s dropped her wallet or her keys or something more important. Then, like she’s left someone behind.

Eddie grabs the other paddle regardless. “I do.”

It must show on her face, because Shannon sighs and smiles at her. “Don’t look so sad. I’ll only be at my mom’s for two weeks, and I’ll tell you all about LA when I get back. My mom said she’ll take me to the Natural History Museum.”

She told her the same thing back then. She never did visit the Natural History Museum with her mom, who got a little too busy with work. Maybe they got to go when Shannon was taking care of her in the end. Eddie doesn’t know. 

“Bring me something back,” Eddie says, because maybe in this version, she gets to see all the exhibits when she’s still young and not yet jaded by the world.

Shannon snorts. “Sure, I’ll steal a dinosaur bone for you, what the heck.”

“I meant from the gift shop!” Eddie balks, and then laughs with her. 

With her head tipped back, the sun hitting her face just right, Shannon looks radiant. Full of life and much brighter than Eddie’s last real memory of her. It hurts, knowing time wasn’t on this girl’s side. 

The cold pendant presses against her chest, reminding Eddie of its presence. An idea forms in her head, one that puzzles Eddie with its fickleness. It’s not something Eddie would believe now, because Shannon is dead, has been for six years – but Eddie is in the body of her fourteen year old self, and suddenly the invisible, indomitable urge to do this makes perfect sense.

“Can you hold on to something for me?” 

Shannon focuses her eyes on her again. “What is it?”

Shakily, Eddie unclasps the necklace from her neck. She takes Shannon’s palm and presses the medal against it. For a second, Shannon examines it with furrowed brows, before looking up at her. 

“Saint Christopher, patron saint of travelers,” she says, both a statement and a question. 

“To keep you safe. You’ve got a long way to go.”

It’s an understatement, considering what length they traveled to get away from each other in the real world. An overstatement, knowing what happened when she was twenty-five. At the end, Eddie couldn’t prevent her final leave. But maybe in this world, whatever universe this dream is inhabiting, things can be different, and Saint Christopher can hold her above the river.

“I thought you didn’t care about church and saints anymore,” Shannon murmurs as she puts on the necklace. It glows when the sun hits it just right.

Eddie shrugs. “I like this one.”

They’re quiet for a moment, before a glint of mischief flashes through Shannon’s faces. “You’re gonna miss me, aren’t you?” she asks, wiggling her brows. Eddie groans, because it’s all she can do that doesn’t involve crying and pouring everything to a clueless fourteen year old.

Shannon continues, poking Eddie’s knees. “Admit it. You’re gonna miss me soooo bad when I’m gone, and El Paso is gonna be soooo boring without me. Let me hear it.”

Eddie can’t say it. Some words are just too heavy with the gravity of grief. 

Then there are ones heavy with the gravity of truth – bittersweet, loaded, but just enough to keep one grounded and honest. 

Eddie says, “Thank you for being my friend.”

There’s so much she wants to say – thank you for seeing me, thank you for growing up with me, thank you for Christopher, I wish you could see me now, I wish you had more time – but this will have to do. Eddie can sense that they don’t have much time.

Something flickers in Shannon’s eyes, and for a second she looks older. Much more similar to the grown up version of her, yet still as clueless. There isn’t time for Eddie to make her understand – but maybe in this world, she’ll have enough time to do that in her own rights, like Eddie did. 

Then she’s gone again, and Eddie’s best friend from twenty years ago grins at her.  “Don’t be silly. Who else am I gonna day-drink on a boat with?” 

Eddie doesn’t pray anymore these days, but as she paddles to the shore, she thinks, Saint Christopher, carry us safely to our destined place, like you carried Christ in your close embrace.

Saint Christopher, she thinks, seeing her son’s smile in Shannon’s.

Eddie smiles back at her. Pray for us.

===

When Eddie rises from her slumber, it’s to the warm glow of the morning sun and the smell of fresh coffee. Slowly, she rubs at her eyelids and cracks them open, lifting her head to join the waking world. 

