I clap my hands. “We can getsevenpieces of cod for the price of five. This is a good day.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, but I think he’s partially smiling.
The tiniest amount.
The itty-bittiest amount of smile that one can smile, in fact.
But it’s still a smile. I swear it is.
Or possibly he has gas.
Those protein bars he has stocked in his back seat will do a number on a normal person’s digestive system.
I tilt my head sideways at the other sign on the door—Closed today.
Weird.
Clearly, the store is open.
There are people inside.
The menu is shining brightly.
Cars are moving through the drive-thru.
It’s definitely open.
I grab the door handle and we stroll inside.
Cod Pieces’ signature fried fish smell permeates the air. I get one good half whiff in, and then the singing starts.
“What in the hell?” Oliver mutters.
I look around wildly, and then I spot it.
The kids’ fishbowl.
It’s a kiddie playground that not every Cod Pieces has, but this one does. Rounded plexiglass, to simulate a fishbowl, usually holds the kids inside while they run around on underwater-themed slides and climbing thingies.
And there’s clearly a birthday happening inside.
That’s where the singing is coming from. I can’t see the kids, but I can see the adults singing.
Looks like grandparents.
“When you have a happy Cod Piece, your happy’s happy too! For your Cod Piece Birthday, your wishes will come true! Happy happy Cod Piece! Happy fish and chips! Happy happy Cod Piece! Good luck with your fish lips!”
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
“That’s for akid’s birthday?” Oliver mutters to me.
They start the song over again as I pull us toward the counter to order. “Let’s get it to go,” I say.
“Oh, no. I need to experience what normal people do for their birthdays.”
I try to stifle an unexpected laugh and end up snorting instead.
The kid at the counter makes a face at us.
