You and Me, Forever

Knowing Her

Y'all know the drill: this ain't mine, it came from Tumblr, is a converted story... I'm just too lazy to go and copy and paste the words so here's da link https://shawnjpeg.tumblr.com/post/187765063090/love-you-through-it and enjoyyyy!

ALSOO! You must be wondering why this part doesn't have a title. It's cause I literally cannot come up a good title. Any suggestions?

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With the twitching of her fingers, all Shawn can derive is that work is on her mind. He watches her, an arm spread over the back of his child's chair, one hand holding a pair of chopsticks. She shuffles in the chair opposite him, shifts in her plaid skirt, stretching it further over her thighs.

Camila's worrisome eyes shift across the table, looking for a calming spot. She finds the wood of the table beside the bowl of edamame. Faintly, her ribbon pink lips move, muttering something her husband can't pick up on. Shawn watches gravely. His arm reaches out and picks an avocado sushi off her plate. Slowly, he directs it to his mouth, waiting for her to notice.

Her agitation reaches him, when she prods the single sushi in her plate, breaks it apart, without even realizing it. He notices how Camila's eyebrows are furrowed; cheeks flooded red. The red on her lips is being wiped away with every flicker of her tongue.

Shawn sighs, drops his chopsticks onto his plate and looks over at his three-year old. The child stares at him with the utmost amusement, red sauce splattered around his mouth, as he chomps down on spaghetti. Shawn brings the hand laid over his child's chair to Raul's mouth. Curling his index finger, he swipes away the mark of red sauce on his chin. He strokes his thumb over Raul's cheek, then looks back at his wife.

His wife grumbles, rolls her eyes, probably at a thought she's just had – a thought bothering her from work. Camila seems to want to ignore it, her shoulders slumping, an arm crossing over the table, the other hand bringing a piece of sushi into her mouth. She munches rather quickly, sighing once done. "Mama!" calls their child, raising his hands in the air, one occupied with a pink, plastic fork. "I'm done!"

Shawn turns his head gently, watches his son celebrate his small achievement. He ruffles his hair. His eyes jump over to his wife. Camila smiles tightly, whispering an encouraging, "Well done, bub." Somehow, she loses interest in that small victory – every victory is celebrated in this house, so Shawn is growing a little angry.

"Honey, I know," whispers Shawn. His eyes flutter shut, and he leans closer to her, reaching a hand out towards her. . one she doesn't take. "There's business on your mind. But, can we just eat dinner? Talk about it later? Leave it outside the house for a bit?"

Her eyes snap up, cursed with fury. Shawn's nervous lips part. His stomach churns, knowing she picked up on what he said in an intention misunderstood. "I- I'm here."

"No, you're not."

"I am, Shawn, can you stop talking to me like that?"

Shawn rolls his eyes, gets up, picking up their cleared out plates – unlike their current situation. She watches him, rough fingers grabbing as much as he can. Her head tilts back, watching him talk. "Shawn," insists Camila. Her eyes spare a glance at Raul. He remains about the tension brewing between his parents, churning painfully to become misery. "I'm here." Her repetitions of assurance are left unheard by her husband, as he confines himself inside the kitchen.

Camila can predict a fight coming – she knows the exact telling. Shawn physically distancing himself from her, occupying his mind with other things but not before giving his insults when the heat of the fight is mild – she supposes he thinks they will annoy her less.

Falling back against her chair, Camila bites onto her thumb, attempting harshly to find serenity – something to not lash out of him because of how frustrating work has been.