NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY |

09: worst parent of 2017 award

            'So,' comes Sasha's incredulous voice through the speaker, 'you want me to give this lady a job cause you feel guilty about getting her sacked?'

I hold the phone with my shoulder as I cut off a chunk of panela. 'She seemed well nice and she said she's got loads of experience. And she's bi, if that matters. Give her an interview at least.' Dropping the sugar into the water boiling on the hob, I stir it in.

'Oh, alright fine then. What's the harm?' I beam despite the fact that Sasha can't see me. 'Send me the number. But if she ends up stealing anything, you're paying for it.'

'I will,' I say with a confident nod. New drinking game idea: Take a shot every time I put my absolute faith in someone I don't know one bit.

I finish brewing the tinto in a much better mood. I made more of it than I normally would since Cece decided to start drinking coffee all of a sudden. He's still out with Esther at the moment. I managed to prune panic and guilt enough to finally fall asleep as day negotiated with night and when I woke up, they were done.

That were nearly two hours ago.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to loosen the vines that constrict around my chest and go through my mental checklist of things he left around the house that prove he'll come back: sketchbook, phone charger, backpack. They haven't run off anywhere, they're just embarrassed. I wish they knew they didn't have to be.

If I were good enough at this, they'd know.

The door opens just as I think it. Esther trots into the kitchen, eagerly sniffing around her bowl for breakfast and if it weren't for needing to feed her, I know Cece would sprint up the stairs.

He halts at the threshold to the kitchen, scrunching their toes in their socks, and stares at me though not quite meeting my eye. Their headphones strangle their neck, still blasting some cacophony of screaming and drums. I'm still stirring the coffee.

Forcing himself to deal with the shame, Cece enters the room and adamantly pretends they don't notice the tension even though it's sourced from him, pouring out of their hoodie sleeves like smoke.

'I made coffee,' I say before they can flee upstairs or back outside.

'I thought you weren't supposed to drink coffee when hungover.' His voice is dull, lacking the gotcha of catching me in my mixed-messaged parenting.

It makes an orchid bloom in my chest anyway... He remembers things I tell him.

'It won't help with the hungover, no. But if you want some...'

He lets me pour him half a mug and moves to the table. It only has two chairs and we've long since established our favourite ones: Cece where they face the door and me in front of the fridge. Esther laps water before coming to sit beside Cece—not to beg for food; she just sits there, guarding them.

Despite how thoroughly I reckoned I washed their makeup off last night, the wrinkles around his eyes are accentuated with black residue. I still have glitter embedded in my skin after my shower.

'D'you wanna eat summat?'

'Um...' Cece inspects his coffee like he's reading a fortune from it. 'I can have some cereal.'

I grab a packet of Asda Fruit and Fibre Flakes and the oat milk next to the coffee pot only to freeze as I watch them materialise a can of Monster Energy from one of the many pockets of their trousers, crack it open, and fill the rest of their coffee mug with it like it's milk.