Child'splay

[Cicada]

Patrice was Camila's favorite person.

She recognized that children so young weren't so equipped to carry themselves with poise and dignity- that was what she liked. Pretensions were necessary and easily learned, but no less annoying. Camila liked Patrice and her mother precisely because the nonsense and noise were kept to a minimum. Refreshingly candid, and heartening, to be of help to someone who truly needed it. An old friend, and the plus one who'd never be transient in her friend's life. Maybe in her own- though Camila knew better than to assume she'd always be around when it mattered. Things changed, ambitions evolved.

Camila remembered the last few months of the pregnancy well. She'd never gotten why the others from school had been skittish, distant. Nothing important had changed- far as Camila was concerned, Tonya was the same regardless of how many mouths she had to feed.

Camila was glad the Collins liked her cooking. But she'd have learned new recipes if called for, of course. No need to be limited by ones pride.

She knocked efficiently, only once but with enough knuckle to break stone. The aluminum trays, still freshly hot from the oven, gathered slick suits of condensation while they sweated, stacked together in a single reused Macy's bag.

"Here," Camila called out, simply.

[Somersault]

Small brown eyes looking up to hers. The sucking of teeth on a pacifier. Cries and coos, one after the other, a big ol' cycle of anger, fear, then love.

It was the smallest things, Tonya thought, that'd be the ones she'd remember the longest. Sure, that meant the countless nights spent standing next to the crib, singing songs, hymns and prayers in an effort to get Patrice to sleep would never get drowned out, but she felt as though she could leave them circling the drain for a bit longer. All part and parcel with her baby.

It was nice, honestly, when it was only her and Patrice in the room. Her baby’s cries the only sound, and even if just for a moment, time stretched out like a toddler’s hand. Wasn’t as if Patrice was gonna hit that point for at least another year or so, but they were nice thoughts to think about, just for a little while, before one of the twins barged into the room looking for her Girl Scout uniform and the whole thing tumbled over.

Letting people into that world willingly was rough, but if there was anyone she knew could deal with it all in stride, it was Camila. No-nonsense, no-BS Camila. Stuck by her now, stuck by her hopefully forever, really, but right now, Tonya just appreciated a visit from Patrice’s favorite auntie. Along with the food, of course.

Camila’s call was answered with the slow turning of a door knob. Gradually, it opened, revealing Tonya’s makeup-free face, possessing eyes that looked surprisingly alive compared to what lay underneath them.. She smiled, as she lightly jostled the baby in her arms, making sure her child’s attention was firmly placed on the new visitor.

“Hey, girl,” She said, voice bright. “See you got something in store there.”

Tonya turned her eyes from the the Macy’s bag to Camila, then. Patrice did too and waved, if the herky-jerky hand motions of a barely over a year old child could be considered a wave.

“…And, I also see that Pat’s excited to see her Auntie Cam! Just come in, though, y’all know the drill by now.”

[Cicada]

The face didn't fool Camila and it never would. It was a superficial mask, Tonya was more than her own backbroken exhaustion and brittle lips.

Camila smiled. Simple and earnest- no embellishment. She took the bag in one hand, took the weight of the door with her opposite shoulder. A practical and efficient exchange of responsibilities, with no need for either party to say a word. They worked well together- Camila might have called Tonya a business partner, in some context more metaphorical than literal. The highest honor she could bestow.

Patrice made gestures that were possibly a wave if interpreted as dubiously as if they were reading literature in English class.

The thing about this little bundle of child that was quintessentially as of yet valueless to society save as an investment in the longest period possible was that... Camila was by her own admission not much given to sentiment. She believed that made these teledrama moments all the more meaningful. Patrice's eyes met Camila's for a moment before her infant mind would confirm it was 'Auntie Cam' and would move on to be infinitely fascinated by odd shapes and colors in the distance. That moment lifted Camila's spirit into the bathing warmth of purity in a way no church ever could. Claude's adorably insistent evangelizing aside. Camila was often relaxed in school as her calling card, but she was never quite this genuinely soft in aura and energy. She held out a palm to Patrice's own with a lift of the bag. Patrice seemed to be vaguely interested in the odd bundle of plastic.

"One for you, one for Ma and Pa-" so frequently she lived in this house nowadays that Tonya's parents were some spiritual extension of her own, "and one each for the twins." They all had different tastes, imagine that. Camila excluded a custom dish for Patrice, for exceedingly obvious reasons.

