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“Okay, next up,” Buck says, checking his phone. “Sauce.”
“Mhm.”
Buck squints at the screen. Wow. He doesn’t remember adding twelve jumbo size cans of crushed tomato sauce to their list. That’s a lot of sauce. “Like— a lot of sauce.”
“Mm.”
Buck glances over his shoulder. Eddie is pushing the cart with both hands, looking at the floor. He’s been quiet since they parked. Buck figured he didn’t sleep great. Buck also didn’t sleep great, honestly, because Theo has decided that 5 a.m. is the new 7 a.m., but Buck is powering through with a huge iced coffee.
Eddie doesn’t have an iced coffee. Buck is pretty sure he said he didn’t want one when they stopped on their way here. Maybe Buck misheard him. Should he get Eddie a coffee?
Trying to reason with his past-self, he continues, “Chris does eat some form of noodle at least three times a week now, and Theo’ll eat it if you bury it in enough cheese. If I batch the sauce on Sundays, we’re set for a month.”
He’s pulling cans as he talks. The big Kirkland cans, crushed tomato. Enough tomato to bathe in, if he really wanted to, but he doesn’t, because he’s not insane.
“Per ounce it’s not even close.”
Buck moves the cans in his arms to make room for more cans.
He’s got maybe six of them stacked against his chest, grabbing more as he talks. It’s honestly kind of a lot to be holding when there’s a perfectly functional cart right there. Buck thinks about asking Eddie to move the cart closer.
Eddie shifts on his feet. Maybe he needs to pee. Buck should ask, after the tomato thing.
“So, we need twelve.”
Eddie grunts. “Mhm.”
“Which sounds crazy, I know, but it’s actually—” Buck looks over. Eddie is picking at a hangnail. “Hey. Are you even listening?”
Finally, Eddie looks at him. Then at the cans. Then at Buck again. He looks nervous, his throat bobbing around a big swallow, like he’s about to give a speech.
There’s no reason for him to give a speech. They’re in a Costco.
Maybe he’s trying to come up with a way to tell Buck he disagrees about the tomatoes.
“I think I love you.”
Oh. Well that’s not what Buck was expecting.
He stands there holding six — no, wait, he grabbed more than six, he’s holding at least eight cans of Kirkland Signature crushed tomato at this point. There’s so much tomato.
Buck blinks. Weird timing, he thinks, but he’ll take it. That’s a nice thing to say, that’s — yeah. That’s nice. They’re best friends. That’s — sure. Okay. Weird, but sure. Buck is a big advocate for telling your friends you love them. Men should say it more. It’s important.
Buck smiles, moving to pat Eddie on the shoulder before he remembers all the sauce. “Thanks, man. Love you, too.”
“No,” Eddie says.
He blinks.
Eddie blinks back.
No? What’s no. Buck said it back. Is Eddie rejecting Buck’s affection? Buck’s pretty sure saying it back is what he was supposed to do.
“No, I mean—” Eddie is looking at the shelf, at the floor, at a point on Buck’s chin, which is an odd place to look, if you think about it. “I mean, I think I’m in love with you.”
Buck’s face is hot. His arms are full of cans.
“I don’t think we need this much sauce,” he whispers.
Eddie looks at the cans, shrugging. “It is a lot of sauce.”
That’s — yeah. That’s a fair point, actually. Twelve is a lot. Buck has been saying they need twelve cans like that’s a normal number, and it’s not. Twelve is an absurd number when the unit in question is jumbo cans of tomato sauce. Buck’s cupboard isn’t even that big. Where was he planning to put them all?
Also, Eddie is in love with him.
Also that.
Buck stands there, unmoving. A woman with two toddlers strapped into her cart wheels past them. One of the toddlers is eating a churro.
It’s nine in the morning. Where the hell did she get a churro?
The food court isn’t even open yet. Buck checked. He was going to get a hot dog on the way out.
“Buck?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie pushes the cart closer. “You wanna put some of those down?”
Buck looks at the cans. He does not want to put any of them down. Putting them down would require moving, and Buck has decided, in this moment, that he is going to stand right here and never move again. His hot dog dreams are shattered.
“No,” he says.
