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It’s supposed to be the three of them, together. Buck, Eddie, and Chris. That’s what Buck promised, beneath the rubble and dust of Westfield Mall. And it’s not like Buck to break a promise.So Chris woke up tentatively excited, dresses in the new cargo pants his Dad had bought him as a sorry we all nearly died again present, and makes his way to the kitchen. Loudly. Just in case.But he needn’t have bothered because Dad and Buck weren’t even there, being their newly-typical gross selves. It was just Dad alone. Making some strong-smelling tea for himself, buttering toast, and facing Chris with his big stupid sad eyes and stupider mustache. Telling him that despite Buck being on near-bedrest with a broken leg right now, he’s managed to catch the flu and is currently dying alone in his loft.Which is so embarrassing, ‘cause who even gets the flu in September?So, yeah. Chris should have been taken out to Eggslut by Buck and his Dad, and spent the afternoon teasing them about the fact they’ve only been dating for, like, a week and already they’re a dorky amount of in love. And how he caught them making out like disgusting teenagers and he absolutely deserves to be compensated for, like, the emotional damages of that. Ideally in the form of a new battle pass, but he’d also accept cash.Instead, it’s just Chris and Dad. Alone together.
Yay.
And it’s not awkward. Chris likes his Dad, mostly. It’s been just the two of them for so long, of course he’s used to it. But it’s not not awkward either.
Ever since the earthquake, it's like the Texas-flavored tension between them has finally disappeared. But left in its place is the residue of something else, something harder to name. Something Chris doesn’t want to blame on Buck, but, well…“That first sandwich looks nice. The one with bacon on,” his Dad says, looking up from the menu on the table. Kinda pitched up like he’s really trying even though Chris wishes he wouldn’t. “What do you think?”“I liked the sausage one before,” he replies, even though they’re not even that different. Nothing on the menu is. Which is kinda the point. There’s only so much you can do to an egg sandwich. “But maybe I should try something new.” Or as new as it can be.“Try whatever you want. We’ll be back again once Buck’s feeling better,” Dad says. And then, “Or if it’s bad you can, you know, order a second one. If you don’t like it.”Oh god. His Dad’s mostly back to normal, Chris thinks, but there’s still this little edge of cringey desperation hanging on him. Like he’s so eager to keep everything happy and easy and fake that he’s acting like a complete pushover. It’s been worse since the earthquake, but he’s been decidedly weird ever since Chris came back from Texas.“Mmhmm.” It’s also, like, the third or fourth time he’s brought Buck up already. It’s not a new thing - his Dad’s inability to keep Buck’s name out of his mouth. Or, Chris thinks it isn’t new anyway; thinks he’s just noticing it more. “I think I’m gonna get the Bacon, Egg, and Cheese, and an iced latte.”“You don’t drink coffee?” his Dad says, but tilted up at the end. Like a question, or a half-question.Their server picks that exact moment to materialize at their table, notepad in hand.Chris pays her no mind.
“I did in Texas,” he tells his Dad. Abuelo would make him a small one in the mornings when he made it for himself and Abuela. He’d grind the beans himself, and it made their kitchen smell so good.“Well you shouldn’t have.” Dad pouts a little, scrunchy and Dad-ish and normal. He looks at the server like he’s hoping for backup. “It can stunt your growth.”She’s still standing there, eyes flicking between them, like there could be any doubt in her mind who’s calling the shots here.“You drink it.” It’s a stale argument, one usually followed by a retort of I’m a grown up and, if his Dad’s in a particularly silly mood, a contradictory tongue poked out between his teeth.Instead he regards Chris with this incomprehensible look for long enough that it almost gets awkward. And he sighs. And he just…“Yeah, I do. And it hasn’t killed me yet I guess.” He turns to address the server without even trying to argue it further. “ Bacon, Egg, and Cheeses, and two iced lattes, please.”“And oat milk in mine?” Chris chance.Dad laughs.