One that doesn’t move.
A plush stuffed animal.
My chest releases a held breath that it mindlessly kept, and a small smile appears across my lips.
“Oh, Heath, he’s cute!” Removing a hand from underneath my blankets, I take the stuffed animal and pull it to my chest. “Thank you.” He blushes, then seems to easily fall back into his shyness. “What’s his name?”
“Cotton.”
I bob my head. “Good name. Where did you find him?”
“The store. Daddy said we couldn’t get you a real one because you’d kill it.”
I frown and glance over at Micah, whose palm is covering his mouth, probably from a smirk because he’s an ass.
“Because you’re at the school all day,” he offers. “Rabbit needs to eat and all.”
“I’ll catch you a real one,” Heath whispers conspiratorially then. “And I’ll get one, too…and they can be friends.”
We’re going to have two dead bunnies on our hands.
However,myway around it is softer than the morbid way Micah explained it to his son.
“We may need to hire a babysitter,” I offer lightly. “You and I are both busy at school. Who would feed him lunch?”
Heath pushes his lips out and shifts his weight. “We can bring them with us. He can eat my food.”
“He might be a distraction to the other students.”
“I can put him in my backpack.”
“How is he going to breathe?” Micah inquires through our mini-conversation. “That would?—”
“Don’t you have a heater to fix?” I retort with a scowl because I’ve never gotten Heath alone long enough to say more than four sentences.
At school, he gravitates back to his desk like it’s the only place he can breathe. I try not to push him—whether it’s talking to other kids or even to me. I keep things light between us, hoping he’ll ease into it in his own time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Micah muses. “Where’s it at?”
“That’s the fun part,” I reply. “Have fun.”
He doesn’t bother hiding his smile when he strides toward the kitchen that leads to the basement, leaving Heath and me alone to talk strategy about the bunny.
“Okay,” I hedge. “Ithinkwhat we should do is get you one like mine, but a different color.” Heath’s face skews like that ideasucks before I add, “I can take Cotton everywhere with me now. My purse, he can sit on my desk without hopping off, he can sit in the front seat of my car. And, now, I don’t have to worry about feeding him all the time because he’s full of fluff, so it wouldn’t be as much as a real bunny.”
“But he doesn’t play,” Heath argues, glancing down at the plush stuffed animal that he gave me. “He’s no fun.”
I perk a brow. “Are you saying you got me an unfun bunny?”
He immediately shakes his head. “No. This will help you keep him alive.”
“It was a great idea. I can stillhavehim, and he’s less maintenance. Cotton can sit and help me grade homework. He can have his own side of the bed because he won’t poop in it.”
“Ew,” Heath drawls, then begins to chuckle because, you know, poop is funny at that age. “You’d have to clean it up. That’s gross.”
“Nah,” I rebuff with a smile. “I’d be callin’youto come clean it up because it’d be gross.”
“Nooooo.” Heath shakes his head repeatedly, still laughing but clearly not going to be the one who is on bunny poop duty. “I don’t want to do that.”