“Okay,” Eddie replies, nodding.
They stand there. The cans are getting heavier. This was too much sauce. He’s decided.
He turns around and puts the cans in the cart. His arms are numb. Turning back he grabs four more, because the list said twelve, and he is a man of his word. The cart clanks loudly. A lady shopping nearby flinches.
“Did you hear me?” Eddie asks. “Before?”
Wide-eyed, Buck nods. “We should get tomatoes,” he says.
Eddie blinks, dropping his gaze to the cart. “Okay.”
“For the sauce.”
“Yeah.”
They roll the cart toward the produce where a container of cherry tomatoes goes in. Then another one. Then a third. Buck stares at the third one for a second, decides it’s fine, and grabs a fourth. Eddie is standing next to him watching this happen and not stopping him.
Buck wipes his hands on his jeans. There’s a stack of Roma tomatoes in a wooden crate a few feet away, so he walks toward it.
“Roma,” he says, turning to Eddie, pointing at the tomatoes.
Eddie leans against the cart handle. “Sure.”
A bag of Roma tomatoes goes in the cart. Then another bag of Roma tomatoes. There are now two bags of Roma tomatoes in the cart. This is enough Roma tomatoes for a small restaurant. No more tomatoes. Buck doesn’t need this many tomatoes, but it’s too late to go back now.
His face is hot. His hands are cold. His hands are cold and his face is hot and he’s pretty sure that means he’s having a heart attack.
If he has a heart attack, Eddie will save him.
Eddie, who loves him.
Who is in love with him.
Eddie would probably still save him even if he wasn’t in love with him, actually. Eddie’s a professional. A very good professional. That’s not the point.
They pass the bread and a bag of bagels ends up in the cart. They don’t need bagels. They bought bagels a few days ago. There are bagels at home.
Buck loves bagels. In the cart they go.
They pass the cheese, so he grabs a block of parmesan the size of a brick. Then a bag of shredded mozzarella. Then, for reasons he’s unsure of and isn’t going to think about, a tub of feta.
Cheese is nice. Cheese can’t be in love with you and tell you while you’re carrying bulk tomato sauce.
“Feta?” Eddie says skeptically.
“Feta,” Buck confirms.
Eddie nods slowly, keeping eye contact. “Okay.”
By the time they get to the checkout, the cart is a disaster. Twelve cans of crushed tomato. Four containers of cherry tomatoes. Two bags of Roma tomatoes. Bagels. Three cheeses. A rotisserie chicken Buck does not remember picking up. A four-pack of paper towels. A twelve-pack of paper towels. A truly unreasonable amount of paper towels for the amount of people in their house who use them.
Buck cannot account for any of it.
The checkout lady scans the cans one by one.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Buck watches them go by. Tomato. More tomato. Even more tomato. Cheese. Paper towel. The other paper towel. Tomato again. Bagel. Another tomato. Chicken. Tomato. Tomato. Feta, which he still doesn’t understand. Tomato.
Buck furrows his brow. Next to him, Eddie is on his phone, or pretending to be, and he chuckles. How can he chuckle at a time like this? They’re gonna have to have spaghetti for months and wipe their ass with paper towels. This is a catastrophe, and Eddie, who is in love with him, is laughing.
The checkout lady gets to the twelfth can and looks up.
“Making sauce?”
Buck stares at her, card raised, and says nothing.
She blinks. Buck does not blink.
Eddie laughs, again. “Yep,” he says, answering for Buck, because he loves him. “He’s on a meal prep kick lately.”
She smiles. Eddie smiles back. Buck smiles, too, he thinks. His mouth is doing something. Whatever it is, Buck is not privy to.
“Cute,” the lady says, and Buck doesn’t know if she means the meal prep or the two of them or the paper towels. He’s not going to ask. He’s going to stand right here and let this happen to him.
Buck hovers his card there for a second longer while they all stare at each other. After a minute, Eddie reaches over and taps his own card against the reader. The machine chirps. The receipt prints.
It is very long. So much tomato.
“Have a good one,” she says.
“You too,” Eddie replies, smiling.
A hand finds the small of Buck’s back and he jumps at least an inch off the ground.
“Just me, bud,” Eddie whispers.
