“It’s a different kind.”
Jonas bites into one, and his eyes cross while he flops back onto the blanket. “Oh, wow. That’s delicious.”
He’s acting.
I am a hundred million percent certain he’s acting.
But Bash looks at him, takes his own small cinnamon roll, bites into it, and does the exact same.
“Dat so good,” Bash moans.
“I’ve never hadanythingso delicious,” Jonas says.
“I no have dewisus,” Bash echoes.
Jonas flops his head to one side, looking at Bash with the biggest smile. “Your mama makes the best breakfast.”
“I eat evvy day!” Bash says.
Oh.
Whoops.
Thatwas the error in my plan.
Totally forgot how this would end.
“You do eat breakfast every day,” I agree. “And you eat so many good things. Oatmeal and eggs and pancakes…”
He holds up a mashed cinnamon roll in his little fist. “I eat dis evvy day.”
This is a problem for tomorrow.
Just like everything else.
But none of my problems feel too big. For the first time in a very, very long time, I don’t think I’m faking it when I tell myself I can handle this.
I bite into my own cinnamon roll, and I’m suddenly eight years old again, back in my mom’s kitchen while she shows me how to make her fake cinnamon rolls.
Sabrina says they’re technically cinnamon biscuit bites, but that’s not what Mom called them.
Mom called them fake cinnamon rolls, so fake cinnamon rolls is what they will forever be.
“Your grandma taught me to make these,” I tell Bash.
“Gamma Seffy?”
“Yes. Grandma Stephanie.”
“I wike Gamma Seffy.”
He’ll never meet my mom, but I tell him stories. It’s important. “Me too.”
“Gamma Seffyzoom zoomUnka Deo,” Bash tells Jonas.
I crack up.
And not just at Jonas’s expression, which could mean anything fromI have no clue what that meanstoI’ll bet a lot of people want to zoom zoom your Uncle Theo if it would make him behave himself.
