Prompt Twenty-One

Spanish

(Mid-Season Two)

Google Translate was utilized for certain portions of Spanish. I beg your pardon if the translations are iffy, my Spanish days from college are a little fuzzy.

Jim might have taken fighting Bular and Angor Rot at the same time if it meant he was anywhere other than Claire's living room. Claire, of course, wasn't the issue.

Her father sat in a chair, reading a paper – or pretending to – and Jim wished he could think of something to say. Conversation to make. Claire's parents had wanted to meet her boyfriend. After the insanity of their barbecue, Jim was a little amazed they would let him within breathing distance of her, let alone into their house.

Enrique babbled from his toy walker, spinning a ball filled with plastic toys and cackling at the rattle. A part of Jim wished they knew that he'd helped rescue Enrique. Not that he wanted them to feel like they owed him or anything, but it would be nice if they knew he had a reason for being such a weirdo and running off all the time. It would be a lot easier if their parents knew.

He heard smatters of conversation from the kitchen. Claire and her mother were in there, and he wasn't sure if he'd rather be stuck on the couch beside a silent Javier and undergoing a silent, judging torment or dealing with Ophelia's accusatory gazes. Both felt pretty bad.

"No sé sobre este chico, Claire. Te mete en problemas." Claire's mother's voice was frigid, and Jim understood just enough Spanish to pick up "boy" and "problems." Was she saying he had problems? He and her were definitely in agreement if that was the case.

"Es un buen chico. Lo conozco mucho mejor que tú." Claire's reply was frosty as well and Jim forced himself to tune out the conversation. He could only pick up a little of it, they talked so quickly and fluently. Enrique made it easier not to listen as he was playing loudly, slapping different toys.

After a few more agonizing minutes, Ophelia stepped into the room. "The table is set. I hope chicken salad is all right?"

"That sounds great Mrs. Nuñez, thank you." She could have offered compost with a side of fertilizer and Jim would have pretended it was generous. She didn't quite like to look at him and Jim sagged with relief when she stepped past him and lifted Enrique out of his walker. "Mi precioso! It's time for dinner, yes it is."

He couldn't blame her for being angry. As far as they knew, he had thrown a house party while watching their child – Claire having snuck out to attend a concert made it all even worse – and acted like a total nutcase at their barbecue. And their perfect, darling daughter liked him for some reason. Jim glanced toward the ceiling, praying he didn't do or say anything to make them hate him more.

Claire's parents hated Jim. Well, maybe not fully hated, but they were close enough that Claire knew this was going to be difficult. It didn't matter how high she kept her grades or how obedient she was at home, the fact remained that they had an erroneous record of Jim's character and there was no way to fix it without opening a barrel of monkeys that would make a hundred other things a lot harder.

Her parents had wanted to "meet" him though. Without anyone else around. Claire thought of all the girls that had always told their parents, "You don't know him like I do!" and cringed to realize she'd fallen into that role. Except she was actually right and her parents literally didn't know him.

She set down the chilled plate of chicken salad, stacking fresh lettuce beside it. Just get through the dinner, she told herself. An uneventful evening was probably the best thing for the strained relationship.

Jim offered to put out the dishes and cutlery and her mother allowed it. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, as if she expected Jim to throw the dishes down to spite her. Jim did no such thing of course, setting everything neatly and carefully into place.

Enrique watched everything with interest. Claire paused to tickle his tummy, making him giggle. If her parents only knew how much their family owed Jim. Or how kind and fun he could be when he wasn't scared for everyone's lives.

When they all sat down, Claire took the place beside Jim, blocking him from sitting directly beside her father. Enrique was to his left and Mom sat across from Jim in order to be near the baby. When her father asked her how city council was going, Claire could have passed out with relief. Jim was quiet and Claire surreptitiously took his hand reassuringly once. He traced a thumb down her fingers and it calmed her a little.

"So Jim. You and Claire met while working on the play?" Mom was not to be dissuaded.

All calm was instantly gone. Jim released her hand and said, "Y-Yes. I mean, we'd seen each other around, but we started talking when she was trying to get people on board for the play."

