Re: Bar Log: Penny and Cris
He changed his mind. In a matter of seconds, Cris slammed in reverse, and he stood up, brushing outta the booth as Penny leaned in. She told him to turn it down a notch, warning him like she was his mami and he was being un alborotador, un poco gallito, and she needed to take him down a peg. He didn't like that, even though, somewhere, in the back of his mind, he got where she was coming from. He got she was trying her best to be supportive just then, even when he was being like he was. But, at the front of his head, all amygdala and reaction, Cris just knew he needed to go. He was gonna say something he regretted or do something worse, and Penny wasn't trying to provoke him.
"Sorry," was all he told her, brusque and with palms up, moving away from the offer of her hand on the table. Cris was on edge, from alla it. He was taking it out on her, and even he could see that. He squeezed dark eyes shut, shook his head, slosh of whiskey and beer bubbling loud, and he said it one more time: "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "I—I need some air."
He was going for a walk.
He didn't want her to follow him, so he turned sharp. He went to the bar, where the tender eyed him suspicious, and he slapped thirty bucks down in crisp, but wallet-worn bills, and he walked away. He would go buy a water bottle or two, and he'd go to the gym. He figured Penny would stay out 'til the babysitter was due to go. Maybe then she'd get Joy, and Cris would come home at the same time. He'd hand off the baby, he'd shut the door on that face he knew so well, and he'd try to keep that building black rage inside of him quiet while he made the weeks' lunches in the kitchen, with Teresita at the table doing her reading.