Common Flowers

[BlizzardeyeWonder]

Camilla still had to reach a bit to get to the shelf where Mom kept the plates. That was okay though. Another year had gone by, Camilla was now 10, and if what Auntie said about growth spurts was true, she'd get hers pretty soon. And she'd read somewhere that her height when she was done growing would be about the average of her parents' height plus a little bit. Looking at her dad, she'd end up being pretty tall, which was gonna be nice.

She got the plates, all piled up, and put the neatly folded napkins on top of that pile, and carried it over to the dining room table, where Mom was waiting. Mom gave her a smile.

"Thanks honey, I'll set these out."

Camilla stood by the table, looking as Mom took the napkins in one hand, and a plate in the other, setting it down on a placemat just so. Her eyes widened.

"Wait!" she cried, as she rushed back to the kitchen. The cabinet door was still open, the plates still visible. Camilla reached up, grabbed a bigger one, and hurried back to the dining table with it. "I got one for Dad!"

Mom's smile turned upside down, and her eyes seemed to wander. Camilla tilted her head quizzically.

"You see..." she began "Your dad's actually going to be here tomorrow. Today's just a party for your friends."

"Oh..."

Deflated, Camilla walked back to the cabinet with the plate.

As she reached up to put it away, she heard something from behind her. A mutter, but all too loud.

"What kind of deadbeat doesn't show up for his kid's birthday?"

Camilla paused, her arms still extended, holding the plate just above the shelf where it should land. What was a deadbeat? Nothing good, probably. Was Dad really a deadbeat? No that can't be, Dad was a good guy-

"Fucking lazy bastard..."

Did Mom really think that about Dad?

She noticed her hands tremble a bit, and let the plate rest on the shelf.

---

Camilla closed the door, with a smile on her face. The last guest to her party just left which was kind of sad but hey they had a pretty good party. Except for the part where the conversation suddenly turned to boys for a minute. But overall, it was a pretty fun time.

And tomorrow, she would have Dad's visit to look forward to.

At least, she should be looking forward to it.

She locked the door and went to the kitchen- she felt like getting a glass of water after all that carrot cake- where she found her mom doing the dishes. A water bottle was sitting on the counter, so Camilla grabbed that instead. She unscrewed the cap, and raised it to her lips.

"Did you have fun?" Mom asked, somewhat flatly, still focused on the dishes.

Camilla lowered the bottle, and nodded her head, before gulping down the water. "Are we gonna make more carrot cake for dad?"

Mom seemed to stop in her tracks, then shrugged and resumed her washing.

"It's your birthday, honey."

"I think he should get cake," she reasoned. "It's both our favourites!"

Mom sighed, in a strangely... frustrated way? "Yeah, yeah. Sure, we'll make cake."

Camilla furrowed her brow, worriedly. "Mom, is something wrong with... dad?"

"Wrong?"

Mom stopped, again. She fully turned to Camilla, looked her in the eye. Despite how muted they naturally were, something seemed to spark in the gray of her eye.

"You do realize he's not living with us for a reason, right?" she spoke, with a hint of a hiss in her voice. "Frankly, if I were you, he'd get no cake at all."

Camilla only stared forward, not knowing what to think, or how to respond. Her mouth was open, ready to defend, but nothing came out. It remained opened as Mom turned back to the dishes.

"But if you want to give him cake I won't stop you."

There was something stinging her eye. Her breathing seemed to carry more weight. But Mom wasn't stopping him from coming over or getting cake, right? Nothing bad happened. Camilla nodded, and turned away, to walk back to her room.

She opened the door and saw a book, lying open but face down, still on her bed- so she sat on the bed and picked it up. Camilla wiped something from her eye and continued her reading.

All the bad things were done. It was too late for anyone to undo them.

There was no use crying about it.