“You definitely weren’t drinking oat milk in Texas.”The server looks like she’d rather be anywhere else in the entire world. For the moment, Chris can’t entirely relate.“Yeah I was. Abuela bought it for me.” They’d gone to three different grocery stores together until they found it. “And I had it in my coffee.”“Okay, but if you’re gonna drink coffee, you need some calcium with it. Or you’ll really stunt your growth.” Dad dismisses the server with a smile. Guess he was in control all along. Chris can’t bring himself to mind.“Buck drinks it with oat milk.” It won’t change anything now. But he still says it. Maybe he’s picking up his Dad’s bad habits.“Buck’s already freakishly tall.” Even the insult sounds gross and sappy coming from him. “He could stand to be shorter, actually.”Chris laughs despite himself. He’s missed this. Missed how easy it can be to hang out with his dad. He’s kind, and funny, and snarky, and not even that old and boring like some of his friends’ parents.Javi’s dad is, like, fifty years old and wears plain boring button up shirts all the time. His hair’s almost all gray at the front, and he tells off Javi for swearing in the house, and makes him go to mass every single Sunday.But Chris’s Dad is, like, a person. Like, he’s a normal guy. Normal-ish.He wears t-shirts and jeans, and kills a new basil plant every other month. And sometimes he sleeps all day ‘cause he was working overnight. And sometimes he’ll sign Chris out of school early ‘cause they’re both having a bad day and they’ll get burgers and watch daytime TV and fall asleep on the sofa together.And sometimes, well, no- once only ever- he brought home a woman who looked exactly like Chris’s Mom and used her to cheat on Marisol, who was Chris’s friend as much as she was his Dad’s girlfriend.And he let Chris run miles and miles and miles away, so Chris could figure out how to live with knowing that his Dad could do that. Which was good. Chris needed the space and he needed the time. He needed a reminder of what it’s like to miss his Dad.Who’s not perfect, but tries really hard. And loves Chris so much.So much so that, when Chris was ready to come back home and talk about it, his Dad dropped everything to come get him.
But they still haven’t really talked about it.“So.” There’s an awkwardness in how his Dad says it. Like he’s picking at the thread of a conversation, not willing to unravel it all alone. Like he wants Chris to pick at it with him. “I think that’s something we should talk about.”“Texas?” Chris asks, still half in his own head, while his Dad instead says, “Buck.”And then, “Oh, Texas? You wanna talk about Texas.”“Not really.” Chris thinks he’s telling the truth. He’s probably telling the truth. Wishes it, even. “You wanna talk about Buck?”“I thought we might,” his Dad offers. Like Chris has a choice. Like he’s ever had a choice. “This is a big deal, right? I know you haven’t always been on board with me dating people you already know.”“ God , Dad. I’m not eight anymore. And I didn’t even care about you dating Ana,” he argues, knowing that isn’t strictly true. “Eventually. I kinda liked having her around. Before she left.”The time she spent in their house all bled together in his head afterwards. A big Ana-shaped blur of breakfast and baking muffins. Homework at the kitchen table. Movie nights, and salad for lunch, and video games she would let him win until he goaded her into not going so easy on him.
The many mornings she’d be the one to wake him up for breakfast ‘cause his Dad was working. Then minutes or months later, he doesn’t even know any more, she was standing in his bedroom doorway with big red eyes. Crouching down and telling him that she was sorry. That she was going home for a little while. That she wished him the best.Some time later he’d asked his Dad if they could invite Ana over ‘cause he wanted to bake cookies for school. He was young. He didn’t get it yet.Dad took him to Buck’s instead.Dad’s never been as subtle as he thought was.“I’m sorry,” Dad says. Chris wishes he would try to look less sad. “I really am. I made a mess of it, with Ana.”“It’s not your fault,” Chris replies. Not because he doesn’t forgive him. He doesn’t know if he forgives him. He doesn’t know if it’s something for him to do. “Or hers, obviously. It just sucked. For all three of us.”“Yeah, it did, didn’t it? And if I could go back, I’d never have let it happen like that.”
