'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.

Hey Google: Am I supposed to let him drink that or is that child endangerment?

My disgusted shock must be etched into my expression because they shrug. 'It tastes good.'

I highly doubt that. I highly doubt it'll taste like owt after they get a heart attack two seconds after taking a sip. But I bite my tongue; I'm the one who offered him the fucking coffee.

Parenting skills: Negative infinity.

I place a bowl in front of them and take my seat, watching Cece pour himself half a portion of cereal. They pull their phone out while they eat, finally pausing the music that has been roaring out of his headphones for several minutes now, and start to scroll.

Seconds later, he casts me a sharp glare and I realise I'm tapping my coffee mug. I pull my hands into my lap where I wring my fingers.

'Are you feeling okay?'

'Well I don't think the government's put tracking chips in my cereal, if that's what you're asking.'

I wouldn't phrase it like that but I suppose that is what I'm asking.

'I found him on Facebook, Michael Khair. Said you'd bring his key back today. He's free in the afternoon.'

A whine grouses at the back of their throat though they swallow it, stab their cereal like they might actually think it's a government officer. They stop abruptly and fidget instead with the tab of the Monster can, twisting it back and forth until it snaps off and he floods with shame. He places it on the table as if it's a testament to his failures.

'Are you gonna tell Bobbi?'

I tangle my fingers tighter. 'She needs to know.'

'She'll kick me out.'

'No, she won't.'

I reconsider reaching over to hold his hand but as though they can read my mind, they slide both of theirs under the table. Esther nudges his thigh and he scratches her between the ears, though this time, it don't seem like they get much relief from it.

'No one expects your recovery to be a straight line upwards,' I say. 'You're gonna stumble sometimes. It's alright.'

Cece's eyes mist over and as painful as it is to see, I'm relieved. Cece is always unexpressive but they become a mannequin when things are bad. Last night were just the spliff then.

Esther barks once before jumping onto his lap though she barely maintains a precarious balance to lick the tears from his cheeks. Cece filches from the wet intrusion and hugs her, at least partially to get his face out of reach from her tongue.

He nuzzles into the touch and I try not to take it personally. I am not jealous of their fucking dog. So what if a dog is better at doing all this than me? At least they've got someone. That's good. It's good he has Esther and Bobbi to make up for my deficiencies. Even if it tears a creek through my chest.

Their eyes stutter to mine. 'Why aren't ya going back to uni?'

That were part of the conversation when he decided to move to Oak Shaw, that I could continue the degree I deferred for him, but there's a tremor in their voice I'm not sure I understand.

'I just realised it weren't as important to me as I'd reckoned.'

Cece hums. He slides his hands up and down Esther's fur until she loses balance and jumps down. They wrap their arms around themself instead. 'I thought you wanted to go back to uni.'

'I did... Just not anymore. Cece, it's not your fault.'

I hold out a hand over the table. They stare at it and lock their arms tighter around their torso. I hide my tears in my coffee cup.

I have no right to demand physical contact from him; they don't owe that, they're not obligated to it. But I think it would revive every cell in my body if he hugged me.

As a kid, Cece were so affectionate. They'd spend hours pulling at my hair as a baby, watching the curls stretch then bound back into place, giggle each time. They'd run to hug me every time I picked them up from nursery. Whenever we went outside, they would hold my hand. I think Cece were slower than most kids to understand their limbs; he'd stumble over them constantly. But he always fell in my direction.

A rash of mould permeates the bitterness of tinto. It's my fault. I'm the one who didn't notice.

The door opens to reveal Michael Khair and my focus trips. That photo does not do justice to his eyelashes. Since taking it, his face has become more angular, further sculpted by a trimmed beard. Uneven dimples dig into his cheeks when he smiles in greeting.

Cece holds out the lanyard. I elbow him. He grinds his teeth, the letters slurring behind a clenched jaw. 'I'm sorry I nicked your key.'

Michael smiles. 'Well, cheers for bringing it back.'

His fingers barely brush the cord before Esther lurches forward, teeth bared. Michael jerks back into his flat. Cece tightens her leash though she writhes against it. It's only when they've dragged her several yards back in the dusty corridor that Esther abruptly sits all prim like she's got no memory of ever growling.

'You alright?' I ask Michael who looks adequately startled. 'Esther's a rescue so she's still a bit... temperamental. Sorry.'

'That's okay.'

I fetch the key card from Cece and return it to Michael. Esther growls again but stays seated. 'I am dead sorry about this. You're not gonna get sacked, are ya?' Getting two people fired in a night would be a record even for Cece.

'Gotta hope not.' Michael gives a lopsided grin, a dimple digging into his left cheek. He leans against the doorframe, absentmindedly wrapping his lanyard around his fingers as he looks me over. 'You've got my Facebook. If you ever wanna make it up to me over tea.'

Cece gags at the stairwell. When we're back two flights down, they toss me a sneer. 'Can you go anywhere without being horny?'

Notes

Panela: Unrefined cane sugar
Tinto: (roughly 'inky water') Colombian coffee, not to be confused with the Spain Spanish meaning where 'tinto' refers to red wine. It's very strong and usually drunk black, hence the name. It's also quite bitter and often low-quality and as such, is associated with the working class. Drinking a cup of tinto is more about the experience than the flavour as it provides even a ten-minute break from an otherwise busy working life and is often a site for socialising.

09: worst parent of 2017 award

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