call on me

a flicker of satisfaction brushed across her features at the unvarnished honesty in his voice. he hadn't scrubbed her from the ledger of this house. he hadn't gone through the rooms with a garbage bag, purging every ghost and sentimental relic just to prove a point. it was an admission of exhaustion, perhaps, or a testament to how deeply her roots were tangled into his foundation, but she took it as a minor victory nonetheless. she watched his hands as he cleared the table, watched him treat those grease smeared receipts with more delicacy than he probably knew how to afford her. it felt as if he was creating a clearing in the wilderness of his obligations, a tiny patch of neutral territory just large enough for two people and a pair of blue rimmed ceramic rounds.

when he took the plate from her fingers, his gesture toward the opposite chair was almost comical in its formality. please. as if she were a visiting dignitary and not the woman who had once left her bobby pins in every drawer of this house. yet, even as the sting of it prickled beneath her skin, a small, begrudging part of her knew the distance was entirely earned. three summers away didn't entitle her to the immediate intimacy of a phantom returning to her favorite corner. the formal caution in his posture was the natural tax on a three year absence, and she would simply have to pay it.

ines didn't sit immediately. instead, she shed her damp jacket, letting it drape over the back of the chair with a deliberate elegance that reclaimed her ownership the immediate vicinity. "look at you, playing the perfect host," she murmured, a teasing purr returning to her voice as she finally slid into the seat across from him. she didn't touch her own plate yet. instead, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wood and propping her chin in her hands, her gaze locking onto his face like a hawk tracking movement in the brush. she wanted to watch the first bite hit his tongue. "go on," she urged, nodding toward his fork. "i didn't spend four hours sweating over a stove in my mother’s kitchen just to watch it get cold while you stare at me like i'm a specter. and believe me, it was a martyrdom. she hovered over my shoulder the entire time, treating me like a criminal who was trying to sabotage her secret recipe."

ines sat up straight, her shoulders squaring as her face morphed into a cartoonishly severe, pinched expression, though her eyes rolled dramatically at the mere recollection. she wagged a manicured finger in the air between them, her voice dropping into a flawless, dramatic imitation of her mother's sharp, disapproving cadence. "’¡nessie, estás quemando los chiles! más manteca, nessie, ¿quieres que sepa a cartón? ¿por qué cortas el pollo como una principiante? ¿¡acaso no sirves más que aire y agua!?’’nessie, you are burning the chiles! more lard, nessie, do you want it to taste like cardboard? why are you cutting the chicken like an amateur? are you serving water and air!"

she dropped the act instantly, shuddering at the sound of the old moniker, and melted back into her usual cat like posture across the table. a predictably disgruntled pout rounding her bottom lip. "so eat, andrés." she paused. her gaze dropped to the porcelain between them, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the rim. when she looked back up, the teasing glint in her eyes had softened into something painfully exposed, a rare peek of earnestness that she usually kept buried under layers of performance armor. "...please."

Andrés had thought about moments like this too many times to count. He tried to imagine what he'd say or do. What sort of poignant turn of phrase or action could he take that would make her understand and change? In his many years of thinking, he'd never come up with an answer. Nothing that felt right, at least. Everything felt hollow or shallow or incomplete. And here he was, sitting in that moment, yet completely void of anything of meaning to say.

So, he took a bite. The taste immediately transported him back. To when Gabi was younger, when they were younger. When even if things were turbulent, they were together, in one form or another. It was a distant, almost-forgotten feeling. Andrés nodded, finishing chewing before he spoke.

"It's as delicious as ever, Inés." His tone was lower and slightly softer, his walls slightly lowered in an almost instinctive urge to soothe her exposed wound. "Gabi'll love it." If she ate it. But saying that felt like rubbing salt in the wound.

valentina watched his brow constrict, tracking the small lines that carved into his forehead with a detached, cold sort of amusement. he looked like a diagnostic tool trying to process a faulty code, completely missing the engine trouble hiding right below the hood. his shrug and his weak defense of the marriage only made her want to grind her teeth down to the bone. "you're missing the fucking point," she muttered, the gravelly edge of her voice hitting the space between them like a dropped wrench.

she couldn't help but stare at the empty glass in her hand, the residue of the liquor coating the sides like old oil. andrés was standing there analyzing the logistics of it all. the timeline, the suddenness, the ready made family xavier was stepping into because that's what he did. he managed problems. he looked at xavier’s new life like a bad business gamble, a sprint into deep water. but he didn't see the real danger. he didn't feel the suffocating vacuum left behind.