Oh, good. Just Eddie. Eddie, his best friend. Eddie, whose hand is on his back.
Eddie, who is in love with Buck.
Hopefully they got enough tomatoes.
The cart rolls forward. That’s good. He remembers how to push it. Motor function, present and accounted for.
When they get home, Buck stands in the kitchen staring at the tomatoes. He unloaded them out of the bags and arranged them on the counter. He does not remember doing either of those things.
He also doesn’t remember driving home, which is dangerous. They could’ve crashed and he would’ve been like one of those math problems in elementary school.
Evan Buckley went to the store and bought one hundred tomatoes. If he gives fifty-five to Eddie and twenty to Chris and one to Theo, how many tomatoes does he have left?
People would’ve thought a tomato truck tipped over on the interstate. But no. It would just be Buck. And Buck’s tomatoes. And Eddie, who is in love with him.
The Roma tomatoes are in two piles. The cherry tomatoes are in a little cluster next to the Romas. The cans of sauce are stacked on the counter. It looks like Buck’s kitchen has been repurposed into a small, tomato specific farmer’s market.
Eddie comes in behind him, setting the bag of cheeses on the counter. He watches Buck stare at the tomatoes for a second.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Buck does not look up, muttering. “In love with me.”
Eddie hums. “And gay.”
“And gay.”
“Yes.”
Buck finally looks at him. “Yes.”
Eddie kisses him. It’s not long, a press of his mouth against Buck’s, quick and simple, as if he’s testing to see if it helps.
It does not help.
Buck is not okay.
His eyes are open. His hands are hanging at his sides.
He was kissed! He was just kissed! By Eddie! And he — what did he do? Fuck, he didn’t do anything. You’re supposed to do something when someone kisses you, that’s like the whole point of being kissed, and instead he stood there like a lamp.
A lamp cannot kiss you back. That’s the problem with lamps.
“You okay?” Eddie asks, gayly, having just kissed another man, which is so gay.
“Mhm,” Buck says.
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
Buck is standing in his kitchen surrounded by tomatoes and his best friend just kissed him and his best friend is gay and his best friend is in love with him and there are so many tomatoes.
The click of crutches sounds from the hall, getting closer.
“Wow,” Chris says, staring at the counter. “So many tomatoes.”
Buck turns toward him.
“Tomato.”
“Yeahhhh.” Chris glances at the counter. “Why so many?”
Buck opens his mouth. He picks up a Roma tomato, for some reason. Puts it back down. Picks up a different Roma tomato. Puts that one down, too. The tomatoes are, as far as he can tell, identical.
He’s not sure why that matters.
Buck looks at Chris, nodding toward the tomatoes. “Gay.”
“Gay…” Chris repeats, squinting suspiciously at the tomatoes, as if the tomatoes are gay. “Tomato?”
Buck’s head snaps toward Eddie so fast he nearly gets whiplash. He just outed Eddie. He outed Eddie to Chris while in the kitchen. With the tomatoes.
“Gay?!” he says, panicked.
Eddie is not panicking. Why isn’t he panicking? Buck is a terrible friend.
Eddie’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, watching Buck squawk gay like some kind of homophobic parrot.
Can parrots be homophobic? He should set a reminder on his phone to look it up later. He can’t, though, because Eddie is being gay right now. And for the foreseeable future, it seems.
“Yes, Buck. Gay.”
Chris looks away from the tomatoes and at his dad, who is gay. He doesn’t seem particularly rocked by this development.
“Oh. Yeah. Gay,” he says, pointing at Eddie.
Oh, Chris knew.
It makes sense. Eddie probably told him first, which is the right order to do it in. Very responsible and mature of Eddie.
Is Buck the last one to know, though?
Do Hen and Chim know? Does Maddie? Damn. His own sister. His flesh and blood. You think you know someone, you share parentage with them, and then they don’t tell you your best friend is gay and in love with you.
That’s like, day one sister stuff. Buck would’ve told her. If he found out Eddie was in love with her, Buck would’ve called her immediately.
Theo appears from the living room. He has a wooden spoon, Buck’s good one that he uses for chili, which he is chewing on. He takes in the room. Buck, Chris, Eddie, back to Buck, the tomato mountain. He pulls the spoon out of his mouth. “Is it my birthday?”
