We move to the next aisle, which seems to contain all manner of things pertaining to poop. “My sister recommends puppy pads.”
“Puppy pads?” Hazel looks at me oddly. “For what?”
“She says they’re great for covering changing tables in public restrooms. Way cheaper than whatever they make that’s actually meant for babies.”
“Oh.” Hazel tilts her head. “That’s a great idea.”
“I’ll tell Amy you said so.”
“Isn’t your sister married to an Oscar-winning billionaire?”
“Your point?”
“I wouldn’t think frugality would be a top priority.”
My hackles go up as we push the cart forward. “Not everyone thinks it’s okay to throw money away. Especially when you grew up without any.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine.”
She studies my face, sincere and contrite. “I know it’s a sensitive subject. How Regis Reaghan got off with a slap on the wrist because he threw money at the problem, while you rotted in prison? That wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry that happened.”
“It’s okay.” I’m honestly shocked she remembered those details. “You’re right, though. It’s a sore spot. The idea of people buying their way into something they might not deserve.”
“I get it, I do. After we talked, I told my father I’m not willing to speak to the judge about reducing his sentence.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She nibbles her lip. “But maybe I could help get him transferred to one of those minimum-security camps?”
A hot swell of anger rolls through my chest. She clearly doesn’t get it. It’s none of my business, but still. “Whatever you think is best.”
“Look, I’m sorry I brought it up. I thought maybe that could be a good compromise instead of?—”
“Cedar,” I say. “That’s unisex, right? And let’s just throw in Acacia and Linden since I heard at least three sorrys come out of your mouth.”
Gritting her teeth, Hazel glares. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“I thought it wasn’t nice to insult people.”
With a soft little growl, she keeps pushing the cart. I can’t resist teasing her more. “It seems especially bad to insult the father of your children. This Dead Sexy Daddy feels hurt and confused.” The blaze in her eyes keeps me going as she snatches some weird baby gadget from the shelf. “And since you’re going to apologize anyway, let’s just put Iris on the table. Or maybe Daisy. Or what about?—”
Shhh-shh-shh-shhh-shhh…
The sound isn’t coming from Hazel. It’s whatever she grabbed that she’s holding in front of my face.
Shhh-shh-shh-shhh-shhh…
“What the hell is that?” I try to grab it, but she tosses it into the cart.
“It’s a baby shusher. For when a parent can’t stand there all night shushing the baby back to sleep.” She starts pushing again, wheeling our stash toward the next aisle. “Maybe I’ll use it on you.”
“Touché,” I tell her, secretly pleased she can dish it out as well as she takes it. “What’s next on the list?”
