My phone buzzes in my pocket.
“One second, Bella,” I say, setting her on the floor by the open dishwasher. “Can you put this coffee cup on the top rack for me?”
“Yes, I can. That’s Grammy’s favorite,” she says, taking the chunky mug I’ve just rinsed in both tiny hands. “I’m a good helper.”
“Youarea good helper,” I agree, glancing down at my cell.
It’s Tasha asking—How’s it going? Settling in okay?
I stare at the screen.
How to respond?
Maybe… Hey, Tasha, quick question, did you know that the emergency placement you found for me is thesameman I went to third base with in a bar parking lot on Saturday night?
No?
Well, funnily enough, neither did he becauseyou gave him the wrong name, and now everything is weird.
Really, really weird.
So weird.
But of course, I can’t say any of that, so I shoot back—It’s going great! The girls are so sweet, and their dad is already on his way to the airport. Thanks for getting this sorted out so fast.
Not a lie. Not the whole truth, but the best I can do at the moment.
“Okay, ready for a cereal bowl?” I ask, slipping my phone in my back pocket. “You can load it right next to the mug.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Bella says in a wobbly voice. “I don’t think I can.”
I glance sharply down, something in her tone alerting my lizard brain to danger. “Why not? What’s up, honey? Are you okay?”
“No,” she says, peering up at me with a pale face. “I feel hot inside.”
I blink. “Oh no, that doesn’t sound good.” I press the back of my fingers to her forehead. “I don’t think you have a fever, but we can?—”
Bella cuts me off by bending over and yacking with a softblehck.
Partly into the open dishwasher.
Partly onto her tiny pink tennis shoes.
It isn’t a lot—maybe a handful of what looks like partially digested cereal—but the second the mess hits her shoes, she begins to wail, “Oh, no. I sick! I sick, Clover! I told Daddy the bananas were bad bananas! They’re the mean bananas that make people sick. And now I made a mess on my shoes.”
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Don’t worry, we can clean them up just like new,” I say, grabbing a dish towel and crouching down beside her. I brush her silky curls from her forehead with one hand while I wipe her face with the other. “But first, let’s make sureyou’reokay. Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again?”
She pulls in a shuddery breath. “I don’t know. My tongue tastes yucky.”
I make a sympathetic noise. “I bet. Here, let’s get you a drink of water.” I reach up beside the sink, grabbing one of the waiting dishes. “This is your cup, right? The pink one with the duck on the front?”
She nods. “Yes. That’s my favorite.”
“It’s really cute. I love ducks,” I say, filling the glass from the tap and pressing it gently into her hand. “Take a sip and swish it around your mouth. But just a little sip,” I caution when she tips the cup back with enthusiasm. “Let’s see how it feels in your tummy before you drink too much.”
She swallows and licks her lips, pressing them together for a moment before she announces, “I don’t think I’m going to be sick again. My tummy doesn’t feel bad now.” She glances down, shifting her soiled shoes back and forth. “But my feet are yucky. And they smell bad. Like scary music.”
I fight a smile as I consider that. “I think you’re right. I think scary musicwouldsmell like that. But you’re going to be fine, and so are your shoes. Let’s take them off and leave them right here.” I brush the worst of the mess away with the towel before levering her shoes off by touching only the clean parts by her heel. “Then, once we get you clean and in fresh clothes, I’ll tidy this up lickety-split. No stress.”
