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Robby has, historically, eaten both not enough and with zero thought. He grabs what’s at hand, or he doesn’t. He buys things that are easy, things he can grab on shift or as he’s falling asleep on his feet. Sometimes they wind up in his stomach. Sometimes they wind up in the trash.
Is he embarrassed by the amount of food waste he creates? Maybe. He would be, if he had more than half a fuck to give about anything at all.
His therapist, and isn’t that fucking wild, tells him to try eating things he’s excited about. That sounds like a bunch of bullshit, but here he is at the farmers market at 4:37 on a Wednesday afternoon.
He sets down his surprisingly heavy reusable bag on a plastic folding table to stretch out his arm. The weight of overpriced produce, cheese, honey, pasta, steaks, and a bunch of other shit he grabbed on a whim is aggravating his shoulder.
“Need some help with that, old man?”
Robby turns to face John Shen. He’s smiling, drinking an iced coffee, although this one looks fancy, no Dunkin cup in sight. Robby shakes his head, fond. This kid really does have balls. “Do you mock all your colleagues with joint pain or just me?”
John sets his coffee and the bakery bag he’s holding on the table. “Oh, I try to save it for you, boss man.” He holds out his hands. “For real, can I take a look?”
The thought of John doing a cursory exam on him in the middle of the farmers market makes the back of Robby’s neck prickle with anxiety. He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Bag’s just heavy. Don’t worry about it.”
Before Robby can stop him, John picks up Robby’s bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I can fix that.”
Robby reaches for his groceries, but John is already moving, coffee and bakery bag snatched up on the way to the next stall.
“I can carry it,” Robby insists. He follows John to look at artisanal chocolates because he has no choice.
John picks up a dark chocolate bar, then a milk chocolate with orange. “So can I. You like chocolate? My nieces love this stuff.”
“Sure,” Robby says, because who doesn’t like chocolate? “But really, John, you don’t need to carry my bag.”
“I do a lot of things I don’t need to do,” John says. He grabs several more candy bars and hands over a few $20 bills in a flurry of motion. He slips them into Robby’s tote. “Look. Now it’s our bag.”
Robby forces himself not to grit his teeth. It’s his bag. He should be carrying it. He makes one last gambit.
“I need to get home and get started on dinner. I’m hungry, brother,” Robby says.
It’s not a lie. He didn’t eat lunch.
John nods. “I get that.”
Robby holds his hand out to take the bag, relieved that his play worked.
“I’ve just got one more stop,” John says. He pivots around Robby toward the kettle corn booth.
Robby groans audibly. By the time he catches up with John, he’s the proud owner of a bag of popcorn the size of a newborn. “Did you come here just for snacks?”
“Yep,” John says, cheerful. “I got groceries a couple of days ago. This is just stuff to make sure Uncle John stays beloved. Where did you park? I’ll carry your stuff to your car.”
Robby takes a deep breath. John Shen is thoughtful and kind and affable, and Robby cannot stand being on the receiving end of his generosity.
“I took the bus. I appreciate your help, but I’m not actually an old man,” Robby says.
It comes out a little more sharply than he intends. John just nods.
“Yeah, man, I know that,” John says with a shrug. He’s still got that calm, go-with-the-flow look on his handsome face. He doesn’t move to give Robby the bag back.
Robby takes a deep breath, in and out. “So why are you carrying my bag like I’m a senior citizen?”
“You’re not an old man,” John says. He gives Robby a hint of a smile. “You’re a great doctor. You’d be an even better one if you weren’t walking around half dead. I also consider you a friend. So maybe take a little help? And consider that I like helping my friends.”
Well, Robby feels like a piece of shit. Nothing new there. “Okay,” he says, resigning himself to his fate. “Thanks for squiring an old man around the market.”
John laughs. He shifts the bags in his arms. “You’re looking at this the wrong way, man. Maybe I’ve got a different angle.”
Robby tilts his head. “What angle is that?”
“Maybe I want to carry a cute guy’s bag for him,” John says, easy as anything.
The last fifteen minutes rearranges itself in Robby’s head. “Were you flirting with me?” Robby asks.
John nods. “Little bit, yeah.” He grins. “I’m not looking to be your next ex, but I thought I could help you relax.”
Well. Robby’s an idiot. He shakes his head. “I had no fucking idea that’s what you were getting at.”
“I realized that when you almost bit my head off,” John says. “Guess I’ll try a more direct approach. Can I give you a ride home and make you dinner?”
Robby’s first instinct is to resist. “You don’t have to do all of that to get a good time out of me.”
John holds up Robby’s groceries. “Okay, so I’m taking these hostage, since you aren’t picking up what I’m putting down. This tote bag and I are getting in my car. Are you coming?” He takes off toward the street.
It’s either follow John or be out roughly $150. He follows John.
“You can’t just steal a man’s handpicked fruits and vegetables,” Robby says once they’re in John’s car.
John shrugs. He puts the car in reverse and backs out of the parking space. “Looks like I just did. Besides, we’re off the clock. You’re not my boss right now. Just a colleague I’d like to see chill the fuck out before he cracks a molar.”
Robby looks at John out of the corner of his eye. He looks calm and in control. Robby appreciates it more now that he isn’t trying to out-calm and out-control him. “And you’re going to accomplish this with dinner? You don’t even know what I bought.”
The way John smirks hits Robby low in his gut.
“Oh, I’ll figure it out,” John says, certain. “How about you let me do my best?”
Robby nods. He supposes he can do that.
He lets John do his best, and they get home safely and in a timely manner.
He lets John do his best, and all his groceries are put away.
He lets John do his best, and he has a delicious dinner and leftovers for at least two more nights.
He lets John do his best, and his dishes are all clean in the drying rack.
He lets John do his best, and the soreness is carefully massaged out of his shoulder.
He lets John do his best, and he’s gasping as he comes in John’s mouth and begging to return the favor.
He lets John do his best, and John leaves him with a kiss on the cheek, a bar of salted caramel chocolate, and a promise that they’ll do this again sometime.
Robby is full and comfortable and sated, warm and contented in his bed. John Shen is a miracle worker.
He’s also one hell of a friend.