With no further fanfare Camila waited for Tonya to clear the door before she entered, letting it swing shut silently behind her. She walked confidently, she literally knew it as well as her own home. Straight to the family's personal table- paella would lose texture if allowed to sweat without air for too long.

"Has she started standing yet? I'm almost selfish enough to hope she can wait until I'm around to see it," she giggled.

[Somersault]

Tonya stepped back as Camila made her way in through the back door, her entrance into this homiest of homes welcomed. There weren't many people outside of family Tonya let in here, not many people Tonya would have trusted with anything so dear, so precious, this tiny two-bedroom apartment embedded into the restaurant, but Camila? She imagined it was probably her friend's second home now, a place to at least try to make shit happen in. She wasn't often open, no,, not even Barry had been let in here, but the open door felt like it was letting in a ray of light into the house.

On second thought, that may have just been the wafting of the paella getting to her, but she still welcomed the feeling nonetheless. It was easy to imagine, just a tiny bit, that Patrice's eyes lit up when she saw her Auntie. Maybe she wasn't just seeing things, maybe her baby really was opening up, but either way, it was pleasant. It was easy. And that was all that was needed.

"Yeah, you know the Double A's can't handle their spice, right?" Tonya nodded as Camila explained the contents of the bag, although she knew what was already in store. She was probably the Collins' adopted daughter by now, her comings and goings just as known in this house as the Canizares'. Ma and Pa probably regarded her with more respect than they did her at this point, honestly. The daughter they always wanted. The daughter that didn't screw up and get knocked up by the first man who seemed to give a damn about her. Cooked good, did good, even had the pond thing.

A jolt of bitterness rushed through her at the thought, but just as quickly as it occurred, she dusted it off like oil on a plate, spic and span once more.

Camila was her friend, was Patrice's auntie, and so she smiled again, flip-flops following after just like that, Patrice kept tight to her body. Tonya tilted her head at Camila's inquiry, shaking her head with a smile.

"I mean, if you count her getting up then falling over again, then mmm, yeah, plenty of times." She pursed her lips for a moment. "But like, walking walking? Nah, you still got some luck there."

Tonya had some luck getting all this help, but at the end of the day, it was still hard to admit that. Wasn't the time, anyways.

[Cicada]

Camila was glad- the restaurant was bursting with customer patronage, there was important business to be had outside- but Ma and Pa- Mr. and Mrs. Collins, were missing in action. The house was smaller when they were there, smaller than it already was. It was hard to avoid them.

She loved them enough to call them family, but there was something about their doting on her, their familiarity with her quirks such that they could know when she'd come over almost before she herself would, that sat wrong with her. A degree of closeness inching ever nearer to her precious vitals, exposed.

Camila believed it was one thing to want to help out, but another thing entirely to be wanted.

"It's not even food without spice, but as they ask so it shall be." Camila wasn't particularly bothered, her deadpan tone indicative or otherwise. She knew it was mere practicality to anticipate other's unusual tastes. A matter of negotiation and exchange- one sacrificed a bit of themselves, for the other. It was no big asking, no price too steep to pay.

"Even the falling over is an important step," Camila sighed with fond regard for Patrice's increasingly rambunctious soft and squishy prodding of her mother with both hands and feet extra. "Well, an important not-quite step."

She began to arrange the food, plate it. She knew the drawers with the plates- the ones big enough to hold enough servings for two days, if stored exactly as Camila instructed and drilled on since day one. She was no restaurant manager. Food met plate, sans the art of arrangement.

"What about you? I haven't seen you in classes since you came back." Idle talk, which Camila only sometimes tolerated.

[Somersault]

It was easy as always to slip into that same old rhythm of conversation, shooting the shit just like so. Everything here just felt so much less cramped, less crowded, free of the eyes who'd give her shit, the raised eyebrows, the snickers lurking at the edge of people's smiles.

"Ha!" Tonya laughed, just a bit. "Mmm, but they're still family, ya know?" Camila knew, and that was sorta soothing, a balm to the burn. Someone else welcome here, someone else free to roam. Still, Tonya had to admit, she'd never been comfortable like that, the moments of silence, of calm, because as soon as they ended, she'd be thrust back into the world, into the shit, and boom, baddabing, bash, she'd be in shit creek again.

Her smile, this time, was tinged with something far bitterer than what Camila held in her hands.

She nodded along, seeing so need to respond to Camila's comments. 'Sides, Patrice was tarting to get a little jumpy, and so she rocked her. Just to get her to calm, to give her some measure of peace. To preserve this tiny moment for just a little longer, some kind of shitty snowglobe.

