"Mommy, this armadillo has a face like that lady." She pointed the armadillo directly at Brooke, who was still standing by the dairy case three feet away.
Brooke's mouth opened. No sound came out.
"Maisie —"
"But look at it." She held the armadillo up in Brooke's general direction. Squinty eyes, pinched snout, an expression of permanent disapproval carved into the wood. "See? It's thesameface."
"Maisie."
"Like she smelled something bad, but she's too fancy to say so."
Brooke was staring at Maisie with the fixed expression of a woman trying to decide if she'd just been insulted by a kindergartner or by the universe.
"Kids," I said to Brooke, with a shrug that conveyed nothing and everything. "Have a great afternoon."
I picked up my milk, put the armadillo back on the shelf — "But Mommy" — and walked away with my daughter's hand in mine and my composure held together by a thread.
I made it to the car before the laugh escaped. Silent, shaking, tears-in-my-eyes laughter — the kind you can't explain to anyone because the context is too layered and the joy is too specific.
"Mommy, why are you laughing?"
"I'm not laughing."
"Your face is laughing."
"My face is doing its own thing, baby. Buckle up."
Monday morning. Bev walked in, set a mug on my desk, and leaned against the filing cabinet with the air of a woman about to conduct an interrogation.
I looked at the mug. Chamomile. Bev only brought chamomile when she thought I needed handling.
"How was the weekend?"
"Fine. Good. Uneventful."
"Mmhmm."
Theo materialized from the back office the way he always did when gossip was in the air — silently, rapidly, like a shark sensing blood in the water.
"I heard from Rosa, who heard from June, who heard from Clara Mae, that your car was at the Blackwood Ranch on Saturday. Again."
"Clara Mae needs a streaming subscription."
"Clara Mae has a streaming subscription. She canceled it because, and I quote, 'real life in this town is better than anything on Netflix.'"
"It was a horse naming," I said. "For Maisie. Clay and Jack bought a new mare, and Maisie is naming her. That is the entire, complete, exhaustive story."
Silence. The performative kind.
"A horse naming," Theo said slowly. "With a man who looks like a Yellowstone cast crossed with Thor. On a Saturday. While his mother served you —"
"Don't say lemonade."
"— lemonade."
"How does everyone know about the lemonade?"
"Louisa told Dottie," Bev said. "Dottie told Rosa. Rosa told her mother-in-law. Her mother-in-law told Theo. Theo told me before I'd taken my coat off this morning."
