Heath’s on his hands and knees. “Where did it go?”
“The ring?” Lav says. “Dad. Did you drop the ring?”
They make eye contact, then look at the barrels.
“Fluffy,” they cry together.
All three of us rush to the edge of the barrels, bending down and searching for the cat.
Her eyes glow in the light of Heath’s phone flashlight.
But the ring—the ring sparkles in her teeth.
“Don’t eat that,” Heath says to her.
“Fluffernutter Sandwich Ice Cream Pie, get out hereright this minute,” Lav orders.
And me?
I’m trying not to giggle.
Because this?
This issoour life.
“Is that her actual full name?” I whisper.
“I was three. Don’t judge,” Lav replies.
As if she’s seventeen instead of seven.
Just like she always does.
I love this kid.
I love this man.
I love this cat.
I love this life.
“Guess I still have to do everything around here,” Pip says.
She pulls a can out of—you know what?
I don’t want to know where she’s pulled it out from, considering she’s in one of her miniskirts and a feather boa and nothing else.
She pops the top of the small can of chili cheese dog macaroni soup and sets it on the floor.
I tilt my head and squint at it.
Huh.
Thatisin fact what the can says.
Along withcondensed.
“Dinnertime, Fluffy,” Pip says.