"Yes. The play was very good. Claire has loved theatre for years now." Mom's tone was conversational. "What are your interests? I feel as though we don't know much about you."

"I like cooking. I'm, uh, interested in swordsmanship." Jim found respite in taking a bite of sandwich.

"And theatre, I assume?"

He choked a little. "Yes. That is, some. This was the first play I tried out for."

"That's interesting." Mom glanced at Claire and Claire gave her a sunny smile.

"Sounds kind of like the time you offered to help Papa raise money for his school soccer team. Even though you hated soccer." Mom gave her a look and Claire took a bite of her sandwich. If her mother wanted to make Jim a dumb boy only out to impress a pretty girl, she could make her into a hypocrite.

"We do things that aren't our favorite for people we care for," Papa said mildly. "This chicken salad is delicious dear."

"Thank you." Mom seemed appeased and Claire's irritation lowered. "I suppose it takes all sorts. Do you participate in cooking courses Jim?"

"Not much. I'd like to, but time just doesn't allow for a lot right now." Jim seemed to realize that Mom was probing him. He was trying to be honest – as much as things allowed – but Claire knew that her mother had a political mind. She was just trying to protect her family, and if it meant turning his own words on him, she would do it. Claire loved her mother, but she was increasingly fighting the urge to throw chicken salad in her face.

"I was just wondering. I thought maybe some of your absences would be related to such functions." Jim winced and Claire inhaled slowly.

"Jim was ill for a while, remember Mama?"

"Yes…it's just curious I never heard anything from his mother about it. The city council does attempt to be aware of significant occurrences and issues. In such a small town, I would have thought I'd have heard something about it is all." Mom took a bite and Papa seemed interested in his glass of water. "May I inquire as to the nature of the illness? They must have figured out a treatment."

"I…uh…it was a lot of flu-like symptoms." Jim seemed to be shrinking back a little. "Mom probably didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't contagious, but once people hear 'flu-symptoms' they get nervous."

"How interesting. So if I look up this occurrence in medical journals…" Mom began.

"Mama. Déjalo en paz." Claire glared at her. Mom's eyes were mistrustful.

"No dejaré que mi hija salga con un mentiroso." Claire's blood boiled and Papa touched Mom's shoulder. Jim wasn't a liar, her heart snarled. No more than any other person that had a good reason for keeping the truth hidden. As if Mom had never told a lie in her life-!

"Ri-ba!" The sound of Enrique's voice startled her out of her thoughts. He was smacking his high chair, looking at Jim. "Ri-ba! Ri-ba!" Enrique put out his arms insistently and Mom reached out to lift him. He squawked in protest, flailing and kicking until she put her hands down. Claire tried not to feel smug as the baby focused to his right.

"I think he wants you to pick him up Jim." He gave her a confused look. "He's trying to say, 'arriba.' It means 'up.'"

"Oh. Okay…uh…" Jim mumbled, standing up and carefully lifting the baby. Enrique didn't protest, babbling nonsense as Jim settled him against his front. "That what you wanted?"

Enrique grinned and cooed, drooling on Jim's sweater. Mom was watching closely. "He doesn't usually like strangers picking him up," she said finally, eyes softening.

He wasn't a stranger, Claire thought. Enrique had seen Jim in the darkest place imaginable, and in his developing mind he had connected Jim with the family, with protection and home. Jim had borne him out of the Darklands and something in Enrique understood that. Her parents couldn't see the real Jim, but Enrique could. Claire's heart warmed at the thought. "Hermanito likes you," she said casually, trying to let the moment cool tempers. "If you hold him a little while he'll be happy. He's a bit of an attention hound."

"You were the same was as a baby," Papa said. "It's no wonder you're suited to the theatre."

Claire nudged him. "Papa!"

The rest of dinner was…quiet. Not peaceful exactly, but Enrique had salvaged what might have been a nasty evening. Jim held him for half an hour and Enrique was happy, and if her mother had any well-intentioned barbs to throw, she had to look at a young man holding her child with care and consideration.

It was a little fitting, Claire thought as she cleared the dishes after dinner. Jim had saved Enrique. Now, well, Enrique had unwittingly returned just a little of the favor.

End of Prompt Twenty-One