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“Mila.”
She deliberated for another moment before giving in with a sigh. “Pop-Tarts.”
I sat up and swung my legs over the bed, running my hands through my hair.
“We don’t have any Pop-Tarts.”
Mila’s little chin dipped to her chest, making her hair fall forward. It was impossibly tangled, but hell if I knew how to brush it without making her scream.
“Well, Imadethe Pop-Tart.”
Oh shit.
“And how did you make the Pop-Tart?”
Her little nose twitched as she launched into the recipe. “I took two graham crackers,” she held up two fingers, “and then I put jam in between them and then…”
Her head tilted like she couldn’t remember.
“You put it in the toaster?”
She clapped her hands. “Yes! I forgot for a second.” Her laugh untied the small knot that had tangled in my gut. Undoubtedly there was a huge mess in my toaster now, might even be ruined, but at least she didn’t try and microwave anything this time. I had installed it above the stove just so she couldn’t reach it, but she still managed to reach it by climbing shit.
“What did we talk about, Mila Jane?”
Her blue eyes narrowed on me, and I had to bite back a laugh. My feisty five-year-old should sniffle and act contrite, as though she’s scared of punishment, but no, she’ll fight me on this.
“I don’t know.”
Yes, she did.
I let out a sigh. “Mila you can’t use the microwave, toaster or oven unless I’m in the room.”
Her head tilted again, “Are you sure it’s not in the house? Because I thought you just had to be in the house.”
This girl.
“Mila. Stop using the toaster. You could start a fire.”
“The fire alarm works, though. You’d wake up and save us.” She lifted her shoulder like it was as easy as that.
I needed coffee. “Just listen to me, okay, honey?”
“About what?”
“You know what Mila.”
I stood and stretched.
“Daddy, I think you should try to erase all your pictures off your arm and chest and see if you can make someone love you. When we clean up Seraph’s Barbies and shoes, they always look better when they’re clean. Maybe it’s like that with you.”
She was at my waist, her head tilted all the way back, staring at me.
I laughed and ruffled her hair. “You’re probably right.”
“Maddy!” I called for her older sister, knowing the only reason the alarms stopped were because she’d climbed up on the stool and hit the button like she usually did.
“Yes, Dad?”
