Author's note: In which Cedric finds out how old Sofia really is...
you've got what i need, but i can't have it.
that's alright.
you're everything i want and i can't touch you.
let me touch you anyhow.
i'm going where the air is hot.
~ Going to Brazil by the Mountain Goats
He was laying in bed, but sleep seemed well out of his grasp as he stared up at the yellowing popcorn ceiling, rehashing the last conversation he had with Sofia in an endless loop, his brain supplying useless suggestions of things he should have said, or better yet shouldn't have, as if sleepless nights filled with remorse could somehow erase the damage. He'd been reliving the scene every night for over a week, and frankly he was getting sick of it.
His eyes flickered to the as of yet unopened envelope, and with a frustrated groan, he yanked the chain for the small lamp behind it, summoning just enough light to read by. He propped himself up against the composite wood of the headboard and lifted the invitation, tearing the top open and sliding the battered card out.
He would have laughed at the image of a tiara on the cover, given his own nickname for the girl, but he was too busy staring in wide-eyed mortification at the number prominently displayed next to it.
Not only had she lied to him when they met, that much he already knew, but she had stretched the truth by far more than he ever suspected. She's turning fifteen! He dropped the card onto the mattress to rub his face aggressively, then picked it up again. Unfortunately, he hadn't misread it, because the cover still made the same shocking claim.
Help us celebrate Sofia's QuinceaƱera. The inside instructed, followed by details of where and when the event would be held. Three weeks. He had three weeks to decide between getting as far away as humanly possible or attending Sofia's birthday party.
Her fifteenth birthday party. He shouldn't even be considering it. If he had any sense, he would already be making a break for his motorbike, but he didn't, so he wasn't. She wanted him there, or at least she had before he shot her down. It wouldn't be too terrible to hang around for three more weeks, assuming she still had any interest in his attending the party. He could always leave after that, the very next day, even. Besides, knowing how young she really was would make it all the easier to stop the growing feelings metastasizing inside.
He placed the card and torn envelope back on the nightstand and returned to his inner dialogue, this time trying to imagine how he might go about apologizing to the girl, something that didn't exactly come naturally to him.
At some point in the night, he must have finally drifted off, because when he opened his eyes again the sun was out. He felt around for his cellphone then clicked on the screen, astonished to learn it was already 12.30. It's now or never. He steeled himself, dragging his weary body out of bed.
Once he was outside, squinting at the sudden shift in brightness, he hopped on his motorbike and took off for Sofia's house.
"You're back!" Roland called out as Cedric turned up the driveway. "Sofia thought you left town." Cedric climbed off the bike and made his way up the path to stand in front of the porch.
"I changed my mind." He muttered lamely, glancing past the older man to the screen door, where he expected to find the girl peeking out.
"Good. I've been kind of swamped lately." Roland stood and stepped down so he was face to face with Cedric. "My mechanic up and left with no warning, after all."
It would seem he still had a job, and he supposed he should be glad to hear it, but that wasn't why he came. He eyed Sofia's father, wondering if there was a decent way to ask after his daughter without revealing that they'd fought or sounding like some sort of creep. Unable to come up with any, he checked the screen door one more time and suppressed a sigh, then followed Roland to the garage.
...
Cedric recognized the sound of her giggling, and ducked his head out from under the hood of the beaten up powdered blue Corolla he was working on, despite severe doubts the thing would ever run again.
He ambled his way out of the garage and leaned against the structure, watching with feigned indifference as James marched toward the house, carrying his sister on his shoulders. Are siblings usually this close? He couldn't imagine ever giving Cordelia piggy-back rides, or spinning her around while she squealed with glee, like he'd seen James do the first time he met the boy. That said, he was also painfully aware that his family had given him a somewhat skewed sense of what was 'normal'.
"Cedric?" Sofia cried out, flailing until her brother set her down. James met his eye as the girl ran toward him, and made no attempt to hide his displeasure at Cedric's return. "What are you doing here?"
He broke the eye contact to glance down at Sofia. "Working, obviously." He informed her, accenting the statement with a gesture toward the garage. "Hey, um..." He paused, waiting for the door to close behind her brother as he went inside.
"Yes?" Sofia prodded, cocking her head to plant herself back into his line of vision.
God, he'd missed those wide, bright eyes, the striking contrast of copper lashes and sparkling turquoise. He shouldn't have, but it couldn't be helped. She's fourteen. You can never be anything to her, except the guy that sometimes works for her dad. He reminded himself as he sucked in a deep breath, wishing there was room behind him to scoot backwards so he could regain some personal space.
"Your party." He began, and she stared down at her uncovered feet, shuffling them across the dry, dusty grass. "I changed my mind. If you still want me there, that is."
She clearly wasn't expecting this, because she tipped her head up to him and grinned widely. Then, she did something he wasn't at all prepared for. She propelled herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. "Of course you can come!" She murmured against him.
"I'm covered in grease, princess." He protested, holding his hands out helplessly because they were too dirty for him to pry the girl off with, unless he wanted to explain to Roland why his handprints were on his teenaged daughter, which he decidedly did not. She stumbled back, ducking her head sheepishly. "I-I have to get back to work."
"Can I get you anything?" She chirped, shadowing him back inside.
"Yeah. Go grab me a beer, would you?" He eyed her retreating form as she eagerly ran back to the house, wondering how he could have fooled himself into thinking that staying three more weeks was anything but the worst idea he'd ever had. I really am an idiot.
