“Mac, would you like to order?”
Mac pats Chewy Charles on the head, then says, “Strawberry milkshake, please, and a lot of fries. Like all of the fries.”
Kenna smirks as she writes down the order. “Do you want waffle fries?”
“Yes!” Mac shouts. “Waffle fries.”
“Please.” I remind her of her manners.
“Waffle fries, please,” Mac says before her fingers dance over the salt and pepper shakers.
I look up at Kenna and say, “Chocolate shake, please.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Rowley.” She takes the menus from us and heads to the kitchen.
Now is the time to talk to her, when she’s not distracted by her milkshake and fries and she can actually listen to what I need to say.
So I shift on my chair and clear my throat. “Mac, could I talk to you about something?”
“Sure,” she says. “The spiders like the salt.” Her fingers “lick” at some spilled salt on the table.
“Um, could the spiders sleep for a second while I talk to you?”
She lifts one brow at me. “They’re not tired.”
Patience.
That is what Mac has taught me over the past few months.
Patience.
I press my lips together. “Well, I need them to take a rest because I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Important?” she asks as she rests her hands in her lap, and those big, innocent eyes stare me down. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, not at all. I just . . . I need to talk to you about something that I’ve been thinking about, and I want to know how you feel about it.”
“Okay,” she says simply despite the raging nerves I have inside me.
“Well.” I place my hands on the table, palms down even though they’re clammy. “I’ve been doing some thinking?—”
“My elbow itches. Can I itch it?”
I press my lips together and nod.
Talking to a fucking four-year-old feels like talking to a goddamn ant.
“Yes, you can scratch your elbow.”
She lifts her elbow and shows it to me. “Does it look green?”
“Green?” I ask.
“Yeah, Gregory was saying if your elbow is green and itches, it means you’re a zombie. So am I a zombie? I don’t want to be a zombie. Gregory said zombies only eat brains, and I don’t want brains. I want fries and milkshakes.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. She needs to stop talking to fucking Gregory.
“Your elbow isn’t green. No signs of being a zombie.”