"it's not about him being reckless," she said, her kohl rimmed eyes snapping back to his, sharp and entirely hostile. she leaned her hip harder against the dark wood of the bar, crossing her tattooed arms over her chest like a shield. "xavier knows exactly what he's doing. he's escaping. he’s buying into this pristine fantasy, he's moving on." she gestured vaguely with a single, dark polished finger toward the floor, her movement sharp and deliberate.

"he's a santos. he knows how this goes. the only way out of our world is behind bars or six feet under. he found a third option, and he took it," she spat, her voice dropping into that icy, deadpan monotone. "so keep your pathetic commentary to yourself." she paused, her own harsh breathing the only sound bridging the gap between them. as she stared at the profile of his jaw, the anger in her chest hit a sudden, shuddering plateau. it was a massive accusation to hurl, even if she'd been hellbent to cut him to the quick.

for a fraction of a second, the hostility in her eyes faltered, replaced by a heavy, exhausting weariness. they were both left behind today, whether they liked each other or not. she slumped slightly, the tension leaving her shoulders as she looked back down at the polished mahogany. "whatever. fuck it," she mumbled, waving a hand toward the bartender who was finally setting down a fresh round.

That was the only explanation that Andrés could come up with for the way that Xavier seemed to treat him, the shop, the family with such disgust. It seemed like to Xavier, they were just a gross gelatinous creature that had washed ashore on his idealistic beach. He'd poke it and poke it and poke it, hoping to either push it back into the ocean or until it burst and dissolved into the sand. And Andrés guessed, he'd pushed it far enough away now, that he could escape to his paradise.

Andrés had just felt it first.

his voice drifted into the kitchen with that flat tone he always used when he was playing the protector, but inés wasn't listening to his defense of their daughter's culinary survival skills. she was too busy digging through his cupboards. the admission of gabi cooking on her own roused a brief, invisible needle pricked at the inside of her chest. a reminder of all the milestones she had missed, the domestic routines established in her absence; but she masked it by rattling a stack of mismatched coffee mugs. a shadow fell over the linoleum as his larger frame finally caught up to her, stepping into her line of fire to reach right past her shoulder and accessing the very top shelf.

she caught a sudden, overwhelming whiff of him, detergent, faint motor oil, and the crisp smell of the evening air still clinging to his collar, before he set the two ceramic rounds down on the counter. the blue trimmed edges were exactly as she remembered, though they looked slightly more chipped than they had three winters ago.

inés didn't look at him immediately. she stared down at the porcelain, her lacquered nails resting against the cool glaze. a smug, triumphant little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, though she kept it carefully hidden from him. so, he hadn't forgotten either. he still knew exactly which pieces mattered to her, even if he had hidden them away where a shorter woman would have to strain to reach them.

"so you did save them," she murmured, her tone dropping its theatrical edge for something a bit more intimate, a bit more dangerous. she took one of the plates, sliding it toward the steaming container of mole. "i thought you might have done some sort of ceremonial tossing of anything of mine." it's what she would have done, or at least threatened to do.

she picked up a large serving spoon from the drying rack, dipping it deep into the rich, dark sauce, ensuring a perfect balance of meat and broth. with a flourish that belonged on a television set rather than a cramped kitchen, she plated a generous portion, the fragrant steam swirling up between them like an offering. "sit," she commanded gently, finally turning those dark, perceptive eyes up to meet his gaze. she held the plate out to him, her chin tilted up in a silent challenge. "let us see if your palate has survived three years of your own cooking, mi amor. taste it."

His gaze held hers for a few moments, searching in her eyes for some more clues as to what all of this meant. Just...coming back. Acting like everything was fine, like nothing had changed. Calling him pet names like he would just melt back into her embrace. For half a second, Andrés swore he saw something, but it wasn't long enough for him to decipher what it meant.

