“Are you feeling better?”
Jack stabbed a piece of chicken with his small fork, ignoring his dad’s question in favour of finishing his dinner. I bit backa smile behind my mug of squash because next time I was pinching that avoidance tactic.
I was waiting for the accusations of cheesy pasta being nutritionally empty despite the addition of grilled chicken and peas, but I hated the idea of categorising food as good or bad. Food to me should always be neutral, and if we wanted to focus on anything, it should be on eating tasty things that gave us energy and made us strong.
“Can I have some of your pasta, please?” Matty asked. “It looks very nice.”
“No.” Jack shook his head gently. “It’s mine.”
“Did you help make this one?”
“Not today,” I said as Matty stared at me like he was silently accusing me of making his sick child cook his own meals. “You did a little bit of colouring while I cooked, didn’t you?”
“I did a lion and a fairy,” Jack said.
“Sounds fun,” Matty said. He looked desperate to ask more questions but wasn’t going to cross-examine me in front of Jack.
“You called a lot today, Daddy. You never do that,” Jack said casually as he picked up more chicken. “I couldn’t hear Robin.”
Oh, the brutal honesty of toddlers. I sipped my squash as Matty’s cheeks flushed above his beard, which looked very tousled and scruffy, like he’d run his hands through it multiple times. It lookedverygood on him.
No, bad Harper. Matty was irritating, not hot.
“Well, er, you weren’t feeling good, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Next time do it less,” Jack said, looking down at his pasta and frowning. “Harper, can I have more lions?”
“Please,” Matty said automatically. “Can I have more lions, please?”
“Peas,” Jack said. “Peas, Harper. More lions.”
“Let me see what I can do.” I smiled at him as I stood, leaving my mug behind. There was still a bit of pasta left in the saucepan because I hadn’t been sure how hungry Jack would be. The rest could either be leftovers or I’d throw it in with whatever I made myself later.
Sometimes I made food and ate with the kids, but some days I waited until later. It really depended on how I felt and whether I wanted to eat what I was planning on making them. Because there were days I just wanted egg and chips when it wasn’t on the menu plan.
“Okay, we’ve got a couple of lions,” I said as I stirred the pasta, peering at the shapes. “A rhino. Ooh, and some giraffes. Oh, and a couple of monkeys. Think you can eat all of that?”
“Monkeys!” Jack screeched with excitement and I chuckled. He was definitely feeling better, and there was a suspicion in my gut that he’d be up and jumping on the bed at four in the morning.
Matty frowned and put his hand out to touch Jack’s forehead, then looked down at his plate. “Are you sure you want more? I think you should eat what you’ve got first. Look, there’s a monkey there.”
“No Daddy,” Jack said, trying to bat his hand away.
“His temperature when I last checked was thirty-seven point nine. Just below a fever,” I said calmly, bringing Jack a couple of pieces of monkey-shaped pasta to encourage him to keep eating. Which he did with gusto.
“Only by point one of a degree.”
“I know, but it’s a good sign.”
Matty screwed up his face, a grumbling hum emanating from his throat. It was obvious he wanted to argue with me but was holding back because of Jack. “How about a bath after this? Then we can read some books before bed.”
“As long as it’s Tango,” Jack said, shooting his dad a phenomenal amount of suspicious side-eye. Matty said they didn’t usually have any problems with bathtime, but I was now wondering whether that was because there was bribery involved.
“Yeah, we can read that one.”
“AndLittle Bear.”
“Sure, mate. We can have that one too.”
