“Psh. Cookies are trash compared to dragon fruit.”
Beck’s already digging into my compact fridge, pulling out the dragon fruit.
He’s also giving me a look that’s pretty unusual on him.
It’s a serious look.
Beck doesn’t do serious.
He does funny. He does happy. He doesoh, fuck, I screwed up.
But he doesn’t do serious.
“I know you’re distracting me,” he tells me while he starts cutting the dragon fruit.
“So easy to do.”
“Look, I don’t care what you do, so long as you don’t end up in jail. Jail is bad. We don’t want jail.”
“Your vocabulary is adorable.”
“We also don’t want me to throw this dragon fruit at you, because it’s food, and it smells good?—”
“Wike dwagon!” Ava yells.
“Yeah. It smells like a delicious dragon. Ava, please tell Uncle Davis we don’t want him to go to jail.”
She squints at me. “Uggy in jay-ah?”
“Ava. Seriously. Not the ugly word. Uncle Davis isn’t ugly. He’s…hairy.”
Huh.
I suddenly want a two-year-old’s opinion on something. And not because I care that she thinks I’m ugly.
This is a new development.
I squat down to her level and stroke my beard. “Is this why you think I’m ugly?”
“No.”
“My hair?” I touch the top of my head where I’ve tied my long hair up into its usual bun.
“No.”
“My eyes?”
She nods. “You eyes uggy. An’ nose.”
If Beck cringes any harder, he’s gonna turn his face inside out.
“So I should grow the beard over my eyes and nose?” I ask.
“Wike Wed?”
I squint. “Wed?”
“Red,” Beck says. “Red, the new panda onPanda Bananda. And again, Ava,not nice.”