The plates were being set now, Camila setting up the family meal, and again, a rush of both joy and something awful shot through Tonya, each trying to wrest control. She was meant to be happy, right?

So, she tried. Get everything off her chest, breathe in, get rid of the pressure on her heart because she wanted to be setting the plates be the one doing it all and instead-

"Uh," She scratched the back of her hair with her free hand, feeling the coils of her hair. "This is really sudden, and like I know you do this all the time, seriously, but, well, thank you."

Tonya stepped forward.

"Like, for all this, because with her," She looked down at Patrice to emphasize her point. "It can be tough. So, mmm, yeah, really appreciate it." Something to cool the waters, stop the tides.

[Cicada]

Camila watched Patrice's eyes as she was rocked. The little flakes of her iris serenely drifted, put into motion.

"I am your guest, after all. I have to pull my weight."

Camila thought the mood had shifted. Somewhere and somehow she'd wandered into something less comfortable than her best friends home- an instinct without definitive proof, which Camila tended to trust most of all.

"Everyone always needs help, I guess. Even girls like us." They shared that much in common. The tendency to be still plodding along when everyone else had abandoned the last kitchen light to its burn out.

Camila gently and barely pulled out a chair, and fixed herself to it by her forearms. She wondered if they'd need a moment to talk. Maybe Patrice would need somewhere cozy too.

[Somersault]

It wasn’t a lot. Barely a little, even, small mound of something tryna become better, shit like that. It was enough, though, to let the air back into her lungs, replace the burning with something lighter.

“Yeah, that’s truth right there, but it’s hard to ask sometimes, ain’t it?” This felt brittle, almost, a pop-tart kept in the freezer too long. Pouring more of herself out, hoping that the emptiness wouldn’t be replaced by molten heat. Things’d changed, Tonya knew, there were still the bubbles, but this was still home.

She smirked at Camila pulling out the chair, even though it was kinda a warm one. Girls like them. Girls like them. Funny. From the time she’d gotten popped out of her mom, Tonya hadn’t really gotten along with other girls much. First the teasing then the tantrums, and now, eye rolls and avoidance. Their fault, always, because it fucking was. The eyes, the laughter, the smiles.

A single hand pulled out a chair, sat down, keeping care to ensure no toppling. She faced Camila directly, grin rueful now. Camila was different, right? Always had been, always would be, hopefully, even if those same old fears popped up like zits.

“Well, you need some help of your own? Not as if I’ve got much to do.” Wasn’t as if her social life was exactly poppin’ off.

[Cicada]

"If we asked more we might both be better off." Camila chose to spoke her mind- and probably, her friend's own thoughts lurking somewhere under the surface. "But there's a reason we both stopped bothering." Camila also smiled, matching warmth with warmth. Such that they could have set the kitchen on fire between themselves, one of them the sharp flint, one the hard steel. Tonya sat and Camila followed. There was no need for powerful posturing or jockeying for position. Camila normally consciously liked to subtly imply masculinity, power, with her seated poise. She let her legs now languidly droop to one side, knee stacked onto knee, thighs zipped up- it was comfortable, cuter.

"It could be."

Camila hadn't had much chance to vent- she usually didn't bother to look for a reason to.

"Less than a year left."

Camila had been reflecting as of late, going over ledgers that she neatly arranged, accounts stored in her thoughts that measured her finances to the cent. She was stagnant, she had realized. She'd taken losses on the marijuana, she paid out too much in expenses on the pond. Bringing anything to market was more a waste of time than not. She'd never been infected by bravado, but she'd always assumed she'd make business work. She had expected improvement and growth, and only had just noticed that the future she was running towards was a greenscreen and that she was on a treadmill.

"Not sure what I'm going to do when it's over, I guess. I think I need to go somewhere else, but I'm not sure what I'd do. I might be losing my touch." All said frankly. Camila didn't think much of her own vague anxieties.

She often didn't show emotion, she liked to smile and laugh most of her problems away. She was still smiling now. No need to actually ask for Tonya's help- she just wanted the conversation, without the pressure of expectation.

[Somersault]

“Yeah, that’s right.” There were the tips of a laugh in her voice, a hearty chuckle, but Tonya chose to keep that under, at least for now. Baby was still in her lap, she was still trying to calm the baby, and stuff like that wouldn’t serve to do much ‘cept to disturb that fragile, fragile peace. Still had to admit, though, this was nice- nothing more complicated than that. No need to be a fake bitch, no need to smile if you really didn’t feel like that shit, and in its place? A warm, fireplace-like glow. Least, that’s what she was thinking. Never had the opportunity to use an actual fireplace before, but she could dream.