Chris doesn’t tell him that he can’t go back. He doesn’t think he needs to. His Dad’s probably
more aware of the passage of time than anyone else in the whole world. It’s another thing Chris gets from him.“I know. I just- I don’t care that you guys dated, and broke up.” The whole being completely honest thing brings him a sick kind of relief. It feels good. Like that first gasp of breath above the waves feels good when you’ve held it under the surface as long as you possibly can. “It would have been nice to get some warning,” he admits quietly.”What?””I said that I liked Marisol, too. And her nephews. They were cool, or whatever.” He has to say it now, doesn’t he? Before he loses his nerve. “I don’t think I was ever going to like, uh...”“Kim,” Dad fills in.Chris nods once. He can’t forget her, even if he tries. Not her name, or her eyes, or how it felt for one stupid, impossible moment like something of a miracle.“Even if it hadn’t been so…” Messy? Traumatic? Super-mega-ultra fucked up?”Yeah” Dad agrees, like Chris expects him to. “I have no excuse for that. I should never have lied to her, or to Marisol. But especially to you.”“Yeah.” Chris huffs out a breath. They’re sitting outside on some kind of patio and the air is warm-ish, even under the shade of an awning.There’s another conversation they need to have, hiding beneath this one. There’s a few, actually, but there’s one in particular that’s been occupying more space in his mind than the others.And if ever there’s a chance to get something resembling the truth out of his Dad…“Do you think you’ve never had a successful relationship with a woman ‘cause you’re gay? Or is it something else?”Dad freezes, his big, big eyes more shocked than sad. But still sad. There’s a little fleck of dust or something in his mustache and Chris hates him and he loves him and above all else he just wants to understand him.“I’m not gay. Who told you I’m gay?” he asks. Hushed and secretive to a comically unnecessary degree.“You’re dating a man, Dad.” Chris exercises all the self control in his whole entire body by not rolling his eyes. “He’s, like, the actual love of your life, and when we go home you’re going to make him gay soup or something and bring it to the loft. Because he’s sad and sick, and you’re gay for him.”“I don’t think gay soup is a real thing,” he says first. And, well, he’d be the one to know, so Chris lets him have it with a shrug. “And, I mean- Yeah. Okay I’m dating him, but I could be bi. Or- or queer, or something. It’s all new to me right now. I haven’t figured it out yet.”It’s a fair point, Chris guesses. He’s only dated girls so far, but that doesn’t mean he only will forever. But it’s really not as big a deal as his Dad’s making it. Like, nobody actually cares anymore.Chris doesn’t care that his Dad’s dating Buck. He really doesn’t.“So you didn’t even know if you were gay-or-bi-or-whatever when you left me to him in your will?” Chris stares just past his Dad, at the window behind him and the glass reflecting back some distorted interpretation of what they might look like to someone else. Someone far far removed from the situation who’s given only the facts and none of the feelings.‘Cause Chris doesn’t know, but he’s reasonably sure that most platonic work friends aren’t listed as next-of-kin in each other’s wills. And he’s pretty sure that if it was a perfectly normal and platonic situation, then his Dad would have at least asked Buck first.
That he would have asked Chris, too.Or told him at all.“No, that’s not- It wasn’t like that. Is that how he said it?” Dad asks, all jumbled up and stuttery. Skirting around the question. “You, Christopher Diaz, are the most important person in my life, you get that? So when I named Buck your guardian, it’s not ‘cause I was giving you to him. You’re my kid, you’ll always be my kid. But Buck is… he’s my partner, you know? My best friend. And he’s the only person I’d trust with your care, if the worst happened.”“Because you’re gay for him?” Chris asks.“I- maybe. I don’t know. Or, I didn’t at the time. Maybe that’s part of it. I just knew I trusted him more than anyone else in the world.”Chris scratches at the back of his neck where his hair’s grown long enough to tickle, watches his Dad mimic the gesture.“You don’t trust me?” he asks.His Dad huffs a breathy laugh and fake-scowls, his eyes still big and wet and sad. But less than before, maybe.“Do I trust you to get to school on time every day, and eat all your vegetables if I’m not there? Not even slightly, Kid,” he jokes back.
“I eat so many vegetables,” Chris argues. It’s still not the point. It still makes his Dad laugh.“Well, Buck would make you eat even more, you know that?” Suddenly they’re right back to the big thing. “And I thought, well. You know your grandparents. I didn’t want them to drag you back to Texas if I wasn’t there to fight for you. And I trusted Buck to not let that happen. I still do.”“Oh.”“And it was never about, like, belonging . Okay? You’re your own person, Chris. You always have been. And you and Buck have your own relationship outside of me. Which is a good thing. And it’s not like- I’m your Dad, always, and you’re my son, forever, and he’s, well-“ Dad trails off, can’t seem to find the right words. Or any words.“He’s our Buck,” Chris finishes for him.“Yeah.” Dad smiles again. “He’s our Buck.”“I get why you changed your will, Dad.” And he does, is the thing. Chris trusts Buck too. Through every tragedy, every trip to the zoo, every regular-boring-normal evening spent eating lasagna and watching Mythbusters on the sofa in the loft. Buck is so ingrained in his and his Dad’s lives; Chris loves him in a way that almost feels embarrassing. “So why didn’t you tell me?”“I don’t know,” Dad says quietly, staring down and the smooth plastic table like it holds the answer.“Bull.”Dad flinches, but doesn’t object.He just looks back up at Chris, looks so sad Chris almost takes it back. But he’s not wrong. He deserves the truth from his Dad.“Fine. It’s more like, I didn’t know how to bring it up.”“It’s just words, Dad. It’s not hard to say-“ Chris tries to deepen his voice and holds an unsteady finger to his upper lip like a pseudo-stache and- “ Hey, kid, you know how I work one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, and I’m the only parent you’ve got? Well if anything happens to me, then my best friend who I’m secretly gay for - even though it’s, like, 2024 and being gay is so normal now so I’ve no reason to hide it - is going to take over. Is that cool with you? ” He raises a brow, and he waits.Dad’s face looks stuck between amusement and misery.
