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[antimonyandthyme]

martian; retirement (as told by oscar)

They do a massive barbecue at the end of Seb’s visit. Mark’s steaks have been soaking in some special homemade marinade for precisely six hours. He’s got enough potatoes to feed a farm.

He forgets the salad.

“You forgot the salad,” Seb says. He sounds absolutely delighted. He’s sounded this way ever since Mark picked him up at the airport. But even more so at the moment. “All that talk about this being the best meal I’ll get this side of town, and you forgot the salad.”

“He’ll never let me live this down,” Mark says.

“I won’t,” Seb confirms.

Oscar owes it to Mark to help, just a little bit. “Isn’t there a Woolworths just around the corner?”

Mark’s face does something very funny. It takes a moment for Oscar to realize Mark’s sulking, like he’s genuinely upset he has to get salad from a store. Like it’s not going to be good for Seb or something. As if Mark could put a burnt steak in front of Seb, and Seb wouldn’t eat as if his life depended on it. How do you go from crashing into each other to this?

Seb checks Mark in the hip, and pries the tongs out of Mark’s unwilling hand. Oscar watches as their fingers tangle, not so briefly, before they separate. “I won’t let the meat burn, I promise.”

Mark sighs, and goes to grab the car keys.

“Do me a favour,” Seb says, “accompany him for me, will you? Don’t let him get lost at the salad bar.”

“Do my best,” Oscar says. Something in Seb’s tone makes Oscar look. Really look. At Mark standing in front of the chilled chafing dishes containing coleslaw and mixed greens.

At Mark staring right past, lost in thought.

Oscar reaches for a takeout container, and ladles a heap of Caesar salad in. Decides to get a little fancy and scatter some goat cheese atop. He clears his throat, and Mark nearly jumps.

“I’ve had this before,” Oscar tries. He’s gunning for it blind here. “Totally decent salad. I’m sure Seb wouldn’t mind.”

Mark lets out a small chuff of laughter. “You could give him a slice of toast and he’d thank you for it.”

“Okay,” Oscar says. He clicks the tongs in his hand for something to do. Ting ting. Then he reaches for another takeout container, and spoons the Thai salad in. The more the merrier, Seb would agree. “So why—?”

“I keep trying to convince myself this wouldn’t be the last I see of him for awhile.”

“It won’t,” Oscar protests. “He’s retired now. He has more time.”

“For his bees, and the sailing, and the exploring, and the whatever that comes after retirement. So what should I say? Stay here instead?”

There isn’t an answer for that. Oscar can’t pretend he’s ever wanted that of someone. Maybe someday. Maybe never. Seb and Mark don’t seem to be enjoying it. The wanting that of someone.

The containers are getting ridiculously full. Mark doesn’t reach for them yet. So, delicately, Oscar sprinkles a layer of sesame seeds on top.

“We’ve been apart so often,” Mark says, unprompted. “We’ve had our own schedules most of our lives, and this isn’t any different. I know I’m being silly.”

“You’re not,” Oscar says. It doesn’t feel strange, saying that to someone he looks up to in every which way possible. Someone in charge of his future. He wants that devastation wiped off Mark’s face. “I’ve seen how you look at each other.”

It’s how Mark’s gaze is turned upwards whenever Seb’s telling a story, like a plant searching out the light. It’s how Seb’s eyes dance across everyone in the room before landing on Mark. Floating away, then settling back. Floating away, then settling back again. It’s never grandiose declarations like, Stay here with me forever. It’s the drifting, through landscape after landscape, and the returning each and every time.

“Maybe,” Oscar says, “if you asked.”

“If I asked, he would.”

Which is why Mark will never. Oscar knows that much about love, at least. Something about letting go. He snaps the lids of the containers shut. Mark trails after him, and only shakes out of his stupor when Oscar tries to pay for the salads.

Seb greets them at the door with an anxiousness Oscar’s familiar with. Tongs in his hand, Ting ting.

“Did you get lost?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Oscar says. Next to him, Mark stiffens. “Do you know how many varieties of salad Woolworths has?”

Mark presents the containers to Seb with a flourish. Their fingers overlay. Oscar imagines pressing his own hands on top, like Stay, stay.

Stay if you know what’s good for you.

“Oh my god,” Mark says.

The barbeque smells as if it’s caught fire.

“You like your meat well done, right?” Seb looks hopeful. He also looks like he’s on the verge of panic. Like the brief moment away from Mark had done him in. Made him forget his name, and all that comes with it, reputation and inheritance and legacy.

That gaze of Seb’s again, darting away, lingering on Mark, darting away, lingering on Mark once more.

“One forgets the salad, and one forgets the meat,” Oscar says. He kinda wants to yell at them for being idiots. He’s almost embarrassed for them both. Mostly, he’s just hungry. “The two of you deserve each other.”

But Mark’s laughing now, and Seb’s joined him, shoulders shaking. Oscar grumbles and goes to rummage around the kitchen for something edible. No one has ever said ex-Formula 1 drivers were smart. They’ve spent too long driving around in circles to understand that the quickest way from point A to B is a straight line.

Hah. That’s a good one.

There’s linguine in Mark’s cupboard, and two tins of unopened tomato sauce. Nothing goes better with potatoes than even more carbs.

“Expired in 2021,” Seb reads.

“I don’t care,” Oscar says fervently. “Can I leave the boiling of water to you, or will you burn that too?”

“I like him,” Seb says to Mark brightly. Mark gives Seb a look, watery and resigned and so fucking fond. “You’ll continue giving him a hard time for me, won’t you?”

“Do my best,” Oscar says.

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