Dream like she was now, chatting about future ambitions and plans as if the world really gave some kinda damn about what they wanted. She’d try, ‘course, had some stuff lined up, but still, the beating train of inevitability always felt like it was just one rounded corner away from catching up.

“Honestly,” Tonya started, lighter lilt to her voice now. “I’m gonna be kinda glad to be outta there, actually.”

She was real sure that Camila could’ve guessed that, considering she could probably count the number of people she actually gave a damn about in class on like two and a half hands, but it was still good to admit that. Maybe she could’ve tried to open herself up, try to be friendlier, and maybe there was still time, but Tonya was having a hard time seeing as to how that’d be a good use of her own time.

“I get you, though. ‘Nooga is...something, alright. And don’t you have family out of state?” Not much to really offer in the way of advice, but just something to tide things over.

Especially because while Camila seemed at a loss, Tonya more or less knew what she was gonna do. Seating people, managing staff, keeping the checkbook on track, all the cogs to keep one tiny restaurant running as smoothly as ever. Maybe it’d have been better to take some sorta solace in that, that certainty, but really? She wasn’t sure if she could take that, herself.

[Cicada]

"Miami. But somehow that seems like treading tired ground." Camila shrugged. "Stupid, I know."

Hubris was a waste of entrepreneurial spirit.

Tonya and Camila continued to tread circles around the same idea- they were both, in some way, beyond the limited spirit of their graduating class. Not necessarily above, but certainly not below. They were both destined to trace unique paths in life, to trailblaze. At least, Camila felt a little more confident in that idea again. She could dare to dream- and all it took was a little silliness with a friend, a little gratuity of each pretending for a moment that things could be solved and be okay. Such was motivation.

Yet the moment passed, fleeting. Camila got the sense that neither of them was quite in the mood to ring around the rosie- that ended with people falling down.

"We talk up a storm," Camila's definition of 'a storm' anyways, when all her syllables tended to be expressed in single digits. "But I wonder if either of us truly know what we're doing. We have to know- for the sake of our futures, for Patrice's... but we probably don't."

Honesty, at least, remained comfortable and consistent a trend.

[Somersault]

“Well,” Tonya started, the shrug visible in her words. “Nothing much we can do ‘sides work and hope, right? Not really a whole lotta certainty in this life.”

To a point, uncertainty terrified Tonya. The question marks yet to be filled in, blank box after blank box, like the one left by that fucking asshole on Patrice’s birth certificate. Shit, shit, shit, all of it, but it was part of why she loved Jeopardy so much. There was always a right answer, a clear-ass one, one that showed everything was gonna be just alright and just cool and not leave her wondering whether she was just being a plain-old fuckup,

Not a fuckup for having Patty, nah, baby was her baby, but for everything after that. No one else at Hunter had another living person to think about, ‘cause they were way too caught up in trying to fuck each other, but she could have done shit. She could have tried, but she didn’t, so she was here, talking about shit as if she’d done shit.

“I mean, the whole restaurant thing is a family business, so...”

The silence said all it needed to, the weight placed down on her by birth. She smiled, too, but it was a bitter and chapped thing. It was certain, it was clear as fuck, but she still wasn’t sure if that path was her’s.

[Cicada]

Camila nodded.

"And that might not be what you want, but it's what she needs."

She, the subject of the sentence, yawned a bubble as Camila nodded solemnly her way, acknowledging Patrice without saying her name.

"We all do what we have to do. You taught me that, and I'm prepared to settle into a mundane life. If I gotta." A shrug. There was a nervous energy buzzing like a slightly over plump battery in her thigh, it bounced her ankle, and she wanted to get up and move, do something, but she remained still.

"We're both grown ups now, I guess."

It went without saying. Camila felt like a bit of an idiot, restating the obvious.

"But that doesn't mean we have to like it." Funny that. Camila had been looking forward to another year and another dollar for the longest time. Trepidation wasn't really her thing. She supposed she was just unsure, the thing was, she wasn't too confident she knew what she was really unsure of. Couldn't have just been the sense of unpreparedness- she knew experience came with time. Maybe it was the sense that she was losing something. But she made it plain how much she didn't care for school. Had to be something else.

Patrice's eyes wandered, happily unaware of the answers to anything.