While the biscuits cooled, Ted asked Trent about his childhood and favorite things. First concert/best concert. Whether he thought dreams meant anything. What happened between him and Isaiah.
Trent answered everything. No one ever talked with him with as much enthusiasm or interest as Ted. It made him feel seen in a way he hadn't since he and Isaiah first officially got together and that terrified him. He felt safe there in Ted's flat, but it also felt like a bubble. That once he left, the feeling of security would pop and he'd be exposed as a fraud somehow because he was seen as this ruthless journalist, but really he was a lonely man with feelings and was scared how much he missed this kind of emotional and intellectual intimacy with someone else.
Being a journalist, he had been on the other side of this many times—someone shared something personal with him and he would go about the rest of his life knowing that personal thing, whether he ever spoke to that person again or not. Over the years, Trent learned to let go of things people have told him to make room for new things. But Ted was someone who remembered everything about everything. And it was terrifying knowing Ted was purposefully asking Trent for more information about himself for that very reason.
"Why are you doing this, Ted?"
The kitchen timer sounded and Ted leapt from his chair and picked up a knife.
"Doing what? Cutting biscuits? I can't fit them in the little boxes otherwise, Trent. No one wants a solid slab of shortbread. Though maybe they do? I haven't really asked—"
"—Stop," Trent said firmly, but gently. "Please?" He took of his glasses and pinched the top of his nose, gathering his thoughts. Ted put the knife down, but stayed standing at the counter. "What happens after?"
"After what, Trent?"
Trent sighed. "After today, Ted. We know things now."
Ted whistled. "Whoo boy. 'Things.' That might be the least descriptive thing I've ever heard you say or write. Spending time with me must have melted your brain, sir."
"Ted, I'm serious. We could ruin each other's careers."
"And I'm gonna ruin these biscuits if I don't cut them now." Ted picked up the knife to finish what he started, but almost immediately he put it back down and shook his head. "You gotta understand, Trent, I don't know what happens after today. Because that's not up to me."
"Are you saying it's up to me?"
Ted shrugged. "What if it was?"
"Is it?"
"It is not. But I think it's both frustrating and kinda cute that you think either of us should know exactly what is going on here. Lemme ask you this: Yesterday, did you think you would end up at my kitchen table today letting me ask you all the nosy questions you usually are trying to get other folks to answer?"
"For the record, I've never asked anyone their favorite dinosaur."
"Well, maybe you should work that into interviews in the future. Kids get asked all the time, but adults don't. And I'm pretty sure every adult has a favorite dinosaur. It's just something you know," Ted said matter-of-factly. "But I digress! Yes or no, Trent—yesterday did you think you would be sitting at my kitchen table today?"
"No," Trent said firmly, but then he sighed.
"And I sure as heck didn't think I would meet your granddad today. In fact, I am confident that meeting your granddad was not even on the Ted Lasso Bingo Card of Random Life Events. And that's an American bingo card, Trent. The kind you can do diagonals on because it's a perfect square." Ted left his uncut biscuits on the counter and sat back down with Trent at the table. "Look… tomorrow isn't written in stone. And whatever this…," Ted gestured between himself and Trent, "is or is not shaping up to be isn't either. You do realize we were barely friends before today? Your job—Trent Crimm, The Independent—is literally to criticize and/or celebrate the results of me doing my job. But you—'for fuck's sake, just call me Trent'—well, you're the latest mystery on the book shelf and I only got a couple pages in so far."
"Am I… worth reading?" Trent asked.
Ted bit back a grin, appreciating Trent went along with his metaphor. "I think so." His smile slowly dropped as he got serious. "But I also think it's Christmas and we were both kinda sad and lost when we found each other earlier today. And I always said the only thing worse than being sad, is being sad when you're alone. And I wasn't alone today, Trent. Because of you. And I'm always gonna be thankful to you for that, no matter what."
"But?" Trent assumed Ted had more to say, because Ted always had more to say.
"But, I know it's a lot to think about. Because it's not just us. It's kids. And jobs. And conflict of interest. But also interest, you know?" Ted sighed. "I can't tell you what happens after today because I don't know. But I do know that today would be a journal entry with a star next to it and maybe some sort of smiley face sticker with heart eyes."
Trent smiled and nodded. It was a good day. And there was a lot to think about because there could be potential real-world consequences.
Ted clapped Trent on the shoulder and went back to the counter to see if anything could be done with his shortbread that was now far too cool to cut nicely. "These are gonna have to be 'it's the thought that counts biscuits' because they are not my finest work."