Dinner: Cris/Lou/Sam
Sam promised Cris a home-cooked meal, and she was gonna make sure it was a good one, yeah? She'd cooked all the time for Al, because that shit was just expected of a Cuban man's wife. At twelve, she'd started learning all of Al's favorite recipes from his moms, and she could probably still make them in her sleep. She never cooked, yeah? Cris always did the cooking, and Sam kinda hated being in the kitchen. But tonight she was gonna make an exception, because shit had gone kinda bad, and she wanted to make sure it was all completely fucking awesome. So, as Cris finished stuff downstairs, she put the finishing touches on dinner - Beans and rice, pork shoulder roasted all fucking afternoon, and plantains. The apartment smelled like sweet, yeah? Sam kept it warm inside, and it was sticky and tropical, and all mixed up with garlic and onion. You could smell the fucking pig roasting all the way at the foot of the stairs.
Joey was dressed in pink, with a big fucking bow on her head, and she was in her laundry basket and sucking on her pink pacifier. The laundry basket was painted yellow and pink and red in stripes, and it was set on the floor, a yellow-knitted blanket tied safe to the sides and ensuring Joey didn't get into any trouble or anything. Anyway, Ted was asleep just beside the laundry basket, right in the middle of the fucking living room, and he liked to bark as soon as Joey moved.
Sam was dressed cheery, and salsa was playing, and Sam was standing over the counter in the sticky heat of the too-warm apartment, hoping everything tasted good. She shoulda had Cris pick up something to drink, yeah? Something good that wasn't beer, and she grabbed her phone and texted him: Rum. They had mint, sugar and lime, and coke, so they could make mojitos or whatever.
The guest room was all set for Lou, with blankets and pillows fresh washed. Everything looked good, yeah? She put the platter of food to warm, and then she opened the living room window high and sat on the sill. She lit a clove, and she sucked it in greedy, adding to the smells in the apartment. But she needed the smoke, yeah? She was tremble-finger nerves, and a smoke always calmed her down. And she exhaled out the window, yeah? So Joey wouldn't get like lung cancer or something. A few more drags, and she pulled the cherry gloss from her skirt pocket, and she slathered shine on her lips and smacked them together.