It was too far, Chris thinks. He’s gotten too good at going too far but he doesn’t know how to stop. Doesn’t know how not to be a source of hurt in his Dad’s life. Maybe that’s all he’s good for now, and he’ll spend the rest of his life hurting and regretting, and regretting and hurting, and hurting, and-“That was kinda harsh,” Dad says. “But not entirely untrue.”“I’m sorry for the harsh part.” Maybe he should apologize for the truth too, but that feels wrong. More wrong than what he said in the first place.“I accept your apology. And I’m sorry too. Not sure I was ready to hear all that from my kid.”“I’m not a kid anymore,” Chris reminds him.His Dad snorts a laugh, then, when Chris frowns, says, “Sorry. Maybe you’re not a kid. But you’re always going to be my kid .”“Can I be your kid that you actually tell things to?” Chris shoots back. He doesn’t care. He’s so sick of having all these dumb emotions. He wants things to go back to normal, just without the secrets, but he doesn’t even know what’s left when they’re gone.And he wants to know.“Yeah. Yeah I like the sound of that.”“Good.” Chris almost leaves it there. Could leave it there. Should leave it there, maybe. “‘Cause I really wish you’d told me about, like, you and Buck. Before it happened. Or asked me about it.”“Oh.” Dad’s face closes up like a book, or a flower at night. Like it already wants to open again but it doesn’t know how. “I see.”“Yeah.” Chris looks away. Has to look away. Can’t keep looking at his Dad’s sad, sad closed face. “Sorry.”“No, don’t- You haven’t done or said anything wrong, Chris.” Dad’s hand finds its way to his shoulder, which means I want you to look at me now . Chris doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t get a choice. His Dad doesn’t continue until they “And if me and Buck, if that’s something you do have a problem with, then we can talk about it, and take a break until we-““Oh my god,” Chris interrupts almost without meaning to. “You don’t get it. I don’t want you to break up with him. I never wanted you to break up with any of them.”
“Chris, don’t shout,” Dad scolds, at pretty much the exact same volume Chris was speaking. Not shouting. “Please.”Chris lets out a groan, then takes in a breath. Then pushes it back out. Great. This is exactly what he didn’t want. He doesn’t know what he wants, and doesn't know how to explain himself either.And he didn’t shout.
