Re: Dinner: Cris/Lou/Sam
There was no question that lost sleep and the deity bore a correlation, but once it was found out, that had abated. It wouldn't be able to get away with that again any time soon.
He didn't like Sam's comment about Iris. When had she seen her without her clothes? Truthfully, however, he didn't really want to think about Iris right now. The implications of what she'd said to Manning were ugly, and might bode very badly for his sister, smiling at him from across the table. Iris would be dealt with soon enough, and he had an unpleasant sense of foreboding about what that might bring.
Louis sliced the foil on the wine with the sharp tip of the corkscrew, peeling it off in a few thick chunks that he dropped into a small pile. Then he poured two glasses - first one for Sam, as requested, then another he set at his own place. He had no intention of asking about the bruises, not yet, and was a little surprised when Cris did. He was halfway back to the counter to serve up his own plate when Cris asked her about them, behind him. His Spanish was extremely weak, but the thumb on her bruises made the topic of the question obvious enough.
Visiting the Alexanders, the very idea of it, took him out of himself for a moment. "Maybe," he said. He didn't even bother to hide his trepidation about the idea. "Honestly, I think they might be more affronted by me than the other way around."
He had never stopped in Elizabeth for a reason. He had tracked down his siblings first for a reason. Every year he said he would go see his biological parents once and for all, get it over with, and it never happened. Always too much other trouble to think about adding a difficult, complicated reunion on top of it. Maybe, one day, when things were quieter, he would go see them. He'd be able to say it was done, then, and he got the feeling it would hurt his siblings in the long run if he avoided their parents forever, as if he was passing judgement on them by doing so. But it was complex, and it was painful, and maybe it was telling that he couldn't imagine a positive reunion, not even with wishful thinking. As much as he knew Sam loved her parents, and loved home, he knew them only as the people who gave him up and sold their daughter to a landlord. Her memories of that were still positive, somehow, and he wasn't going to be the one to sully them for her. But he could have his own opinions about those choices, and the people who made them.
He finally sat back at the table, once everyone was served, and began digging into the food gratefully. He'd always had a healthy appetite when he did bother to sit down to a real meal, and an intent appreciation of good food. Anything home-cooked had been a rarity when he was young, and that made him a sucker for it now. He took a bite of the plantain (fork, not fingers), and just sat with it for a moment. "This is wonderful, Sam." He had no idea she could cook. He would need to beg her to do it again sometime soon, pay her off with favors somehow. The food was incredible.
Louis was just finally starting to settle into his chair, glass of wine in hand, when Sam offered to come work at the antique store. His lips parted in flat surprise, but there wasn't even a chance to respond before Cris interjected, and his eyes darted to his friend. "Well," he said, pausing for a moment. What to even say? Why was Sam offering? He knew why Hunter wasn't coming now. Cris had made that abundantly clear. What did she think she was going to achieve by coming to the antique store?
"It's fine, Sam," he said. "Thank you. But I can take care of the store on my own. I'm doing just fine without Oliver. It isn't any trouble."
He understood Cris' immediate rejection of the idea, and Louis could manage the store just fine on his own. But that didn't mean he didn't feel anything about that sharp denial. Cris didn't want Sam alone in the store with him. Just thinking about it made his stomach twist. Still, he managed a small smile, and took a long swallow from his glass. Perhaps that could be the end of that.