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He doesn't mind not being invited in. And it wasn't like he wasn't invited in—he was allowed to use the bathroom, if he needed to, Chimney had said while laughing; just not allowed to interrupt the party while he was all dirty. And it wasn't really a party, either, just—just a gathering, of friends and family and loved ones, just—Maddie had called it a "sprinkle", because Bobby the baby his nephew was the second and they already had enough baby things, they didn't need any more; and when they'd told Buck about it and Buck had asked how he could help—expecting maybe they'd ask him to bake a cake or something, or even maybe that his presence would be present enough—they told him they'd really appreciate it if he got the side yard sorted out before everything died for the summer; and when he'd asked what time to come over thinking maybe they wanted it done before the party they'd just told him the time that the party was happening.
No, he doesn't mind all of that. He doesn't mind anything right now. Not when he has his hands wrist deep in the dirt in the slightly-shaded side yard, feeling around for leftover roots from the tree of heaven that he'd pulled out an hour ago: cut it down with a handsaw, forgoing the poison that reddit suggested because he didn't want Jee touching it accidentally, then splitting the trunk down with a hatchet so he could remove it piece by piece. Not when he's carefully avoiding the bulbs, the irises and the daffodils, because it's the wrong time of year to disturb them. Not when nobody's looking at him so nobody can see that his eyes are leaking a little bit, because—well, it's LA; they probably need the moisture, even if it is a little salty. No, he doesn't mind at all.
He's so busy not minding that he almost doesn't hear the crunch of gravel, almost doesn't see the boots turning off the path and coming toward him, almost doesn't catch the soft way Tommy says his name. And it is Tommy, holding a glass dish covered in tinfoil, looking slightly wrong-footed as he stands there. "Oh, hey, Tommy," Buck says, wiping his eyes quickly with the back of his flannel sleeve. "You here for the party?" They invited you, and not me? he doesn't ask.
"Didn't realize there was a party going on," Tommy says. "I'm here on behalf of Harbor, we signed up for the meal train thing and I was the only one who knew where Chimney lives."
"Oh, that's cool," Buck says.
"Are… you here for the party?" Tommy asks him.
"Oh, no, I'm just helping out," Buck says. He gestures at the pile of roots next to him.
"Tree of heaven," Tommy says. "Those are a real bitch to deal with. What kind of party is it?"
Buck smiles up at him. "It's the shower. Or, no, the sprinkle, Maddie keeps saying. Because they already have all the baby stuff they need. But they didn't have time to have a party before he was born, so…"
"So," Tommy agrees. "And you're… not here for that."
"No," Buck says.
Tommy steps closer. "Boycotting?"
"No," Buck says. "They asked me to do this instead of come to the party."
Tommy's face goes on an extended journey.
"I think I've been bringing the vibes down, lately," Buck says to his pile of roots. "Anyway, how have you been?"
It takes a long time for Tommy to answer. "Honestly, I think everyone's been saying the same thing about me," he finally says. "Hence sending me down here with this casserole pan."
"That sucks, Tommy."
"Yeah," Tommy says. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't we leave the casserole and leave the tree and you and me can go be downers somewhere together?"
Buck drops the root he's holding. "Seriously?"
"Why not?" Tommy says.
"Well, I don't want to—I don't want you to hang out with me out of, like, pity or something," Buck says. There's a big gaping wound in the middle of his chest where his heart should be, and thinking about letting Tommy take him away from here helps; but he doesn't want to know how bad it would feel if Tommy walked away again.
But Tommy doesn't falter. "The smartest guy I know once asked me, why be apart when we can be together, and—I figured now's as good a time as any to apologize for what I said back to him. I have a lot to make up for, Evan."
Buck gets to his feet and dusts off his pants. "Do you think that casserole's any good?"
Tommy looks down at the tin foil. "Probably not, knowing who cooked it."
"Oh," Buck says. "Lucy?"
Tommy's grimace is enough.
"Okay, leave it on the front step. But you're driving. And you're buying. And I'm getting extra avocado."
"Oh, am I?" Tommy asks, but he's already got his hand on Buck's lower back, guiding him down the gravel toward his truck. Buck casts a look back at the mess he's made. The tree is gone, but the crater it left is still there. They'll be stepping around it for a while until he can come back and fill it in. And he will fill it in. He doesn't mind filling it in. It's just—maybe right now he can leave it a little longer.