Buck whips toward him. “No.” He points at Theo, then drags his finger over to Eddie. “Gay Eddie.”
Theo looks at Eddie.
Eddie nods gravely, amusement underneath. “Gay Eddie.”
Buck turns back to him. He feels a little dizzy. He’s also a little in love with him. Actually, no. He’s a lot in love with Eddie. He also wants to kiss him again, which he’ll do later, when there are fewer children in the room and fewer tomatoes on the counter.
“Gay Eddie,” Buck starts, hesitantly. “Loves Buck?”
Eddie sighs contentedly, expression so soft and fond. “Very much.”
“Gay Eddie loves Buck!” Theo shouts, spoon back in his mouth, garbling the whole thing beautifully.
“Gay Eddie loves Buck,” Buck repeats quieter, testing it out.
“Gay Eddie loves Buck,” Eddie agrees.
Buck stands up a little straighter. He is a man who says things, and he is going to say a thing.
Looking at Eddie, Buck brings his finger up, pointing at himself. “Bi Buck—” He moves, pointing at Eddie. “Loves Eddie.”
Chris, who has been watching this entire thing with the expression of a teenager whose life is a series of small trials, sets his crutches against the counter and opens the fridge. “Seriously, why so many tomatoes? Also, why are you talking like that?”
“I think Buck might be short-circuiting a little bit,” Eddie tells him, still staring at Buck. He’s glowing. He looks like a super sexy sun, shining his love and gayness down on them all. Buck is basking in it.
“Well fix him,” Chris says. “I want to know about the tomatoes.”
“You can never have too many gay tomatoes,” Buck whispers, still staring at Eddie, the gay man.
Chris turns around from the fridge with a string cheese in his mouth. He looks at the counter. Then at Buck. Then back to the counter. “These are all gonna go bad before you can use them, ya know.”
Fuck, Buck thinks.
“Fuck,” Buck says.
“Fuck!!” Theo yells.
Eyes going so wide they threaten to leave his face, Buck turns to Eddie. He has now caused an emergency. Multiple emergencies. Eddie is going to kick him out of the house. Eddie is in love with him but Eddie is also a parent, and parenthood beats being in love with someone, this is a known fact.
Wait — this is Buck’s house. Theo is his kid. Eddie cannot kick him out of his own house. That’s not how houses work.
What if Theo says fuck at preschool? With Buck’s luck, he will.
Theo is going to walk in on Monday and say fuck to Miss Denise and Miss Denise is going to call Buck and Buck is going to have to explain that his son said that because Eddie is gay.
Miss Denise is going to think Buck is a bad father. She already thinks Buck is a bad dad because Buck forgot pajama day last month. This is going to be pajama day all over again, but worse. This is going to be swearing day.
“Fuck,” Buck whispers.
“Alright, bud, let’s sit you down.” Eddie pushes off the counter and takes his elbow like you would an elderly person struggling to walk.
Chris, still chewing his string cheese, has moved onto counting. “I counted and there’s thirteen cans of sauce and like fifty tomatoes. Probably more, counting the cherry ones.”
“No.” Buck lets Eddie steer him toward a stool. “There’s twelve cans.”
“No. There’s thirteen.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Oh my god,” Eddie mutters, shooting Chris a look. “Let’s not start this again.”
Buck is now on the stool, and Eddie is standing between his knees, one hand on his elbow, close enough that Buck can smell his cologne. It’s the same cologne he’s smelled for years, that has apparently been extremely gay the whole time.
“Thirteen,” Chris says, tapping the last can.
Buck glares at him. “Twelve.”
“I know how to count, Buck. I’ve been able to count above ten since I was like, four.”
“Theo is four,” Buck retorts, like this proves something.
Theo, upon hearing his name, holds up the spoon. “Four!”
“See?”
Chris stares at him, then Eddie. He looks like he’s considering, for the first time in his life, whether he should move out.
Jokes on him. He’s stuck with them for at least two more years. Which may be how long it takes to eat all of the tomatoes.
“There’s thirteen cans,” Chris says again, slower this time.
