Dessert and Developments (part 1 of 1, complete)
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dialecticdreamerDessert and Developments
By Dialecticdreamer/Sarah Williams
Part 1 of 1, complete
Word count (story only): 1237
[Wednesday, 2 August, 2017, 8:30 p.m.]
:: LaQuinta and Cash are arguing over the “best” kitchen staples when their evening is interrupted. Part of the Unfair Trades arc in Mercedes, within the Polychrome Heroics universe. ::
The large, rectangular building was proudly labeled Jaliya’s Kitchen in six-foot letters painted on the cinder block wall. Graffiti tags surrounded the white background, with only one corner smudged by a painted leaf from the faux rosebushes that filled the space between the bottom edge of the wall and the lower edge of the title frame. Double doors stood open, inviting people inside but equipped with positive pressure fans above the doorway to prevent insects from entering.
Inside, tucked at a four-person round table just past the large eight-person tables nearest the doors, each marked with a triangular standing card, Cold Cash perused the dessert menu for the day. “I don’t know how you can favor pudding over real apple pie,” he teased, tsking at LaQuinta.
She sank an inch lower in her seat. “I was just…” One hand tipped her menu to the side.
“If you like pudding, great,” Cash told her gently. “I was joking.”
LaQuinta hummed. She nodded toward the young man at the table painted with black chalkboard paint, currently wrangling five kids under the age of five. “He looks like an older brother, not a dad, but… Why are they here?”
“Because the food’s good.” Cash winked at her. “Plenty of people who work full time pop in here, or into the Jaliya’s Kitchens set up in church community rooms, because they got used to it during the first days after the quake. They drop off supplies, or put funds in envelopes left under a plate after the meal. The servers taking orders and clearing the tables are volunteers, and for most of them, it’s their first job. They get breaks and meals and job training, and Jaliya writes each one a letter of recommendation.” He smiled. “She absolutely always needs delivery drivers, too.”
“It seems too good to be true,” LaQuinta murmured.
A young woman, her hair covered by a bright Hawaiian print scarf, stepped up. “Dessert?” she asked them brightly.
“Apple pie for me, and…” Cash paused. “LaQuinta? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He rested a hand on the young woman’s wrist.
“Helah?” LaQuinta’s voice shook. “Are you here with…” She trailed off, swallowing hard.
“When the Quake hit, I was in the house with Mrs. Perry and the two youngest foster kids,” the younger woman answered carefully. “When the military started piling families into busses to get them out of the area, Jane told the soldiers that I was just the neighbor kid, and made up names for my parents.” Her jaw tightened. She exhaled carefully. “They made me wait at an emergency shelter, expecting people who don’t exist to be desperate to find me.Two days later, I started walking. I felt safer on foot than trying to get a seat in the evacuation.”
LaQuinta winced. “Any news about Mister Perry?”
Helah shook her head. “No, actually. Either his wife found him or there was a clear reason that he wouldn’t be able to evacuate with them, and I don’t care which.” She dredged up the remnants of a smile. “I did manage to find Duke and Felix, and while I’m not part of their new foster family, they’re enrolled in school and we visit at least twice a week.”
LaQuinta cleared her throat. “Cash, Helah was my next door neighbor, ninety miles away from here. The Perrys were foster parents popular with the social workers.” Her nose wrinkled. “Mister Perry acted like my name was a crime, and he was mean about another neighbor’s name because it was ‘wrong’ gender. Leslie was a lot of fun, and he spent more time playing with the Perry’s foster kids than Dale Perry did.”
“How’s your…” Helah asked carefully.
“It’s just me,” LaQuinta murmured. “Just like last year and the years before. Nothing new, no new trauma,” she finished, lifting her expression by force of will.
Helah shook her head. “There are half a dozen apps for letting people you care about know that you’re okay. I would’ve liked…” She took a small step back. “Sorry, I’m not trying to wreck your date.”
“It’s not a date,” Cash assured the young woman. “Miss Dixon would be a lovely date, if it were, but I’ve been trying to steer her to a job. Oh, and she wanted the lemon pudding, please?”
“You’re going to like it,” Helah promised. “It’s got lemon juice, zest, and bits of candied peel in it. It’s not box mix, for sure.” She took another half step to the side. “Back in a flash, I just need to pick up the individual servings.”