When Andrés had made his decision, he turned his back to her. Though, only momentarily, as he closed the laptop and pushed it back. His hands felt almost a little clumsy as he roughly organized and stacked the papers so they could sit neatly on top of the laptop. Once he was satisfied that there was sufficiently enough space on the table that they both could sit down, eat, and not ruin the receipts and paperwork he'd been filing, it was then that he turned back, taking the plate from her.

when his chin gave that single, begrudging hitch of permission, inés didn't wait for an engraved invitation. she merely painted a dry, wry slant onto her lips in return. she swept past him into the warmth of the entryway, a flurry of department store perfume and damp leather, instantly colonizing his space. her boots made a loud, demanding racket against the floorboards as she crossed the threshold, completely disregarding the unspoken tension she left swirling in the open doorway. inside, her gaze immediately began to dismantle the room.

she looked for the cracks, the updates, the subtle shifts in the landscape that had occurred during her long exile in cali. her eyes flitted over the walls, scanning for old photographs, checking the dust on the mantel, tracking the stack of folders and the glowing screen of his laptop dominating the kitchen table. it felt smaller than she remembered, or perhaps she'd convinced herself her posture had grown too grand for ceilings that now seemed to graze the crown of her head. three years was a lifetime in hollywood, but here, it felt like time had merely curdled, thickening into something dense and difficult to swallow.

she spun on her heel to catch him watching her, her spine locking into a straight line beneath the drowning proportions of her blazer as his hand came out to relieve her of the plastic tower. his palm was an atlas of manual labor; grooved with fresh calluses and the indelible ink of motor oil. instead of surrendering her cargo, she tucked the warm squares tighter against her corset, her manicured tips clicking defensively against the seal. "no, i will do it," she said, her tone resuming its usual lofty, imperious glide as she marched past him toward the kitchen. "i want to see what you've been feeding our daughter. a growing girl cannot thrive entirely on a rotation of sad, square containers." she set the tower down on the counter with a solid, plastic thud, but as her hands rested on the laminate, the linoleum beneath her shoes pulled her backward into the past.

this very counter used to be a stage. she remembered a time; one of those brief, blinding seasons when the storm between them had cleared and they were fiercely, beautifully solid. she could almost hear shakira’s voice blaring from a tiny little radio by the sink, the brassy horns and driving pop beat bouncing off the backsplash while she stirred a simmering pot of rice. all hips and laughter, spinning around with a wooden spoon in hand, trying her absolute best to coax him into the rhythm. he always refused until she finally marched over, seized him by the belt loops, and dragged his heavy frame into her orbit.

the recollection bloomed behind her ribs, hot and loud, rendering the current stillness of the kitchen almost deafening. inés shook the ghost from her shoulders, immediately popping the tabs on the top container to inspect her work. the steam rushed out, a fragrant cloud of spiced chocolate and rich broth instantly emerging. "where are the good plates?" she called out, already rattling the cabinet doors with a sovereign, territorial ease. "the ceramic ones with the indigo trim. alguien va a probar esto mientras esté fresco, someone is going to try this while it is still fresh, and it looks like its going to be you."

Did she notice all the remnants, all the things she left behind? The framed graduation photo? The picture with Gabi hugging him in front of her first car? With Val on the back of her motorcycle? Did she care? Could she feel the same chasm between who they were when she left and who they were now? She had to have. Inés was impulsive sure, but she was hardly imperceptive. She could read him better than most, after all.

Andrés watched her make her observations, and then march her way into the kitchen. His following was delayed, still observing her as she took to a new room. He took a few moments more, after she left his line of vision. To prepare? Process? Cope? He wasn't quite sure.

"She's been doing fine so far," he said, factually. Not that Inés would know. He crossed his arms, leaning against the entryway to the kitchen, still observing Inés. "She cooks some nights, too." Andrés wasn't sure how it started, if he'd suggested it to help prepare her for college, if she'd gotten tired of waiting for him to come home, or if she'd cooked as a way to look after him. Most days, he told himself it was the former. It was only on days where he was questioning his parenting that he thought it could be the latter two.

his quiet advocacy for her mechanical disaster was unexpected, a protective streak that caused her mouth to curve with a faint trace of humor. watching him pat the faded green metal, treating the vehicle as if it were a tired runner at the end of a grueling marathon, forced her to view the hatchback with slightly less hostility. it wasn't merely a mechanical betrayal; it was simply spent, perfectly mirroring the exact state of the woman who had steered it out of california.