Buck is about to argue, because he’s not too proud to argue with a sixteen-year-old, when Eddie clears his throat. “You grabbed one more on the way to the register. I don’t think you noticed.”
Buck blinks. “I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you were kind of…” Eddie waves a hand at all of Buck. “Doing this.”
“Huh,” Buck mumbles.
“Yeah.”
Eddie’s thumb rubs a circle on the inside of his elbow. Buck stops staring at the tomatoes to, instead, stare at Eddie’s thumb. It’s a nice thumb. Eddie should be a hand model.
“You good?” Eddie asks quietly, so only Buck can hear.
Buck considers this.
His best friend is gay. His best friend is in love with him. He, apparently, is also in love with his best friend, and has been for a while, and the number of cans of tomato sauce currently on the kitchen counter is thirteen instead of twelve.
He feels warm and slightly nauseous and Eddie’s hand is on his elbow. In a good way. All of that in the good way.
Buck has decisions to make. He has thirteen cans of sauce to store. He has to kiss Eddie again.
Probably tonight, definitely on purpose.
“Yeah,” Buck says. “I think so.”
He looks up at Eddie and realizes he’s wearing a grey shirt, the one that used to be Buck’s. Buck thought he lost it in the wash ages ago and here it is, on Eddie, in Buck’s kitchen, being gay.
Chris shuts the fridge, now holding another string cheese. “Are you guys, like, doing something? Or—”
“Yes,” Eddie says, at the same time Buck says, “No.”
Chris looks between them. Then he looks at Theo, who has moved on from wearing the spoon as a hat to conducting an invisible orchestra with it. Then he looks at the tomatoes, which are still, unbelievably, everywhere.
“I’m just gonna hang out in here, then,” Chris announces, “because whatever this is, I wanna see how it ends.”
“Chris,” Eddie objects.
Wonderful. Buck is going to have his second kiss with Eddie in front of the children. A kiss that Buck was going to put his all into this time, thank you very much. He was going to woo the shit out of Eddie.
Except now they have an audience of a sixteen-year-old and a four-year-old and there’s not a single thing he can do about it and Buck doesn’t want to traumatize any children today. Or ever.
Eddie is looking at him, waiting, a small smile tugging at his lips that Buck would really like to kiss sometime today.
“Chris,” Buck says, not looking away from Eddie. “Buddy.”
“Yeah?”
“Ten bucks if you take Theo into your room for ten minutes.”
“Gross,” Chris says to Buck’s request to be alone with his dad. Then he squints, considering. “Twenty.”
“Fifteen.”
“Deal.” Chris is already moving, scooting Theo along with him. “You guys were being super weird, anyway. C’mon, Theo.”
“Weird!” Theo cheers, letting Chris herd him out with a hand on his shoulder.
The kitchen empties. Not completely — the tomatoes are still there, staring — but of children, mostly, which is what Buck was going for.
Eddie moves back, much to Buck’s dismay, and motions for Buck to stand up. Buck sighs at his kitchen. It looks like an Italian grandmother had a stroke in here and this is somehow, remarkably, not the biggest thing that has happened to him today.
What a day.
“I bought too many,” he says.
“Sure did, bud.”
Buck steps closer and Eddie doesn’t move away. It’s a nice change of pace. Buck has spent years being extremely normal about the fact that Eddie smells incredible and stands close. Now he doesn’t have to be normal about it. Now he can be as weird about it as he wants.
“You’re in love with me.”
Eddie’s hands find Buck’s waist instantly, as if they’ve been waiting for a reason. “Sure am.”
Buck sways forward and puts his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder. Mostly because his neck is tired, but also because he’d like to be closer to Eddie, in general, going forward, for the rest of eternity.
“And gay,” he mumbles into Eddie’s shirt.
“Yup.”
He nuzzles into Eddie’s neck. He’s warm and he smells like home and he’s gay. The gayest. Eddie kissed Buck and liked it, it seems, which is super gay.
Buck moves his hand to Eddie’s face. It’s so warm. Eddie is a person, obviously, and not a tomato, but there are a lot of tomatoes in this kitchen right now and Buck’s brain has been marinating in tomatoes for the last hour and now he’s wondering if tomatoes are actually fruits.
