Chapter Text
It's been good. Things have been relatively good, almost like they've had a reset.
Still have a shit-ton of money problems, but it doesn't feel as overwhelming as it has in the past. Like there might be a light ahead at the end of the tunnel. A long tunnel.
She tries to not be triggered when he says it, and she's definitely making a face because he does that thing where he starts to get flustered, and his eyelashes go a mile a minute.
He brings up the idea of inspiration, and she's right there with him, right up until he says it.
Kasama.
They are at her place, of course, because he still keeps selvage denim in his oven. Because he told her he likes her place, and that it feels like a home, not in between things. Implying that he is still in between things, which he is. They are in between.
They're working through the new menu. Back to family style again. But not really getting anywhere now that they've both jumped into this all the way head-first. Nat bowed out, she said she can't risk it with the baby and her house.
“Really?” she asks him in a quiet voice, which is her way of saying that, yeah, no, this is a terrible idea.
“Why not?” he answers her, meeting her eyes again, and looking at her like she's a puzzle he's trying to solve, and it annoys her. He puts his hands on his hips and, damn, he's going to be so stubborn about this, see if she'll give in to him.
“I just don't think-” she starts to say, with a shake of her head, trying to brush the idea aside.
“Because?” he asks her directly.
“Because,” she says, picking up the sauce from the plastic container on the counter and stirring it with the spoon inside. “I've been there before?” she adds, meeting his eyes, seeing his expression turn inward. “And it's was great. All very good. Yummy.”
“At night?” he adds, like this is a novel idea.
“No, not at night,” she tells him, adding more pepper puree to the sauce. It probably doesn't occur to him even, that this reminds her of the time-
“It'll be a do-over,” he says to her, sounding hopeful. “We can get it right this time.”
She gives him an extremely doubtful look, head cocked and all. But he looks so absolutely sincere. Carmen is trying to get a lot of things right lately, and she is fine with Carmen getting things right and also taking baby steps here they just got the kitchen situation and the front and back of the house running smoothly again. Keeping all their shit tight and dialed.
“Try this,” she says to him, lifting the spoon and handing it to him as he takes it and tries it.
“Nope,” he says with a shake of his head. “Too much acid. Still.”
“Just admit you don't like the idea of the sauce,” she says to him, frustrated, suddenly, and notices then that he has her scrunchie on around his other wrist.
“Syd, that's not what I said,” he answers, walking past her to rinse the spoon off in the sink. “But since we're putting words in each other's mouths,” he goes on. “You don't want to go there because of me, because I didn't show up for you, and not because you don't want to try the food.”
She sighs loudly and sets the container with the sauce back down on the counter, and scratches at an itch on her forehead. Oh, Carmen.
“So, you should just say that,” he tells her, nodding at her. “I can handle it.”
“Why are you wearing my scrunchie?” she asks him with a laugh, trying to diffuse the intensity.
“What?” he asks, annoyed that she changed the subject, blinking and then looking down at his left wrist. “Oh, you dropped it on the floor.” He slides it off his wrist and holds it out to her. “Here.”
She does have a habit of losing those. Taking it from his open hand, she wraps it back around the end of her hair and watches him look at her frowning. Frustrated.
Maybe she is making too much of this? And it's been a minute since she's seen him make a face like that. It really doesn't feel nice to torment him.
“Thank you,” she tells him politely. “Do you think we could even get a reservation?”
“I will try to pull some strings.”