“And she did the bump thing.”
“What bump thing?”
Josie reaches up and pats the side of her head, nearly knocking my hand away again. “She made it puffy here. Then she pulled pieces out so it was pretty.”
“That seems like a design flaw.”
“It was not.”
“Hair deliberately escaping from the braid sounds suspicious.”
She twists around enough to give me the deeply offended look she inherited from her mother. “Mommy knew how.”
“She did.” I smooth my palm over the fine brown strands and start again. “I’m still learning.”
Her face softens. “You could watch a video.”
“I watched three.”
“Maybe watch a better one.”
A laugh slips out of me. “You are dangerously close to wearing a baseball cap to day camp.”
“I can’t. I’m wearing my sparkly headband.”
“Of course you are.”
Her headband sits beside her breakfast plate, covered in enough silver glitter to qualify as ranch contamination. I have already found it on the bathroom counter, in my truck, and somehow inside one of my work boots.
I secure the braid, then crouch beside her chair to inspect it. The left side is a little tighter than the right, and there are no decorative bumps. Still, everything is contained.
“Done.”
Josie turns toward the dark microwave door to check my work in the reflection. “It’s okay.”
“High praise.”
“You need more practice.”
“Good thing you grow hair every day.”
Her giggle follows me to the counter, where I slide the lid onto her lunch container and tuck it into the insulated bag. Strawberries, cheese cubes, crackers, and the sunflower-butter sandwich she requested, cut on a diagonal. Apparently, squares taste wrong in the summer.
My phone buzzes beside the coffee maker.
Axel: South pasture fence is down again.
I type back with one hand.
I’ll meet you after drop-off.
A few years ago, that text would’ve sent me straight for my boots, leaving breakfast and hair to someone else. Now, the fence can wait. Drop-off comes first.
“Shoes,” I tell Josie.
“I’m eating.”
“You’ve been holding the same strawberry for two minutes.”