[for Jayden] cara mio addio

[lowtohigh]

She wakes up most mornings fully convinced of the fact that she's done with silly, stupid mistakes. She ends a statistically significant number of days having managed to maintain that in the most important arenas.

But it's not every day.

And it's certainly not every night. There are still nights when the idea of sitting at home and doing work drives her up a wall--when the idea of going to see her brother for a 'classy' evening of wasting money on something 'useful' like the arts feels just as terrible as sitting home alone. There are nights when she asks the driver to wait around the corner and pretend he doesn't know where she's going so she can actually breathe deep something other than the rigidity of the life she's been building since Elisha returned and got her back on track.

There can't be anything so wrong with it, surely. It rarely, if ever, bleeds back over into her days. She always drags herself out of bed in the morning, whether she'd fallen into it at 10pm or 4am the night before. She always sits through classes and shows up for work with the same fierce, determined smile. She barely ever thinks of what might have happened the night before once she's got herself set for forward motion again.

Admittedly, sometimes she gets texts at work from numbers she definitely hadn't gotten at the university or the lab or any of her brother's little get-togethers. Jayden's number certainly didn't come from any vetted point of contact. It surprises her, really, how easy it is to extend something of her daytime self to a nighttime number. It's not a line she's really ever blurred before.

But he's coming to the aquarium. She's invited him. Almost like sleepwalking, she's explained to her supervisor that she wants a floor shift out in the actual building rather than holed away doing research. Idly scanning the crowd at the building's tall cement entrance, she wonders vaguely if she's even recognizable like this--flat shoes, hair tied tightly back, barely a stitch of makeup on and her wits obviously about her.

It's entirely possible he'll just walk straight past her. There are large signs for the penguins near the door, after all.

Comments

[immigrantpunk]

[His expression falters. He doesn't usually automatically think someone must have two present parents. He knows all sorts of blended families, not to mention his own. There was just something about her, a white girl clearly of some sort of privilege, that he went ahead and assumed.

He lowers his head and shrugs.]

I dunno. My dad died a few years ago. It's hard to tell what he'd think.

[lowtohigh]

[They've definitely fallen out of the 'safe early conversation' area. Jayden doesn't seem to be backing down from it, so she squares her shoulders slightly to push through.

She also doesn't stop her hand from spidering slightly across the table, palm upright in offering without actually taking his hand.] I'm-- sorry.

[immigrantpunk]

[Jayden shrugs, in an effort to show her it's no big deal.]

It's okay.

[His hand does reach out and find hers, though. He threads his fingers through hers, meeting her eyes.]

I guess your parents aren't around either?

[lowtohigh]

[Holding hands is easier. Physical connection makes the heaviness seem a little less overburdening.]

Not since I was five. [It's something to shrug through definitively.] But here we are.

[Both fairly upright.]

[immigrantpunk]

Yeah.

[He squeezes her hand.]

Can I— what happened?

[Might as well ask.]

[lowtohigh]

Oh. [He's got to get points for directness. She's probably going to lose points for suddenly not quite being able to make eye contact. How can she help it that the end of her burger is so fascinating to look at?] Car crash.

[It's not an end that discriminates particularly.]

That's-- the whole story.

[immigrantpunk]

[Jayden swallows. That would do it. He knows what it feels like when it's over quick. One minute life was one way, and the next, it's completely different.]

Heart attack.

[He can't ask for an explanation from her and then not offer his own. He rubs his thumb along the back of her palm and shrugs, a bit helplessly. He never knows what else to say.]

[lowtohigh]

[There never is much to say, she's found. But there's comfort in being in mutually delicate situations; having different but recognizable tightness sitting across the table from her own taut heart.

The squeeze of her fingers around his is brief but entirely grateful as she gives a tiny shake of her head.] C'mon. We need a drink in us sooner than later, at this rate.

[immigrantpunk]

[He laughs, pulling his hand away.so he can get back to finishing his burger. He takes a large bite and upon swallowing, says:]

You wanna go to the same place as last night? Hopefully the same bouncer will let us in.

[lowtohigh]

Good call. [And good laugh, clearly, from the way the tight edges of her smile begin to loosen again.] I'll hit the first round since you paid for dinner, mm?

[And since paying for top shelf didn't really dent her brother's trust fund the way it dented the average college student's entire bank account.]

[immigrantpunk]

Heh, okay, I guess that's only fair.

[He could insist upon continuing to foot the bill, but he knows exactly what the state of his bank account is and elaborate shows of chivalry is not going to get the rent paid when his mom inevitably comes up short.

He eats a few more bites of burger, licking the juice off his fingers.]

I'm glad we came here. This is really good.

[lowtohigh]

[The remainder of her own burger is nudged questioningly in his direction. She's done damage, yes, but he's clearly a growing boy.]

Yup. Definitely sound like an American.

[immigrantpunk]

[His eyes light up a little at the rest of the burger being pushed his way. He grins and shrugs.]

They naturalized me pretty hard.

[He reaches over and takes it off her plate. Feeding him is a surefire way to get to his heart. He's not very complicated in that area.]

[lowtohigh]

[Oh, boys with bottomless stomachs. There's an entirely amused sigh on her lips as she leans back in her own seat.] Works for me. Now masticate faster.

[Burgers are a great thing, but burgers aren't booze after an unintentional rough patch like that in a conversation.]

[immigrantpunk]

[He laughs, mid-chew.]

Masti-what?

[lowtohigh]

Mas-ti-cate. [It pops to her lips again with the practiced slowness of someone who lives in a linguistically-enriched environment.] Means to chew or eat. Or manducate.

[immigrantpunk]

[He shakes his head, still snickering.]

Sounds like an SAT word. How many words for "chew" do we need?

[lowtohigh]

[Give her a second. Clearly there's a mental list to spin through.]

--eleven?

[Not all of them SAT words, of course.]

[immigrantpunk]

[His eyebrows go shooting up.]

For real?

[He finishes off the burger a second later, wipes his hands on a napkin and starts sliding out of the booth.]

[lowtohigh]

How is this a surprise? [She'll mirror the sliding to the edge of her own booth, but she'll also be holding out a slightly imperious hand to be helped back to her feet.

(In fairness, her heels have a certain severity to them which require minor stabilization assistance while changing heights. In less fairness, she'd probably ask for a hand up in flats too.)]

Does Russian only have one word for everything?

[immigrantpunk]

It just seems like a lot.

[And that she seems to know them all on the fly like that is really impressive. He gladly takes her hand and helps her to her feet.]

No, but... I dunno, I think English likes to overdo it sometimes.

[lowtohigh]

[Her fingers stay linked entirely contentedly in his even after she's on her feet again. Time now for swinging their linked hands with genuine pleasure.]

I think we prefer to call it 'precision of language.'

[immigrantpunk]

[A warmth blossoms in his chest, the hopeful realization that things are going really well, aren't they? He tosses their trash in the designated bin, then holds open the door for her, grinning.]

Okay, fine. But why say "masticate" when you can say "chew?" What's the difference? If you masticate, do you chew things differently, or like, forever?

[lowtohigh]

[He has, apparently, much more game when he isn't overthinking it. Hopefully he'll stay in such a fashion at least until she's started getting tipsy.

For now, she's certainly going to be grinning as she leads the way out the door.] You'd have to ask a linguistics major. I'm pretty sure it's just the word we use when we're feeling pretentious.

[immigrantpunk]

[He lets out a short laugh and nods. Night has fallen as they've been inside the restaurant, and a chill in the air makes him glad he wore a sweatshirt.]

Okay, pretentious. I'll keep that in mind next time I wanna sound smart.