They are. Technically. Botanically. Buck watched a whole thing about it once. But some of them are more fruit than others, he thinks, because some of them are sweet enough that you could eat them like an apple, and some of them are more of a savory situation, and the whole thing is kind of a spectrum, when you think about it.
Fruity tomatoes. Fruity is also another word for gay. Buck’s cousin used to say it when they were kids, and his mom would get on him about it.
If Eddie was a tomato, he would be a fruity one, according to the current facts of the situation. Gay tomato.
Buck lifts his head off of Eddie’s shoulder to poke him in the cheek.
“You’re a gay tomato,” Buck informs him.
Eddie exhales a laugh into Buck’s hair. “Okay, whatever you say, Buck. Now shut up and kiss me.”
Oh, yeah. That’s a thing Buck wanted to do.
So he lifts his head, and does just that.
It’s lightyears away from the kiss earlier. The one from earlier was a test-kiss, to make sure Buck was still functioning on some level. This one, though. This is Buck taking Eddie’s face in both hands and slotting their mouths together on purpose. With intention and the full weight of all the time they wasted.
Eddie whimpers and Buck kisses it off of his lips. His fingers tighten on Buck’s hips as Buck tilts his head and kisses him deeper. Eddie sighs into it like he’s been holding his breath since this morning. Maybe he has. Maybe he’s been holding his breath for years.
Buck is so proud of him.
Eventually, because breathing is a thing people do, Buck pulls back.
Eddie chases him, tilts his chin up and follows Buck’s mouth for a second before he catches himself. Buck can’t help but feel smug at that. Eddie chose him. He realized he was gay and chose Buck to be gay with. Wild. Buck’s not used to being someone’s first choice.
“Wow,” Buck says.
Eddie’s eyes flutter open and his lips part. He looks entirely too kissable.
“Wow,” he parrots. The non-homophobic kind.
“So you’re really gay.”
Eddie huffs a laugh. “Yeah, Buck. We sorta covered that part already.”
Buck smiles. “I love you, too.
“We covered that, too. But I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
“Oh, really? Getting greedy, are we?” Buck teases, pulling Eddie back in. “I’m gonna kiss you again now.”
Eddie sighs dramatically. “I mean, I guess.”
Buck grins and kisses him anyway. Eddie goes willingly, one hand sliding up Buck’s back to pull him even closer. Buck pulls back, then kisses him again, pulls back, goes back in for a third—
“Gay!!”
Buck freezes. Eddie freezes.
The parrot is real and in his kitchen, as homophobic as ever.
They both turn.
Theo is standing in the kitchen doorway pointing directly at Eddie with his wooden spoon. Chris is behind him, leaning on his crutches.
“Ten minutes are up,” he says, shrugging.
They separate reluctantly as Theo dances around them.
“Gay! Gay! Gay!” he chants.
Chris walks over and stands next to them, seemingly resigned to the fact that this is his life. He leans over to Buck, whispering, “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know what that means.”
Probably not. Buck should probably explain it to him in toddler terms before he goes and calls Miss Denise gay. That is a phone call Buck does not want to be on the receiving end of.
Theo pads over and tugs on the hem of Eddie’s shirt. All three of them turn toward him. “Can I have a tomato, gay Eddie?”
Buck snorts. He can’t help it. He tries to help it and he can’t, okay? It earns him a look from Eddie, which he figures is fair, since Buck is the one who taught Theo that particular phrase.
“Uh. Just Eddie, bud,” Eddie says, reaching over and grabbing a Roma tomato off the counter. Why he didn’t grab a cherry tomato, Buck isn’t sure, but he’s not about to argue. “But sure. Here.”
Theo takes it in both hands, like it’s a very serious tomato that requires two-handed care, and bites into it like an apple. Juice runs down his chin and onto his shirt.
“Good?” Buck asks.
Theo nods, chewing. “Gay tomato.”
“Oh my god,” Chris mutters.
“Yeah,” Eddie says. “That one’s on you, Buck.”
Buck opens his mouth to argue and then closes it, because Eddie is right, but also because Theo is now offering the half-eaten tomato to Chris, who is backing away from it with his hands raised.