the solid grip of his palm offered a momentary reprieve from the spinning in her chest, a physical pact made in grease and metal that felt far more reliable than any digital agreement she'd signed lately. hearing a professional actually guarantee a resurrection did wonders for the knot of anxiety tightening beneath her ribs, providing a brief oasis of competence in a desert of recent failures. "well, andrés," she said, her voice dripping with a dry, theatrical solemnity as she looked from his grease-stained hand back up to his face. "you've officially been promoted to my personal hero. it's a pretty low paying gig though, and the benefits vary on my mood."

she reached deep into the folds of her coat, retrieving her smartphone to exchange information. punching her digits into the device felt akin to sending out a flare from a desert island, a desperate signal hoping someone on the other side could actually steer her back toward solid ground. "there you go. the direct connection to the local crisis center," she murmured, sliding the device across to him with a wry, self deprecating twist of her wrist.

she hitched the strap of her leather bag higher on her shoulder, her dark gaze sweeping the oil perfumed workshop again, taking in the heavy chains, the lifts, and the quiet dignity of broken things being made whole again. what a poetic metaphor that hit close to home. she didn't move toward the exit just yet, instead shifting her weight and offering a curious, slightly tilted look. "so, while you have the hood up and the patient on the table, what’s the immediate verdict on the fluids? or am i about to get hit with a laundry list of leaky valves before i even make it out of the driveway?"

"Perfect, let me text you so you know it's me," Andrés mumbled as he quickly typed something out on the phone, only for her phone to vibrate a few moments later. 'It's Andrés from Pinehaven Auto & More' . He quickly pocketed the phone again, not wanting to get distracted or to give the impression that he wasn't 100% focused on the client in front of him.

Andrés eyed Felicity with a certain intrigue. It wasn't every day that folks wanted to hang around in the shop. It could be loud, smelly, and too stressful for people to stand for any longer than necessary. At one point, Andrés had used such opportunities to take advantage of the discomfort. He was reformed, now. To that end, he'd even explain the whole process, to ensure confidence. Plus, it wasn't every day that someone took interest in his work.

"Your fluid levels are low. You definitely need a new radiator, and the hose doesn't look in great shape, so we'll want to replace that. I want to run a chemical test to see if you've also blown a head gasket or have a cracked engine block. I also want to run a test to verify your fans are working right," he mused, gazing into the car, almost thinking aloud as he ran through the concerns in his head. He glanced back up at City, realizing that this might, perhaps, be going over her head. "Everything I want to check is interconnected. We'll check if it's just the radiator and hose that need replacing or if there's anything else messing with the cooling. I want you to leave with confidence when it's all is done."

a brittle, mocking laugh bubbled up from her throat, though it lacked any real venom; just the automatic defense of a woman who refused to let an recurring flame see her stumble. inés tilted her head, watching the way his clasped the oak frame. he was a wall of muscle and stubbornness, blocking the very entrance to the life she had discarded and now desperately craved back. gabi was a puzzle she could hoped to solve with enough persistence, but facing andrés alone was an entirely different beast. he knew exactly where her veneer was thinnest, and standing on this threshold felt like staring down a hurricane with nothing but a broken umbrella. she’d actually spent the drive over mapping out a secondary strategy for him. a calculated sequence of charm, nostalgia, and just enough vulnerability to soften his edges. but seeing him look so immovable completely scattered her outline.

"your day off," she echoed, her gaze flitting past his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the interior. she wanted to see if the living room still smelled the same, if there were shoes by the mat that didn't belong to him. "since when do you take those? the world must be tilting on its axis." she stepped closer, close enough that the wisp of her breath mingled with his in the chilly air between them. the heat radiating from the tupperware containers was the only warm thing on the porch. when he delivered the finality of his words, something in her chest sagged, a heavy drop that she masked by adjusting her grip on the plastic tower.

"i can see that," she said softly, the performance draining out of her, leaving only the exhausting truth of her arrival. her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the shadows under his. "and you look like you haven't slept since the millennium turned, mi vi—" she bit down on the old, familiar syllable, catching the ghost of the pet name before it could fully escape, and forced a cooler substitute over the fracture. "...andrés. still taking everything on until your teeth grind down to dust."

she didn't ask where gabi was. she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of watching her beg for information he held like a warden at a gate. instead, she looked down at the top container, where the condensation had formed little windows against the red sauce inside. "so?" she muttered, tilting her chin up as she looked from his heavy hand on the frame right into his eyes. she shifted the heavy stack of tupperware, the warm plastic radiating against her ribs as she gave him a pointed, impatient look. "are you going to let me in, or do you wish to keep me standing out here in the fog until i freeze into a statue for your neighbors to gossip about?"