LaQuinta watched her leave. “How many foster kids are desperate to take care of themselves and praying that they can pass for eighteen now?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Cash admitted. “I was worried that you’re actually not eighteen either,” he added after a beat.
She snickered. One hand dug in her pocket for her certification fan. She opened it to the back, revealing her driver’s license. “Old enough to drink if I wanted.”
“Good genes,” he laughed. “Okay, so I can stop worrying quite so much. The reason for wanting you to make deliveries for Jaliya hasn’t changed; she is still working like the world will stop if she takes too long on a coffee break, and using the meal service profits to cover the Kitchen meals.”
“What if I want to do a little of this and a little of that until I figure out where I fit around here? I’ve only got my room for a total of three months, then I have to reapply, and I’d rather have a place to stay on my own instead.”
“Do you mean a studio apartment, or would a roommate situation suit you?” Cash finally moved his fingers from the delicate press on her wrist.
LaQuinta touched her coily hair, nudging the diagonal sweep of bangs behind her ear. “That’s not important yet, and I’ve barely got any stuff anyway,” she murmured. “I just need to be able to come and go without someone arguing about rules and curfews.”
“I can understand that,” the black-haired man agreed.
Helah set the bowl of lemon pudding in front of LaQuinta first, then set two steaming wedges of apple pie in front of Cash. “I’m surprised that you don’t want that served ala mode,” she mused. “You make all our ice cream, after all.”
“Busman’s holiday,” he joked. “Thanks.”
Helah nodded to both of them, then bustled off.
LaQuinta watched her go, then asked, “Is she… showing favoritism?”
Cash picked up the standing card on the currently empty eight person table decorated with drawings of first responder icons. He tapped the drawing of a cricket on the bottom. “I’m a soup. Everybody who’s met me, practically, knows that. Is that a problem for you?”
LaQuinta’s brows drew down, slowly puzzling together. “Why should it be?”
He grinned. “Your job opportunities just tripled. At least.” He lifted his fork. “Now, if you only had time to run one more errand, would it be to a bookstore, the library, or something else? Practical or fun, it doesn’t matter.”
“You’ve been very attentive,” LaQuinta hedged. “But that… confusion about this being a date… I’m not…” She shrugged.
“No problem. I’m being polite and attentive because if I can find a job that suits you, then I’m proving myself as a coordinator. We both win.”
30
By Dialecticdreamer/Sarah Williams
Part 1 of 1, complete
Word count (story only): 1237
[Wednesday, 2 August, 2017, 8:30 p.m.]
:: LaQuinta and Cash are arguing over the “best” kitchen staples when their evening is interrupted. Part of the Unfair Trades arc in Mercedes, within the Polychrome Heroics universe. ::
The large, rectangular building was proudly labeled Jaliya’s Kitchen in six-foot letters painted on the cinder block wall. Graffiti tags surrounded the white background, with only one corner smudged by a painted leaf from the faux rosebushes that filled the space between the bottom edge of the wall and the lower edge of the title frame. Double doors stood open, inviting people inside but equipped with positive pressure fans above the doorway to prevent insects from entering.
Inside, tucked at a four-person round table just past the large eight-person tables nearest the doors, each marked with a triangular standing card, Cold Cash perused the dessert menu for the day. “I don’t know how you can favor pudding over real apple pie,” he teased, tsking at LaQuinta.
She sank an inch lower in her seat. “I was just…” One hand tipped her menu to the side.
“If you like pudding, great,” Cash told her gently. “I was joking.”
LaQuinta hummed. She nodded toward the young man at the table painted with black chalkboard paint, currently wrangling five kids under the age of five. “He looks like an older brother, not a dad, but… Why are they here?”
“Because the food’s good.” Cash winked at her. “Plenty of people who work full time pop in here, or into the Jaliya’s Kitchens set up in church community rooms, because they got used to it during the first days after the quake. They drop off supplies, or put funds in envelopes left under a plate after the meal. The servers taking orders and clearing the tables are volunteers, and for most of them, it’s their first job. They get breaks and meals and job training, and Jaliya writes each one a letter of recommendation.” He smiled. “She absolutely always needs delivery drivers, too.”
“It seems too good to be true,” LaQuinta murmured.
A young woman, her hair covered by a bright Hawaiian print scarf, stepped up. “Dessert?” she asked them brightly.
“Apple pie for me, and…” Cash paused. “LaQuinta? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He rested a hand on the young woman’s wrist.