“No. Absolutely not. Get that away from me.”
“Gay tomato!”
Theo shakes the tomato at Chris, displeased, gesturing here, take it, c’mon.
“I am not eating your gay tomato, Theo.”
“GAY TOMATO.”
“Buck. Come get your son.”
Buck watches peacefully as Theo successfully backs Chris out of the kitchen and into the living room. Chris’s protests fade down the hall. Something crashes. Buck decides he did not hear it.
Eddie reaches over and tangles their fingers together. They stand side by side, staring at the tomatoes.
There are still so many tomatoes. There's more tomatoes now than there was ten minutes ago. They’re multiplying.
“Hey, Eddie.”
“Yeah?”
Buck glances over. “I’m really glad you’re gay.”
Eddie snorts. “Thanks, Buck.” He turns toward him, moving closer. “So we’re doing this.”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
There’s a pause. Eddie blinks. Buck blinks back. Eddie blinks again, like he’s expecting something.
Is Eddie trying to communicate in morse code? Buck doesn’t know morse code. This is a disaster. Buck should know morse code. What if they’re at work and there’s a fire and Eddie’s blinking at him and Buck just stands there like an idiot because he never bothered to learn morse code and then they both die.
Eddie sighs. Buck is going to learn morse code.
“Are you going to kiss me again, or what?”
“Oh.” Buck tugs him closer, kissing him. “Sorry.”
He kisses him again. Then again. And again. Then, just because he can, he kisses him one more time, for good measure.
From: Denise Halloran
To: Evan Buckley <[email protected]>
Subject: Theo - this week
Hi Evan,
I hope you’re doing well! I wanted to reach out about a few things that came up with Theo this week during circle time and free play.
First, and I want to start by saying this isn’t a concern, per se, Theo has been calling his classmates “gay tomatoes.” At first we thought he was saying “great tomatoes,” which was already a little unusual, but upon further listening it does appear to be “gay tomatoes.”
He is very insistent about it. Some of the other parents are concerned. On Thursday he called our classroom rabbit, Mr. Whiskers, a gay tomato as well. When I gently asked him about it, he clarified that Mr. Whiskers is a “very gay tomato.”
When I asked Theo where he heard the phrase, he said it was something “my Buck and gay Eddie” say at home. He was very matter-of-fact about it and I did not press further as it did not seem productive at the time.
I wanted to check in about the language he’s picking up at home. I always try to approach these conversations with an open mind, and of course we celebrate all kinds of families here at Busy Bee. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page about age-appropriate vocabulary and how we’re introducing these concepts.
Also, as a separate note, Theo said the F word during snack time on Tuesday. I’m mentioning it because I thought you’d like to know so you can talk to him about bad words.
Please let me know when might be a good time for a quick check-in. I tried calling you, but it went straight to voicemail. I’m free to chat either in person at pickup or over the phone. We love having Theo in our class and he is doing wonderfully in every other aspect. His fine motor skills are excellent.
Warmly,
Miss Denise
P.S. – Please also thank your partner for the granola bars he sent in for the class snack rotation. The kids loved them.
“Shit.”
Eddie leans over his shoulder, coffee in hand. “What is it?”
Buck angles the screen toward him, grimacing. He starts reading. Buck watches his face.
“Oh no,” Eddie says, smirking.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, no.”
Eddie is laughing now, into his coffee, one hand braced on the counter.
“Fucking fantastic,” Buck mutters.
“Hey. Don’t let Theo hear you,” Eddie scolds, giggling.
“Don’t.”
Eddie furrows his brow. “Can rabbits be gay?”
“I don’t know.”
The laughter dies down as Eddie takes a sip of his coffee. Then his eyes narrow in Buck’s direction. “Why do you think she couldn’t get ahold of you?”
“Not sure,” Buck says, immediately. “Could be, y’know. Signals. Or maybe a powerline exploded somewhere. Could’ve been anything, really.”
Eddie stares at him, suspicious. Buck stares back, innocent, wide-eyed, with absolutely nothing to hide.
“You blocked her, didn’t you.”
Buck blinks, sipping his own coffee, then sighs.
“I blocked her.”