Leaning against the doorway of her room, Buck smiles at her softly, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. 

“That better be for me,” Eddie murmurs, still lazing around in that hazy, half-sleep state. She brushes the hair off her face, knowing damn well sleep has skewed it all ways to Sunday. 

It’s one of the cons of growing out her hair, but she can take it. She likes how it falls over her ear, now tickling the base of her neck. The prospect of trying out different hairstyles and lengths excites her too much for anything to get in her way. 

Buck chuckles, pushing off the frame. The mattress dips with his weight. When she opens her eyes again, closer yet to the waking world, Buck is sitting on the edge of her bed. 

“Who am I to deprive a lady of her morning coffee?”

Eddie snorts, dropping her face to her pillow. It’s so cheesy, and she likes that. Maybe because it’s plain endearing, or maybe because she knows he’s trying to make her feel more comfortable in her own skin everyday. 

It takes work, but Buck meant it when he said he had her back. Ten months to the day she figured it out, eight since she started hormone replacement therapy, and Buck is still there. She wakes up everyday knowing there’s still a long way to go, a lot of baggage to sort through, but also that she isn’t alone. She gets to relish in the changes in her body and voice, and celebrate them with someone. She also gets to be angry and cry when she remembers she’s not yet where she wants to be, when the side effects make her want to claw her skin off, when she mourns the years she wasn’t yet herself – and Buck will be there.

She shifts to her back, sitting up against the headboard. Buck hands her the cup, one of the yearly ones they get from the station. The laughable graphic makes her snort into the coffee. 

“I know. The cup is stupid. You can say it.” Buck releases a long suffering sigh. His mouth twitches when Eddie’s smile widens.

“They could’ve at least chosen a high quality picture, right?” she asks, pointing at the blurry image of their station slapped over a basic white mug. On the other side, a bright red 118 is written in the most obnoxious font. 

Buck snaps his fingers at her. “Right? It’s not like it’s hard! It’s embarrassing for us!”

Eddie loves mornings like this. Nowadays, she generally enjoys her mornings better, but simple conversations with Buck always give her a boost. Just the two of them, when it’s still peaceful and they can speak languidly, before they have to get on with their day. 

Her days are generally better now. She’s still firefighter paramedic Diaz; strong and capable as always. She’s still Eddie to her family; a parent to Chris, a grandchild to Abuela, and a dear friend to the 118. Amidst all the love, she barely spent any time dwelling on what her parents had to say.

Her team threw her a party after she came out, complete with a pink cake and a banner that said, ‘(you’ve been here eight years but) Welcome to the 118, Ms Diaz!’ Abuela and Tia Pepa hugged her tight, told her she’s still their favourite–which she always suspected, but she never knew, so the confirmation was nice–and immediately passed down some of their jewelry. Adriana changed their groupchat name from ‘Diazes :D’ to ‘Diaz Sisters :DDD,’ and is planning a trip to LA with Sophia in tow. Ester kind of blew up her phone with variations of, ‘I fucking knew it,’ and ‘sorry that’s inappropriate,’ and ‘I’m so proud of you and I’m here for you always,’ and Eddie knows she can never thank her enough. 

Eddie loves being a woman.

She’s seen the way she’s always meant to be, the way she’s craved without knowing it. There's an ease to how she carries herself that wasn’t there before. Pinched nerves and stiff joints were so inherent to her, until one day, the incremental growth under her skin reached a tipping point and made itself known. Then, Eddie was just light. 

Eddie is so grateful for another year around the sun. Eddie is so grateful that she knows now, there’s always more joy to experience. A happier year after another.

She takes another sip of the coffee, already feeling the effect kicking in. The perfectly bittersweet taste has her chasing for more, ignoring the heat. “Thanks for this,” she says to Buck.

“You get cranky without it. It’s for the greater good,” he teases. Eddie kicks his hip in response. 

Buck gasps in mock offense, catching her ankle and pulling it to his lap. Eddie’s next kick barely has any power, and Buck’s hands stay where they landed.

