eddie is elbow-deep in flour when he hears buck’s jeep pulling up.
christopher’s attention is still firmly fixed on the batch of chocolate chip cookie dough he’s scooping onto the baking sheet, so eddie figures he probably didn’t hear it. buck will be delighted, he thinks—he gets a kick out of surprising christopher.
he’s never said why, but eddie suspects at least some of it is because christopher is always so excited to see him, and when it’s a surprise it’s easier for buck to believe the reaction is genuine. that they really want him here.
eddie’s tried telling him his, indirectly and in so many words, but nothing has gotten the message across as effectively as christopher crying out his name and rushing to hug him every time he shows up.
except buck doesn’t show up, this time. eddie heard the motor of the jeep cut out and it hasn’t started back up, but buck hasn’t come inside. he gives it a few more minutes—maybe buck is on the phone, or maybe his keys are lost somewhere at the bottom of his bag—but when he still doesn’t appear, eddie figures he should go see what’s going on.
he wipes his hands off on his apron and checks christopher’s progress. “looking good, buddy,” he says, nodding in approval at the mostly-uniform rows of cookies appearing on the sheet. “i’m gonna be right back, okay?”
“okay,” christopher says, most of his attention on the bowl as he adjusts his scoop.
(“they have to be the same size,” he’d said earlier, solemn as he looked eddie in the eye. “for the bake sale. nobody’s gonna buy them if they’re ugly.”
eddie had wondered if maybe his kid had a future in marketing.)
he opens his front door to find buck sitting on his porch stairs.
“hey,” eddie says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “you planning on coming in, or did you drive over just to sit on my steps?”
buck startles, like he hadn’t heard the door opening. “hey,” he says. when he looks up, eddie is surprised to see that his eyes are red-rimmed. “how did you know i was here?”
“heard you drive up,” eddie says. “i keep telling you, your jeep sounds whack.”
“it’s just personality,” buck says.
“sure,” eddie says. “buck, are you—”
“yeah, i’m good,” buck says, hastily wiping at the corner of one eye. “just, uh, had a rough call. i didn’t really want to be alone.”
“you know you’re always welcome here,” eddie says.
what about your girlfriend? he doesn’t say. the one who lives with you?
buck manages half a smile. “yeah,” he says. “i know.”
“bet i’ve got something inside that’ll cheer you up,” eddie says.
“does it have something to do with the fact that you’re wearing an apron?” buck asks. “which, by the way, might be on my top ten list of things i never expected to see in my life. right up there with aliens.”
“chris wouldn’t wear his if i didn’t wear mine,” eddie says.
“excuse you,” eddie says. “i’m pretty sure this is working for me.”
it gets a laugh out of buck, just like he’d been hoping it would.
“come on,” eddie says, holding his hand out and helping buck up. “i know someone who’s going to be happy to see you.”
buck follows him into the kitchen, and eddie watches him shuck off his sadness like a snake shedding its skin. he barely has time to say “chris, buddy, guess what?” before christopher is abandoning his cookie scoops and hurrying over. buck crouches down to hug him, and eddie sees a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he hides his face in christopher’s neck.
“i missed you,” buck says, and something in his voice burrows deep into eddie’s chest and makes a home for itself there. buck sounds just like eddie does whenever he has to be away from christopher for a few days, like missing christopher is akin to missing part of himself.
“you were just here last week,” christopher says.
“yeah,” buck says. “it’s been five whole days.”
christopher laughs, and buck reaches out to ruffle his hair before standing up again.
“so what are you guys up to?” he asks, looking around the kitchen, which eddie is proud to say does not look at all like a disaster zone, thank you very much.
“i have a bake sale,” christopher says. “we’re making cookies.”
“i got the recipe from linda,” eddie says. “she swears they’re guaranteed to turn out.”
behind them, the oven timer dings, and buck’s face spreads into a grin. “guess we’re about to find out,” he says. “looks like i had perfect timing.”
buck and christopher both declare the first batch perfectly adequate, which eddie will take as high praise from the duo who barely let him in the kitchen at all a year ago. buck helps christopher scoop the rest of his batch while eddie finishes mixing the final dough, and soon the kitchen is covered in more cookies than eddie would have thought could possibly spring from the pile of ingredients he’d assembled some hours ago.
christopher slips out into the living room, and from the way he checks over his shoulder before he goes eddie knows he’s trying to shirk cleanup duties. but he lets it go, just this once. he puts on a pot of coffee without asking, knowing that buck would never say no to a cup of coffee, and clears some of the debris away from the kitchen table as he waits. he pours a cup the way buck likes it and hands it to him, sits down across from him with his own cup, and waits for buck to take a sip before he speaks.
