Free Toronto Tales 1 - Cop Out by KC Burn Page B

often homes had this much property this close to the downtown core. Davy told him they’d bought the place about a year after he and Ben got together, and they were one of the few on the street who retained the large yard, instead of tearing down the house and rebuilding with a much larger one. Kurt approved of the decision; Davy’s house had a lot more character than the enormous new homes.
    On the patio, four chairs and a table sat, months of disuse obvious from their grimy state. After a small patch of grass, the jungle began. Right at the demarcation, a large green plastic bin sat beside a stack of weathered bushel baskets. Kurt approached, and saw Davy on his knees amidst the rows and rows of tomato plants, a half-full bushel basket to his right. His back was to Kurt, and his shoulders were shaking.
    Kurt walked around the bin, a few dried leaves crunching under his feet. His approach didn’t go unnoticed, as Davy’s back stiffened, and he turned toward Kurt.
    “Jeez, Davy, what happened?” Davy’s shirt was streaked bright red, and the sight made his heart pound and reach again for a weapon that wasn’t there. Kurt skidded around and knelt before Davy, inspecting his shirt. “Where are you bleeding?”
Davy’s eyes flared before he let out a watery snuffle. “It’s tomatoes.”
    Oh. Tomatoes. Kurt’s cheeks flamed, probably about the same color as the few round, ripe tomatoes in the basket. A cool, clammy dampness seeped into his pants, and he stared down at the tomatoes he’d kneeled in—and squished. Ugh.
    “And tomatoes are that upsetting, are they?” They did feel pretty gross, though. Maybe he’d cry too. But it had been a long time since he’d seen Davy this upset, and it constricted his heart like he failed somehow. Then again, most people seemed to agree there were lots of bad days in the first year while the wound healed. It had only been about three months since Ben died—he couldn’t expect miracles.
“I can’t do it, I just can’t do it.”
    “Do what?” Davy was scaring him again. He never would have forgiven himself if Davy had harmed himself in those early days, and now—what if Davy slid back to his early despondency?
    “This. Ben loved this stupid garden, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.” The venom in Davy’s voice was a shock, as was the swearing. Davy didn’t swear often. “I ignored it. I didn’t want to look. Ben planted these the weekend before… before….”
Kurt nodded. He didn’t need Davy to spell it out. “And? Can’t you just pick them?”
    “Ben picks… picked them. I’d make tomato sauce and cabbage rolls, according to his mom’s recipe, and freeze all the leftovers. How can I do that this year? I didn’t even want to come out here. But I left it too late. Can’t you smell it?”
    Sniffing, Kurt was able to smell a sweet, almost sickly scent. Rotten tomatoes. Kurt’s head swiveled, taking in the sheer number of tomato plants, many of them drooping and trailing along the ground with the weight of the fruit. Shit. Ben must have really liked tomatoes… or cabbage rolls. Christ.
    “I tried picking them, but I can’t even lift the fucking basket. How the fuck am I going to get rid of them?” Davy’s voice rose, almost shrill in his distress.
    “Hey, calm down.”
“That’s all you ever say!” Davy flung a soft, squishy tomato at him, and it broke open on his shirt with a wet splat. Not rotten, but very, very ripe. Still… Kurt raised a brow and reached out slowly for another super-ripe tomato. Davy’s mouth rounded in an “O” of surprise
    before Kurt threw a tomato in retaliation. He snorted. Davy glared at him, and he scrambled away, arming himself with a tomato in each fist. Standing, Kurt made himself a target before he bent and grabbed several tomatoes, lobbing them at Davy’s ducking and weaving form.
    After several minutes of chasing and, well, food fighting, they collapsed to the ground, panting. Davy was more