Page 51 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“That's intense.”

He looks up again, entirely serious. “They’re good.”

I put a hand over my heart. “You know what? You make a compelling argument.”

Captain, hearing the word good and assuming it applies to him, trots into the kitchen with the swagger of someone who’s never once doubted his own importance.

He sits beside me and places one heavy paw on my foot.

“Hi,” I say, glancing down. “You’re very intense.”

“He does that when he likes people,” Oliver says.

I smile despite myself and scratch behind Captain’s ears. He sighs like a Victorian lady overcome by romance.

“Okay,” I say, pushing back from the island. “Pancakes for lunch is something I might allow in a weaker moment, but I feel like your father would stare at me in disappointment if I fed you syrup after twelve p.m.”

Oliver considers this. “Probably.”

“Right. So we need alternatives.”

I open the pantry again and stare at its immaculate, expensive shelves.

Crackers. Artisan pasta. Dried lentils. Rice. Nut butters with labels so minimal they feel condescending. There are ingredients here, sure, but not the kind you can throw together when you’re trying to make a child comfortable on day one in a new routine.

There’s no cereal shaped like cartoon animals. No dinosaur nuggets. No applesauce pouches. No tiny yogurts with bright lids and questionable sugar levels.

No emergency child food.

Which feels like a major design flaw.

“I think we need supplies,” I say.

Oliver perks up slightly. “Like what?”

“Like food that acknowledges your existence.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Shall we go out?”

Another pause. Then: “Where?”

“That,” I say, grabbing my phone, “depends on what’s nearby and whether I can survive my first outing as your nanny without accidentally losing you in a luxury grocery store.”

He seems to think this over, then says, “I won’t get lost.”

“That's exactly what someone says before they get lost.”

Captain barks once, as if volunteering to supervise.

I look at both of them.

“Well,” I say. “This feels less like childcare and more like a low-budget heist, but sure. Let’s go get snacks.”