And then comes Bash with something red all over his face, shirt, and hands.
And Marshmallow.
Who’s carrying a carton of strawberries that look like they came from the farmers market downtown yesterday.
“Mama!” Bash shrieks as he hurtles himself at me. “Maw-mawa get meteets!”
“Strawberry treats?” I guess as I catch him, holding him just right to keep the red bits coating him from getting onto my dress too.
I reach for the diaper bag, but Jonas is already handing me a wet wipe from inside.
“Sa-bewwy teets!” Bash agrees. “Go-na wan sa-bewwy teets?”
Begonia shakes her head. “I had three earlier, and it filled—oh. Yes. Thank you, Marshmallow.”
“Me and Maw-mawa fends,” Bash says.
“You and Marshmallow are good friends,” I agree.
“He really does look just like him,” Keisha whispers. “I thought you were exaggerating.”
“I’m old, but I’m not losing my ability to accurately see family resemblances,” Hayes murmurs back to her.
“You arenotold,” Begonia says.
“How old are you, Bash?” Giovanna asks.
Bash freezes.
Turns.
Looks at her.
And then he cuddles closer into me, completely forgetting about his best friends Marshmallow and Begonia. “Mama?” he whispers. “Dicka bish?”
I gulp.
And not because I know that might sound likethis a bitch?
More because I know what he’sactuallysaying.
Wicked Witch?
Okay. Close enough.
“Yes,” I manage to force out, “we got the chickens clean dishes before we left.”
“No, Mama,dicka bish,” he says.
Keisha chokes on air.
Hayes grabs a book and buries his face in it.
Begonia’s doing math in the air like she’s trying to translate Bash-speak.
Jonas has gone completely blank-faced.
And Giovanna—technically my son’s grandmother, the woman who could disinherit Jonas with a flick of her wrist, who is widely regarded as the force behind the entertainment industry’s most influential family—smiles.