“I was thinking eggs and toast for breakfast,” Buck says, massaging her foot absentmindedly.

They touch more these days. Eddie reckons after so many nights spent lying next to each other, holding some part of the other for comfort, and the sheer amount of times Eddie’s broken down while Buck rubs her back, it’s natural for them to grow more tactile.

She’s noticing more spontaneous massages lately, though, which she suspects is a reciprocation of her ordering Buck to lay down and let her help him on his bad leg days, or god help her.

Eddie hums. “Sounds good. Can I have it scrambled–”

“With milk and cooked all the way through, yes. Even though I fundamentally disagree with it,” Buck cuts in, seeming thoroughly pleased to know that.

“Ever heard of salmonella, asshat?”

“Meh.” Buck shrugs, like a dork. Eddie pokes his side with her toes, making him jump slightly.

“We have strawberries and blueberries in the fridge, right?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Put some on Chris' plate. I don’t think he’s eating enough vegetables.”

Buck chuckles, ducking his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Heat floods Eddie’s cheeks, and the only way to hide it is to cover her face with another sip of coffee. Months later, and she still feels like a teenager with a crush. She wonders if it’ll always feel this way, if that’s just how love is supposed to feel. Eddie never believed in soulmates, but she wonders if this–Buck–is her great love, however it pans out from his end.

She thinks she can live with that. 

“Oh shit,” Buck blurts out, staring off into the distance. It brings Eddie back to the present.

Eddie tilts her head. “What?”

“Did I close the fridge after putting the milk carton back?”

Before Eddie can say anything, Christopher’s booming voice travels from the kitchen.

“Buck! Mom! I’ve said this so many times! The electricity bills!” he shouts, followed by the soft thud of the fridge door closing. 

Buck and Eddie turn to each other, and looking into the other’s wide eyes, they burst into laughter. Both of them try to shush the other, because they don’t want Chris to feel like he’s being laughed at–unfortunately for him in this case, her son is hilarious–but they can’t help it. Neither succeeds in shutting the other up; neither succeeds in not loving this kid more and more every moment.

“Sorry! That was me!” Buck yells out, voice cracking with laughter by the end. Eddie can only shake her head until they settle back down into calm. 

“Well. Up and at ‘em, bud,” she smiles, handing the cup back to Buck. Their fingers brush as Buck takes it from her. For a second, she thinks she hears Buck’s breathless exhale, but she may have imagined it.

She stands up, pulling her purple nightgown down as she goes. Her joints crack as she stretches, as they do after thirty four years of wear, but it isn’t accompanied by the ball and chain dragging behind her as she moves. With estrogen, exercise, and a couple dietary adjustments, she’s been seeing more and more changes in her body. Softer curves, fuller breasts, and smoother skin, in particular, are the most noticeable changes. 

Eddie used to wake up and wish she could let go of the weight around her ankle, thinking maybe it would make inhabiting her boy a less sisyphean task. Nowadays, she wakes up, bare faced and hair a mess, and it’s a far cry from the years of tolerating her body. Comfort and belonging are possible, after all. 

When she turns around, arms stretched behind her head, Buck is already standing. He’s still looking at her, the way he always has. 

“What?” she asks, muscles rippling as she drops her arms.

They had bothered her in the beginning, thinking they were too… masculine for her. Then time went on, her weight and muscle mass adjusted, and though they aren’t the same as they used to be, her arms are still toned and sturdy. With each day of being out on the field saving lives, strong enough to haul and treat her patients, it becomes easier to look at them – nice, even. 

Now Buck’s eyes trail over them briefly, awed and appreciative, before he meets her eyes again. 

He sighs softly, smiling. “Nothing, Eds,” he says. “Nothing.”

Eddie thinks there’s something here, but she’s in no rush to meet it. Not today, at least, and certainly not before breakfast. She can be patient until she’s ready within herself; she’ll still love Buck when the time comes. 

Now, she ushers Buck out of the room, closes the door behind her, and gets on with another day in her happier year.