"I got a night guard," Andrés responded, choosing not to address the rest of the comments. Because what could he say? What other choice did he have? He needed the shop to keep operating at a profit, even if it meant putting extra hours, or even days in. He had mouths to feed, parents to support, and employees to pay. It was bigger than him. It always had been. None of her comments were wrong. Inés knew him too well, could read him too well. There was no use in arguing against any of it. But that didn't mean he had to agree or even directly acknowledge them. She didn't really want that from him. Even if she thought she did.

Did ghosts operate on the same rules as vampires? Was inviting Inés in to his house dooming him to anything? Did it really matter, if her ghost had already made her presence, or - well - absence, known? He took a deep breath in, and on the exhale hoped to will out any thoughts that would get in the way. It didn't fully seem to work. "Yeah, sure" he agreed, motioning his head back once before he stepped back, holding the door open for her.

How was one supposed to welcome a long-absent previously-transient figure back into their homes? Andrés couldn't remember when Inés had last come over, what house she had seen. A lot had changed in the last 3 years, more than a quick phonecall or birthday card could communicate. Her leave had felt so final, though. And so distant. Almost an entire lifetime away. Almost.

location: jessamine & xavier's wedding @cxllonme

"you clean up nice," he offered humbly with a glass raised to the slow moving shadow. xavier didn't even need to look up. even in the shallows of severely estranged relationship, he knew that foot fall like they were his own. the muffled celebration from the main dining hall hummed calmly through the old barn doors. a soft wind carrying in the evening like a subtle procession moving along one event into the next. it felt a little like today. he woke up alone and untethered but he would lay his head on the pillow tonight forever entangled with the person who provided him stability; a kind they never felt in their own home. "..are you enjoying the open bar? i lost the battle for anything with real spice for dinner but the tres leches and the bar were a non-negotiable."

𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐; @cxllonme

the rain in pinehaven didn't fall, it hung in the air like a wet grey wool blanket, soaking into the shoulders of the oversized blazer inés had grabbed on her way out the door of her parents house. she stood on the porch of her daughter's home, boots clipping a restless tempo against the warped wood. in her arms, she cradled three plastic containers stacked like a precarious tower of modern art, the scent of spiced chicken and rich mole escaping the plastic lids and fighting the damp scent of cedar.

closing her eyes and taking a shallow breath, she pulled her lips back until her deep brown liner formed an immaculate, rehearsed curve. then she knocked; three sharp, metallic clicks from the heavy gold rings on her fingers. the wood groaned. the lock turned. inés immediately tilted forward, her voice striking like a silver bell meant to shatter the grey morning. "mami made your favorite, mi amor—"

the door swung fully open, and the melody died a violent death in her throat. the universe, it seemed, was an amateur playwright. it wasn’t gabi standing in the entryway; it was andrés, looming exactly like the town she had run away from. solid, immovable, and entirely unimpressed.

the bright smile instantly melted, bleeding down into a dark, heavy terracotta pout as her chin dropped. she pulled the warm plastic containers tighter against her ribs with a sharp, audible huff that ruffled her hair. "i thought you'd be at the shop." she murmured, the syllables losing their polish and her accent thickening as the sudden disappointment cracked her bravado wide open.

He glanced at her lips as her smile fell, and then back up to her eyes, scanning her face for any hint of explanation. For leaving, for coming back, for coming here, for the way her lips fell at seeing him. How was his presence the questioned one?

"It's my day off." Andrés answered, his blunt tone lightly tinged with tiredness. It was a day off in theory. The stack of paperwork and his open laptop on the kitchen table would tell another story. Not that she was entitled to know that. Even if this was real, she'd forfeited that long ago.

Andrés' hand remained grounded into the side of the door, not yet moving to welcome her in or shut her out. Merely standing at the precipice. After all, she wasn't here for him. He couldn't be sure she was even really here for Gabi. She'd be disappointed either way. "She's not here."