When his Dad yells about something, he’s a man with strong emotions who deserves to be listened to. It’s not the same for Chris. Any big emotions he has get politely ignored at best - ‘cause it’s wrong to stare at the loud disabled kid, right?But at any volume, some feelings are too big to put into words.Someone told him that when he was young. Maybe Dad, or Buck. Abuela, or Tía Pepa. Ana, or Marisol. Probably not his Mom. And he thought it was silly then because there’s so many words . Millions of them. And so many ways to arrange them in order to mean millions and billions of different things and yet-Well.Now he’s not sure.Not sure exactly what he wants from his Dad. Or how to ask for it.“Sometimes, when you were working, and Marisol stayed over, she’d let me stay up and watch the news. Especially if they were showing something with firefighters.” He’s not sure where the memory comes from, but it’s the first thing he can think to say to fill the charged silence between them.Dad takes his own deep breath.“You guys never told me that,” he says.“You never told us you were cheating on her,” Chris replies. Soft, even-toned. On purpose.“Well, technically-““You can’t well, technically about cheating, Dad. You literally made Buck teach me that.” Which had been the most awkward conversation ever.“I didn’t make him.”“You asked him, which is like the same thing for you two.”Dad’s cheeks flush hot pink.“So you and Marisol would watch the news?” he says, circling back.“Yeah, before bed. We used to have this assignment in English class sometimes to write about a story we’d seen in the news. It was kinda dumb, but I’d always try and write about first responders. Whatever.”Dad smiles soft and gross and Chris kinda regrets being born at all, a little bit. But he’s in too deep to stop now. With the story. And his life in general.“And one time it was, like, a fire in an apartment building maybe. We saw the 118’s engine, and she wanted to turn it off but I convinced her not to.” Chris could convince Marisol of almost anything, at the time. She always wanted to be on his good side. It was useful. “Then the whole time we were watching, she wouldn’t let go of the remote. She kept her finger on the off button, but didn’t press it.”Dad closes his eyes, and opens them again to ask, “Why are you telling me this?”Chris shrugs, but answers anyways, “It was like if something happened to you, she could turn the TV off and we wouldn’t have to watch. Which is stupid. Even if I didn’t see, you’d still be hurt. And I’d rather know than not know.”“I can’t argue with that.”“And I thought of it, ‘cause Buck wouldn’t have held the remote like that.”“No?” Dad asks. He’s frowning again, just a little bit, but the mustache makes it worse. “What would Buck have done?”“Something stupid,” Chris says decisively, “Like follow you into the burning building.”Dad lets out a breathy laugh, then catches himself. Like it’s not funny. Like it’s not even a joke so much as it’s a fact of life.Dad and Buck have been inseparable for as much of Chris’s life as he can remember clearly. And this thing between them doesn’t change anything. Nothing important.“Well, yeah. That’s in the job description I’m afraid.” He looks carefully at Chris. “Is this your weird way of telling me that Buck passes your test? That you are okay with us dating?”Chris shrugs.“Yeah, it’s whatever.”“Come on. I want to know how you really feel about this. About us, you and me. And me and Buck.” Dad scrubs a hand across his face. “You went all the way to Texas and we barely spoke for three months. Then you came home and it’s like hardly anything’s changed. I love you, kid. More than anything. But I’m only human. I can’t read your mind. I need more than whatever. ”“Okay, fine,” Chris says, something hot and heavy pooling in his chest. He snaps his eyes shut - the only way he’ll ever finish what he needs to say. “It’s got nothing to do with Buck. Date him, don’t date him. Whichever makes you happier. But it’d be nice if you considered me before you decided. I want you to care what I think before you do stuff, and not just after I react to it.”Dad makes a noise, like he wants to reply, but Chris keeps going before he can.“I want choices, Dad.” He wipes at the wetness collecting on his cheeks; almost loses his nerve. “And not just fake ones like if I think you should end a relationship that obviously makes you happy. I wanna watch the news, even when things go wrong. I wanna know if you’re having a hard time before you completely lose your mind. I want some warning. About anything. Ever. I’m sick of everything just happening to me. I’m sick of being left behind, and swept away, and buried alive.”It takes up less space in his heart, now that he’s said it out loud.It’s not small, but it’s smaller.
“Chris-”“That’s why I went to Texas,” he admits. It’s the only time he’s ever been able to put it into words. “Because it was something I could choose to do. And it wasn’t like what I thought it’d be. Obviously. So I chose to leave. And that’s all I want, Dad. Real choices.”They’re both quiet.Chris blinks his eyes open, meets his Dad’s across the table. And they wait.Quietly.He watches his Dad take a deep deep deep breath and let all of it out in a whoosh that ruffles the paper napkins folded on their table.“Okay,” Dad says, then, “You’re right. Obviously.” He takes another breath. Drags it out. “I haven’t been very fair to you recently. And I want to give you choices. You know, within reason.”“And that means…”“That means you’re fourteen, Chris. I think everything’s going to feel unfair for a while, even when it is actually very fair. And I love you, and I promise to do better, but as you get more freedom, you take more responsibility too.”“That sounds fair.” Chris wants it all. The good and the bad, the ups and the downs.
