"You are aiding and abetting sugar."
Jillie gasps. "Can he be my cereal lawyer?"
"Absolutely not."
I set the box in the cart.
Sadie removes it.
Jillie puts it back.
Sadie removes it again.
I glance down at Jillie.
"We may need a plea bargain."
She nods gravely. "Half the box?"
"You're six. That's not how negotiations work."
"It's how mine work."
Sadie finally laughs under her breath, and it is quick, unwilling, and completely real.
The sound does something to me.
Again.
Which is becoming inconvenient.
I like making her laugh. Not performative laugh. Not polite customer laugh. Her real laugh. The one that escapes before she can stop it.
That is a problem.
We eventually settle on responsible cereal plus the smallest box of marshmallow penguins. Jillie considers this a victory. Sadie calls it a hostile compromise.
I call it Tuesday.
We move toward bread next.
Sadie picks up a loaf, squeezes it gently, and rejects it.
I watch.
"There's a technique?"
"There is always a technique."
"For bread?"
"Especially for bread."
I pick up a loaf and squeeze it.
It collapses in my hand.
Sadie stares.
