“That’s the fun part,” Mara chirps and that smile says it all.“We have to learn to manage our emotions—even when we’re barely awake.”
And I see it in her eyes, the wholeI win, asshole.Next time, think twice before you fuck with me.
Of course, I pissed her off last night and this is revenge wrapped in bright sunshine and a very inquisitive child.If I thought her questions were too much yesterday, she’s delivering the Spanish Inquisition at my door.Oh, I’ll make sure to get back at her.She wants war?I’ll show her I can play nasty.We’ll have an impromptu concert tonight.Dead Moth Parade is back for a limited time in my living room.I’ll even bring my drums downstairs.
“So.”Mila beams up at me, tapping her notebook.“Do you have pets?”
I’m not sure which is more dangerous—whatever’s in that notebook ...or whatever Mara is doing to me without even trying.
“No,” I cut in.
“No, what?”Mila asks.
“No to all five.”
She gapes at me.“Not all of them are yes or no.Critical thinking is very important for the development of a young brain and you ...you might want to work on it.Plus, you didn’t let me finish.”
“I’ve noticed that he rarely lets anyone finish,” Mara mutters under her breath.“This is a good example of how you need to let people speak without interruptions, Mila.I’m glad that we were able to learn something today.”
“I heard that.”I frown.
She shrugs.“Good.”
Mila squints at my mug.“You’re holding the tea wrong.”
“Is there a right way?”
“Yes.”She grabs my wrist and adjusts the mug like she’s training me for a tea-drinking etiquette competition.“There.Now you won’t spill calming energy everywhere.”
I stare at Mara.Where the hell did her kid learn that?I’m starting to think she feeds her sunshine mixed with prepackaged bullshit.That should count as questionable parenting, right?I’ll look into it.
Mara just stares back, unbothered.
“You’ve been here less than a day,” I say slowly, “and my entire morning routine is in ruins.”
“Glad we’re making an impact,” she says, beaming.“My aunt would’ve loved that.”
I sigh.“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“...alive.”
She laughs—a warm, startled sound that hits harder than it should.
“Sorry,” she says.“Mila has a lot of questions.And a lot of energy.And I’m ...sharing the wealth.”
The kid tugs her sleeve.“Can I ask him the big question now?”
“No,” I say instantly.
“Yes,” Mara says at the same time.
Mila looks between us like she just discovered parental conflict and wants popcorn to go with it.
She steps forward.Notebook open.Pen ready.Eyes huge.
“Mr.Neighbor,” she begins solemnly, “why don’t you like children?”
