I glanced at the list on ingredients, not that I could read them.
“It’s not poison, I eat it all the time,” I dismissed him and set it on the table with a bowl.
The boy squirmed uncomfortably. “I can’t eat that.”
“Yeah, you can, watch this.” I grabbed a handful and popped it in my mouth. I chewed the crunchy shit and then gave him a smile with cereal stuck to my teeth. “See!”
The boy looked between me and the box.
Then he leaned over, peering behind his chair—looking toward where his mother slept.
“Mama won’t like it. She’ll cry.” He nodded solemnly. “She does it when Theo gives me things I shouldn’t eat.”
Well, fuck me.
Ebasi!It was just cereal. And yet the boy was in the middle of a moral dilemma about it.
“Okay, toast and jam?” I said, my tongue poking at the globs of sugar caked on my molars.
“Is it organic sourdough and clean jam from the farm?” he asked hopefully.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.“Eggs? That’s all I’ve got.”
“Did you pick them from your chickens?” he piped up. “I love eggs. I go to the coop, grab them right from under the cheeky hen’s butts!”
“Yeah, from our chickens.” If I didn’t tell a little white lie, this kid wasn’t going to eat. And…I was probably going to have to buy some damn chickens. “How do you like ‘em?”
“Scrambled. No cheese.” Brady rose on his knees, watching as I plucked two eggs from the cardboard carton, cracked them in a skillet, and waited for them to cook. “Mama likes hers runny—” he made a face “—with toast to soak the yoke.”
I didn’t know what to do with that piece of information. So, I changed the subject.
“You’re five, how do you know all this?” I waved my hand at the box of cereal. “You sure know a lot about food.”
“I’m gonna be a rancher like Uncle and Cousin Mikey!” he beamed.
Over my dead body.
“And this is the stuff they teach you in the country? That cereal is poison?” I grumbled.
“You have to know where your food comes from,” he countered.
Damn. That wasn’t a bad response.
I slid the plastic plate in front of the boy, who launched into the eggs with fervor. I popped another handful of dry ass cereal into my mouth in defiance. It scraped the roof of my mouth, and I knew I would hate myself later. But I couldn’t be bothered to care right now.
Yet as I scanned the ingredients again, not knowing the names of any of them, most of them were too difficult to sound out. But…there were a lot.
Well, must be why it tasted good.
“Mama makes the best jam with my cousins and Auntie Rosa,” the boy said, popping his head up as if coming up for air. He’d woofed down most of the food.
It was probably good he liked eggs. That was probably why he was strong and fit. I let my gaze trail over him.
Healthy. My boy was healthy.
And happy.
“And you have chickens?” I shot a glance to the backyard. We’d grown up with chickens, hadn’t we? We lived off eggs some of the time when there was no money for meat. It wasn’t a bad thing….
