Tucker blinks once, twice, then shakes his head. “What?”
“Gluten-free pizza.”
“Oh. Well, that was sweet, but I can’t have pizza from a shop because of cross contamination.”
“It’s homemade,” I say quickly, then flee back toward the living room.
I lean against the island, taking deep breaths, only realizing a few moments later that Cupcake stayed behind with Tucker. Five minutes later a dry Tucker returns to the kitchen clad in my sweats and T-shirt that falls to his mid-thighs. Theorange-and-white shirt stands out against his fair complexion. A pink flush colors his cheeks, either from the cold or embarrassment. I can’t really tell which one.
“Pizza,” I say like the stupid idiot I am.
Tucker sniffles slightly, as if maybe he’s fighting back tears. “Thanks.”
I put two slices on a plate for each of us and nod toward the table. Tucker takes a seat, his hand still on Cupcake’s head like he’s soaking up all the comfort she can provide.
“Want a drink? I have soda now after last time.”
“Juice?”
“Uhm… grape juice?”
“Yeah, that’s great. Thank you.”
I fill up a glass with juice and return to the table, taking a seat after handing Tucker the glass. His long fingers wrap around it for a moment before he lifts it to his mouth. He closes his eyes tight after drinking, then sets the glass down, gaze on the table. A few moments of awkward silence fill the room, until Tucker lifts his gaze to mine.
“Thank you. I should’ve called.”
“It’s all right. It’s just clothes.”
Tucker smiles slightly. “Homemade gluten-free pizza though. Did you… Did you use new cutlery?”
I realize that he’s trying to see if the food is safe for him before digging in. Probably not used to trusting people, or he’s used to having people fuck up. And I worry for a moment that maybe I did fuck up, maybe I didn’t do it all right. What if he accidentally ingests gluten and I make him sick? God, I’d feel like a total asshole.
“I bought all-new kitchenware, a new pizza pan, new everything. I even cleaned my oven.”
“You cleaned your oven?” Tucker asks, something close to worry coloring his voice. “You went to too much trouble. You didn’t have to do this at all.”
“I wanted to. It’s not a big deal. I had a teammate go vegan and I tried it for a while. We’d trade recipes. I like trying new things.”
“Okay.”
Instead of saying anything else, I grab a slice of pizza and take a big bite. Tucker relaxes a little, his shoulders lowering from around his ears, and takes a decent bite himself. His eyes close on the first bite. I want to kiss him, but Tucker reminds me of a wary wild animal, one that could strike at the first sign of attack. I think I have to play the slow game with him, so being his friend first will have to do. I can wait, and if we’re only ever friends, that’ll be okay too, because I think he could use more friends.
“So?”
Tucker smiles sheepishly. “You can’t tell Pop, but it’s better than Dad’s pizza.”
“I will definitely not tell your pop that. Brent is Pop?”
Tucker laughs lightly, clearly delighted. “Yes. Brent is Pop and Mark is Dad. Brent tried to go for the father angle, but as a child, I wasn’t having it. The six-foot-three giant of a man was destined to be a pop.”
“I can see that.” I take a bite of my own pizza, and it’s not bad. The dough has a slightly different consistency than I’m used to, but it tastes like pizza, which is what matters most. Probably the copious amounts of cheese I added. “You’re adopted?”
Tucker nods around a mouthful of pizza. “Yeah.” Tucker covers his mouth with his hand, which is cute in an odd sortof way. “They fostered me at first, then adopted me. My mother was a drug addict.”
“Oh.”
Tucker shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s part of my story. Brent and Mark are my dads. They raised me, clothed me, loved me. They’re my parents.”