“It is. And sometimes it’s going to suck. But you gotta promise not to go running back to Texas whenever I say you can’t go out with friends on a school night, or something.”Chris thinks about this past summer. Every moment of his life, organized by his grandparents. Every responsibility he’d earned with his Dad, taken away.Like, yeah, he never had to set the table, or fold his own laundry, or help prepare dinner. But he was never sure whether he was getting some kind of spoiled grandchild treatment, or if they just didn’t think he was capable.“I would never,” Chris swears, then jokingly adds, “Besides, you’ll be too busy with your new boyfriend to notice whether I’m home.”“That’s not even slightly true,” Dad replies in kind with a gentle laugh. “You’re always going to be number one in my life, you know. And Buck knows that too.”No matter where the conversation strays, it always comes back to this.To Buck.
“Dad?”“Yeah?”“Can you do me a favor?” He nods, but doesn’t stop him. “Can you promise me you won't break his heart?” Chris feels like a child asking, but he needs to hear it all the same.“Damn, how do you know he won’t break mine?” Dad asks half-joking, like he already knows that won’t happen.Chris appreciates the confidence.“If he breaks your heart I’ll already be on your side.” Shouldn’t that be obvious? “But if you break his heart, I’ll still have to take your side, ‘cause you’re my Dad, but I’ll be kinda emotionally conflicted about it.”“Emotionally conflicted?” Dad furrows his brow.“From experience, yeah.” He doesn’t say her name again, but he thinks about Marisol and how she’d left so fast, after. And how he’d wanted to say something to her, anything, but he’d been too upset to speak.He almost texted her, from Texas. The only other person who could come close to understanding the betrayal he felt.He deleted her number instead.He never wants a reason to delete Buck’s number.“Okay. I promise not to cause any undue emotional conflict for you.”He holds out his hand so they can shake on it, right as their drinks arrive.“Good timing,” Dad says, thanking the server and turning back to Chris. “So, you promise you’re okay with Buck joining the family?”It’s gotta be the millionth time he’s asked, and Chris almost changes his mind and says no to spite him.Almost.“He’s not really joining anything he wasn’t already a part of,” he says instead.“Yeah.” Dad sips his coffee, gets a little foam stuck in the bristles of his mustache. It’s so gross, but Chris tries not to mind. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”“Don’t know where I got that from?” he jokes.“Well I know where you get that attitude from.” He reaches all the way across the table to mess up Chris’s hair like an asshole . And it’s silly and normal and God Chris has missed feeling normal.“In the interest of honesty,” Dad says ominously, between sips of coffee. “Can I run something by you? Before it happens.”“Shoot.”“Buck’s been hanging out at ours more.”“Has he?” Chris asks sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed.”“Ha ha, very funny.” Dad sticks out his tongue. “Well. Buck’s been hanging around ours more. And he might want to stay over sometimes. And I might want that, also. If that’s cool with you?”“What, like, in your room?” he asks, to make his Dad blush again.It’s really cringe how embarrassed he gets when anyone reminds him that he and Buck like like each other. Chris really should do it more often.It works perfectly even though his Dad leans heavy on the sarcasm when he replies, “No actually. I was going to make him sleep on the couch.”Chris pretends to think about it, but it’s an easy answer.“Nah, he should probably stay in your room.” His Dad smiles, all the way up to his eyes. “With the door shut, so I can’t hear his snoring. Or anything else.”“Chris!” his dad exclaims, but he’s laughing, too.
Chris shrugs. He’s not that naive.“I think we can make that happen.”And because Chris has never believed in quitting while he’s ahead, he pushes one step further.“And I think when he does, you know, stay over, you should make him breakfast burritos like the ones you made for my birthday. So he can feel more included in our Latino culture.” It’s a paper-thin excuse, but the best one Chris has.“And am I making them just for Buck?” Dad asks, with an almost straight face, save for a familiar glint in his eye.Chris over-exaggerates a shrug.“Well making three is like the same effort as making two, right…”Dad raises his brow, holds it as long as can, then breaks out in a goofy smile, and Chris knows he’s won.“Alright. So Buck’s going to start staying over, and I’m gonna make breakfast burritos for him. As is our culture.”“Exactly.” Chris sips his coffee. It’s not quite as good as it was in Texas. Actually, it’s kinda bitter. And too milky. He might not actually like coffee at all, but he can never, ever tell his Dad. “And maybe if we’re lucky he’ll keep hanging around. And won’t want to leave.”“Is that something you’d be okay with? Not right away, obviously. But eventually?”Chris thinks the answer should be obvious by now. But he says it anyway.“Only if he knows that once he moves in, he’s not allowed to move back out.”Dad laughs.“I think he’ll be okay with that.”“Yeah, so do I.”