“so, rough call,” eddie says. “the silo?”
“yeah,” buck says, wrapping both hands around his mug. “i guess you guys heard about it over at dispatch.”
“yeah,” eddie says, sipping his coffee. “yeah, they had me tweet out a warning to avoid the area.”
“good,” buck says. “that’s—good.” he sighs. “you should have seen her, eddie—i mean, i’m glad you didn’t have to, i just mean—”
“i know,” eddie says quietly.
“it’s always hard when they die,” buck says, “but—did you hear her story?”
“only that a woman went through a silo cover,” eddie says.
“she’s—she was a mother,” buck says. “she was out there with her daughters, three of them. they were playing tag, having fun, and then she just—vanished. the ground just gave out beneath her.”
oh.
“one minute she was playing with her kids,” buck continues, “and the next she’s telling them she loves them over the radio because everyone knows she’s dying in the next few minutes but no one’s saying it out loud. and i just—” he sighs, shakes his head, takes a long drink of coffee. “i don’t know.”
“tell me anyway,” eddie says. frank uses it on him a lot when he tries to avoid answering questions by saying he doesn’t know, and it always annoys him but talking about it usually still ends up helping.
“what if that’s me, eddie?” buck asks, looking up at him. “the girls—her daughters—they lived with their dad, only saw her on the weekends. and then she vanished. what if that’s me? what if i’m only here to be on the periphery of people’s lives and then disappear? just fall through the ground?”
“is that what you think, buck?” eddie asks. “that you’re peripheral to us?” buck hadn’t specified, but from the way he looks off to the side eddie’s pretty confident this is the issue.
“sometimes,” buck admits. “just, like—i go home, and your lives just go on, right? as they should, obviously, you two are a family and i’m just—”
“—buck, you’re family,” eddie interrupts. “even if you’re not here all the time.” buck won’t look up from his mug, so eddie finds his foot under the table and nudges it until buck relents. “i mean it,” eddie says. “just—family doesn’t always look like you think it will, you know?”
“but—” buck starts, and eddie shakes his head.
“no buts.” he stands up, mug in hand, and holds the other one out to buck. “come on, if you won’t believe me there’s someone else we can ask.”
buck sighs, some mix of exasperation and disbelief, but he takes eddie’s hand and lets himself be pulled up.
buck tries to release his hand once he’s on his feet, but eddie keeps holding on. he’s not sure buck is entirely convinced, or that he’d told him the whole story, but he figures a bit of human contact couldn’t hurt.
they head into the living room, where christopher is perched on the couch playing one of the several racing games eddie struggles to tell apart.
“hey, chris,” eddie says, perching on the armrest of the sofa. he lets buck take the seat next to christopher, because he knows how this situation is going to end up.
christopher pauses the game and looks up. “yeah?”
“when someone asks you about your family, like maybe a teacher at school, what do you tell them?”
christopher tilts his head like he’s considering the question. “i say i have a dad and a buck,” he says.
“see?” eddie says, nudging buck. “told you. family.”
when buck looks over at him, his grin is a little watery, but it’s there. “sorry,” he says. “i know—”
“—no,i know,” eddie says. “you have nothing to be sorry for. i know.”
buck just looks at him, open and guileless, until christopher shoves the other controller between them.
“race me, buck!” he says, and buck grabs the controller and settles in.
eddie crosses the room and throws himself in the armchair, watching the looks of intense concentration on buck and christopher’s faces as they hurtle neck and neck down the virtual racetrack.
buck’s words nag at him. the periphery of people’s lives, he thinks. i go home, and your lives just go on.
eddie thinks about the night he’d trashed his room, and how buck had stayed for days after despite repeated assurances everything was fine. he thinks about how right it had felt to wake up and find buck in the kitchen, to know that every night after they put christopher to bed buck would still be here. when he’d called buck at work about the grocery list, and buck had said he could easily grab some milk on the way home.
home.
he looks at buck and christopher, elbow-to-elbow on the couch, and he thinks, home. this is home.
he remembers the call from a few days ago, the influencer with the fake life. maybe she felt like she was missing out on a life she could have had, may had said. if she’d been born someone else, or made different choices.
eddie looks at buck and christopher, and for the first time he thinks, is this a life i could have?
