VIOLET SKY, takigawa chris yuu

━ chapter thirty-nine

act iii

life will go on;
together?
no.

chapter thirty-nine

❛you should know by now that i don't mind❜

━━━━━━

The kitchen runs hotter than the rest of the house. Pots and pans decorate the stovetop, a chopping board on the counter next to the sink to prepare the lettuce and tomato, empty cans of hominy piled in the trash. Amara ducks in front of and behind the rest of the bodies occupying the kitchen. Luisa stirring the menudo cooking in a massive pot, Rena setting out the paper plates and utensils, Eiko washing the used dishes. Belen, the only one of them who, according to herself, can't cook, sits at the island, in charge of the music, while Lucas fills the cooler with water bottles, caprisuns, and sodas.

Andy Williams' It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year plays from the speaker. With each step Amara takes toward the living room, her feet ache from standing on her feet since nine in the morning — it's six now. The plastic bowl of menudo is warm in her hand, two spoons held in her other hand.

A Christmas tree sits in the corner of the living room, by the stairs. Ornaments, candy canes, golden garlands and rainbow fairy lights decorate the branches, wrapping around the tree, with a golden star at the very top of the tree. Wrapped presents and bags crowd the bottom, jutting out several feet from the tree itself. It'll only get smaller as the kids get older and older, until they start having kids of their own. The thought of Ricky growing older, as always, picks at her heartstrings so she banishes the thought and appreciates the touch of Christmas spread throughout the living room.

Chris and Ricky are on the floor in the living room, while Mylène, Luisa's wife, sits on the couch, engaged intently with a worn-out book. The TV plays on the Hallmark channel, surely due to Chris, though he pretends to be engaged with whatever thing Ricky has going on with his toy blocks when Amara enters.

"I know you're watching it," she says teasingly.

"This?" He points to the TV. "This is nothing. Of course not."

"Sure," she says, amused, squatting next to Ricky. Her knees protest at the movement. She nudges his shoulder. "Hey. Will you try it?" She holds out the menudo.

Ricky stares at it like it's going to eat him.

Since Rena's house is so warm, he's down to his t-shirt with a cartoon t-rex and his jeans. Chris is just in a dark red long sleeved t-shirt — it does wonders for his arms — and dark wash jeans, while she's rolled up the sleeves of her olive green turtleneck and in a pair of old light wash mom jeans (or just jeans, really).

He looks down at the blue plastic block he's playing with. Chris kept his destruction zone contained; when they'd arrived at Rena's house at nine this morning, he'd asked, What can I do to help? She'd pointed to Ricky dumping his toys from his backpack onto the carpet in the living room and said, Take care of him. He's done an excellent job so far.

"I don't want to," he mutters quietly. "Tío said —"

"Your tío," she says, moving the spoons to her right hand to tug gently at his ear, "is wrong. This is the exact same as pozole."

"Then why is it called that instead of pozole?"

"It's just the meat that's different, papa. But you don't like the meat, anyway, so it doesn't matter. There's still hominy. See?" She spoons out some hominy from the red menudo. Ricky still looks unconvinced. "If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it, but I at least want you to try it."