Re: [AyB. Cris y Mari]
Elisa hadn't lived long, huh? 19. She'd never made it far beyond those soft cheeksa youth, beyond subway tracks and any kinda real life. You could see a lil bitta the adult she was gonna be when you looked at her then. Just like looking in her eyes, you could see she wasn't always gonna be all there. It was like she was tying herself to a balloon, and sometimes, she'd be off, somewhere nobody could reach her, even if her body was right there in fronta you. Or she'd be there, but it'd be some versiona her that thought strangers were talking about her, to her, and who got some secret messages through songs on the radio. Now, Mari mighta looked like Elisa (y Emilia)—or how Elisa woulda looked, if she'd made it to thirty, but it was obvious hermanita was her own person. 'Cause the expressions she wore were like seeing somebody you only ever saw in dresses, wearing pants. Kinda weird, huh? Uncanny or something. There was a word for it, but it didn't matter what it was precisely. She wasn't Elisa and Cris wasn't under no impressions that she was.
"You ever tried getting good coffee here?" He asked, good-natured and his own accent practically pinning him to a map. She sounded like a whole lotta people Cris knew, so it didn't bother him. "Wastea time, nena." What Cris noticed, mostly, 'bout this girl, was how deliberate she was, huh? You could tell, from the way she stayed put behind the counter, to the way she smiled. He didn't meanta think it, but he did: there wasn't nothing deliberate 'bout Sam. "It ain't good." Cris was used to being a good-looking guy, huh? He was used to his smile softening up every abuelita in a three-block radius. He could do earnest real good. Charming too. But, nonea that was gonna work here.
Cris talked to people. Said things they didn't like. Walked 'em in circles. Kinda testing them. Seeing what they were like. It was prolly some unbroken habit from being a cop for so long. And his lil talk with Mari told him, she'd humor a guy, but you couldn't lead her from where she was going. It was a good thing to know 'bout somebody.—Oh, and as for her smile? Cris didn't mind it. It wasn't nothing blinding or teasing or nonea that. It was a smile, huh? Cris smiled back. He leaned his hip against the counter as he set the brown bag down. There wasn't nothing interesting—or Cuban—'til the Capital and Cris had only gone to the local diner. Inside, they had a small selection of seasonal fruit, a half dozen bagels with accompanying schmear, and a single vanilla yogurt parfait. Cris knew she'd be... maybe not scrutinizing what he chose, but using it to make a picturea him, and so he'd told the cook at the diner to just give him whatever he thought was best.
He leaned over the counter easy, huh? To give her a kiss on either cheek in greeting. For what it's worth, he just smelled like a dabba cologne.