Don’t cry in a Food-EZ. Don’t cry in a Food-EZ. Don’t. Cry. In. A. Food-EZ.
I hand my cookie to Beckett and crouch down, taking Lennon’s free hand in mine. “I’m not mad, Lenny. I feel very special that you pretend I’m your mom sometimes. That’s a really special thing to me, and I hope you know you’re just as important to me. If I had a little girl, I would hope she was just as smart, kind, and caring as you are.”
Lennon hugs my neck before walking towards the candy displays. She grabs a random bunch of almost-brown bananas on the way.
“She doesn’t even care about the fruit, does she?” I say, standing there with a hand on my hip, shocked.
“Nope,” Beckett says, laughing. “She thinks she’s fooling me every time, though, so I go along with it.”
I shake my head and go to follow her.
Beckett grabs my hand and stops me, but it’s too late.
“How touching.” That grating fucking accent scratches across my brain the same way a fork dragging across a plate does, and I tense up.
“Hannah,” Beckett says with a warning.
“It’s okay, Beck,” I say calmly, smiling at Hannah. “How are you today, Hannah?” I ask politely. Beckett is solid as a statue right now, and he’s gripping the creamer so hard I feel like it’s about to pop.
“I was better before some bitch in fishnets decided to let my baby call her ‘mama’,” Hannah seethes through her teeth. “Maybe I should go tell Lennon that she isn’t allowed to play pretend anymore, because now her real, actual mama is back,” she taunts, making fun of the sweet voice that Lennon used when she was talking to me.
“Not here, Hannah,” Beckett says lowly. “If you want your time with Lennon, you can have it if the court deems you fit for visitation.”
“I don’t need no fuckin’ court telling me what I can and can’t say to my own baby. I birthed her. I listened to her cry non-stop for six goddamn months, Beckett. I’m allowed to tell her who I am,” she says, her voice getting gradually louder.
“Yeah?” He says without even an ounce of fake sympathy for her. “And I’ve not heard her cry like that since you left. Clover has paid more attention to her in the last few months than you have in the six months you had her. Clover’s kissed more knee scrapes than you have, tucked her in more, learned more about her, and loved her more than you’d ever be capable. Clover wouldneverleave her screaming in the middle of the night to go run after some kid. Multiple times, Hannah. Multiple times, you left our baby crying in her crib so you could go do whatever the fuck you wanted, and each time, the neighbor had to call me. You’re lucky you’re not in fucking jail.”
“It was for like two hours at a time, you’re being dramatic. I’d go when she went to sleep. I just needed breaks,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“That’s fine. I get that. But you don’t leave a baby alone, Hannah. You get a babysitter. You call the grandma. You tellyour goddamn husband,” Beckett says, leaning in. His voice is still hushed, but this is probably the scariest I’ve heard him. He needs this, though.
“You will never be half the fucking mom Clover is to her.”
I swear the world goes quiet.
Lennon walks up and slides her little, somehow already sticky, hand in mine. “Hi, who are you?” She asks Hannah. My heart stops, and Beckett straightens his posture, rolling his neck from shoulder to shoulder.
“She’s just a lady asking for some money,” Beckett says, and it looks like Hannah is going to explode.
“Actually, angel, I’m your—” She’s cut off by Lennon digging a wrinkled dollar out of the pocket of the flannel that matches mine. She holds it out to Hannah with a smile, complete with a freshly missing tooth.
“Here you go. I had leftover tooth fairy money in my pocket, and I don’t need it. I got Daddy and Lovey’s cussin’ bucket at home. I hope you can get you something that’ll make your heart happy and your face less crumply.”
Lennon grabs my hand, then Beckett’s.
“Come onnn,” she whines. “Gram’s gonna have a cat nip if we don’t get there.”
“Conniption,” Beckett and I both say as she pulls us towards checkout. When I look back at Hannah, she’s holding her dollar bill and staring at it.
Her face is still crumply, though.
“Hey, wait,” I say to Lennon when we walk out. “When did it become a cussin’bucket?”
She shrugs. “When you moved in.”
Beckett bursts into laughter.
BECKETT
