french fries & milk ice-cream// JENLISA ONESHOTS

clementine

last update before the weekend ends and back to reality :(

//

It begins with a stray clementine, half-peeled and trailing rind, rounding the corner and rolling down the hallway. Lisa has just stepped into the lobby of the apartment complex, grateful for the reprieve from the heat. She blinks, bemused, and watches as the clementine rolls to a stop just behind her.

It's why she's unprepared for the little body that collides with her knees. It's a surprise more than anything that makes Lisa take a step back, her hands automatically reaching out to steady the child. The movement causes the pot of purple geraniums she's holding to tip over, upending a wet clump of flowers and soil onto the tiles.

"Ella?" A voice calls out, taut with worry, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps.

The child-Ella, she assumes-looks a little shell-shocked from the impact. She cranes her neck up to blink owlishly at Lisa, once, twice, and then her bottom lip begins to wobble dangerously.

Oh no.

Lisa has enough peripheral knowledge about children thanks to her pediatrician best friend, but she still feels woefully unequipped to deal with this type of situation. She stares down at the child, the hand that isn't holding the now-empty flower pot hovering uselessly in the air as she debates patting the child on the head.

Ella stares back at her. She looks about three years old, rooted to the spot in what Lisa can only assume is fear, eyes watery and lips trembling. Her hands are clenching and unclenching in the hem of her t-shirt; there's some type of cartoon print on the front, and the motion makes the character look like she's raring for a fight.

Lisa feels a little awful. She knows she has the kind of face that looks intimidating, and has been reliably informed by her colleagues that it's likely why most of her undergraduate students prefer to clarify their doubts over email.

Thankfully, before she can attempt-and likely fail-to console the child, a woman rounds the corner, footsteps slowing as she takes in the sight before her. She's small and rather short, with below shoulder-length brown hair pulled up into a messy high ponytail, and keen, bright eyes. Dressed fashionably in shades of black and grey, the baby blue cartoon character-adorned backpack she's carrying is incongruent with the rest of her.

"Ella," The woman calls again. She looks like she's fighting a smile, mouth pursed in restrained humor. Lisa finds her eyes drawn to the bow of the woman's lips and she quickly tears her gaze away.

At the sound of her name, Ella turns and practically throws herself at the woman's legs, pudgy arms squeezing tight. Lisa assumes the woman is Ella's mother.

"You okay?" The woman asks. Ella nods, pressing her face against the woman's leg.

Lisa watches, impressed despite herself, as the woman closes the distance between them, the child clinging to her leg like a koala doing nothing to hinder her stride. The woman's eyes land on the flowers on the ground and she winces. Immediately, she unzips one of the compartments on her backpack and pulls out a plastic bag, before bending down and attempting to use her hands to shovel the mess into it.

Lisa is too stunned to do much more than stare.

"I'm really sorry about that, I've told her not to run in the hallways but, you know how it is," the woman says, fondly weary. Her eyes dart up to meet Lisa's briefly, before returning back to her task.

Lisa does not, in fact, know how it is, or what 'it' is really, but the woman's words spur her into action. Without really thinking about it, she gets down on her knees too and catches the woman's wrist, taking the plastic bag from her.