“Helah?” LaQuinta’s voice shook. “Are you here with…” She trailed off, swallowing hard.
“When the Quake hit, I was in the house with Mrs. Perry and the two youngest foster kids,” the younger woman answered carefully. “When the military started piling families into busses to get them out of the area, Jane told the soldiers that I was just the neighbor kid, and made up names for my parents.” Her jaw tightened. She exhaled carefully. “They made me wait at an emergency shelter, expecting people who don’t exist to be desperate to find me.Two days later, I started walking. I felt safer on foot than trying to get a seat in the evacuation.”
LaQuinta winced. “Any news about Mister Perry?”
Helah shook her head. “No, actually. Either his wife found him or there was a clear reason that he wouldn’t be able to evacuate with them, and I don’t care which.” She dredged up the remnants of a smile. “I did manage to find Duke and Felix, and while I’m not part of their new foster family, they’re enrolled in school and we visit at least twice a week.”
LaQuinta cleared her throat. “Cash, Helah was my next door neighbor, ninety miles away from here. The Perrys were foster parents popular with the social workers.” Her nose wrinkled. “Mister Perry acted like my name was a crime, and he was mean about another neighbor’s name because it was ‘wrong’ gender. Leslie was a lot of fun, and he spent more time playing with the Perry’s foster kids than Dale Perry did.”
“How’s your…” Helah asked carefully.
“It’s just me,” LaQuinta murmured. “Just like last year and the years before. Nothing new, no new trauma,” she finished, lifting her expression by force of will.
Helah shook her head. “There are half a dozen apps for letting people you care about know that you’re okay. I would’ve liked…” She took a small step back. “Sorry, I’m not trying to wreck your date.”
“It’s not a date,” Cash assured the young woman. “Miss Dixon would be a lovely date, if it were, but I’ve been trying to steer her to a job. Oh, and she wanted the lemon pudding, please?”
“You’re going to like it,” Helah promised. “It’s got lemon juice, zest, and bits of candied peel in it. It’s not box mix, for sure.” She took another half step to the side. “Back in a flash, I just need to pick up the individual servings.”
LaQuinta watched her leave. “How many foster kids are desperate to take care of themselves and praying that they can pass for eighteen now?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Cash admitted. “I was worried that you’re actually not eighteen either,” he added after a beat.
She snickered. One hand dug in her pocket for her certification fan. She opened it to the back, revealing her driver’s license. “Old enough to drink if I wanted.”
“Good genes,” he laughed. “Okay, so I can stop worrying quite so much. The reason for wanting you to make deliveries for Jaliya hasn’t changed; she is still working like the world will stop if she takes too long on a coffee break, and using the meal service profits to cover the Kitchen meals.”
“What if I want to do a little of this and a little of that until I figure out where I fit around here? I’ve only got my room for a total of three months, then I have to reapply, and I’d rather have a place to stay on my own instead.”
“Do you mean a studio apartment, or would a roommate situation suit you?” Cash finally moved his fingers from the delicate press on her wrist.
LaQuinta touched her coily hair, nudging the diagonal sweep of bangs behind her ear. “That’s not important yet, and I’ve barely got any stuff anyway,” she murmured. “I just need to be able to come and go without someone arguing about rules and curfews.”
“I can understand that,” the black-haired man agreed.
Helah set the bowl of lemon pudding in front of LaQuinta first, then set two steaming wedges of apple pie in front of Cash. “I’m surprised that you don’t want that served ala mode,” she mused. “You make all our ice cream, after all.”
“Busman’s holiday,” he joked. “Thanks.”
Helah nodded to both of them, then bustled off.
LaQuinta watched her go, then asked, “Is she… showing favoritism?”
Cash picked up the standing card on the currently empty eight person table decorated with drawings of first responder icons. He tapped the drawing of a cricket on the bottom. “I’m a soup. Everybody who’s met me, practically, knows that. Is that a problem for you?”
LaQuinta’s brows drew down, slowly puzzling together. “Why should it be?”
He grinned. “Your job opportunities just tripled. At least.” He lifted his fork. “Now, if you only had time to run one more errand, would it be to a bookstore, the library, or something else? Practical or fun, it doesn’t matter.”
“You’ve been very attentive,” LaQuinta hedged. “But that… confusion about this being a date… I’m not…” She shrugged.
“No problem. I’m being polite and attentive because if I can find a job that suits you, then I’m proving myself as a coordinator. We both win.”
30
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