Page 90 of Billion Dollar Dispute

Moving into the kitchen, she’s stirring something on the stove that smells of onion and spices. As if she can read my mind, she tells me.

“It’s chicken noodle soup. Chad's favorite.”

“Do you need a hand?” I ask.

“No. But what did you bring?” A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

I pull each item out of the bags and place them on the counter. “medicine, Pedialyte, popsicles, Vicks VapoRub, Tylenol, ibuprofen, crackers, pretzels, strawberries, eggs, peanut butter, watermelon, and potatoes.”

“This is a weird mix.” She laughs, shaking her head.

My eyebrows pull together as I take in the items. “I followed what I found online. Is it wrong?”

She sorts through the things, her movements calm, but there's a softness in her voice when she speaks. “No. You didn’t have to do all this.” Pausing, her fingers gently brush over the items. “A few of these would’ve been plenty.”

I shrug. “It wasn’t expensive.”

She steps closer to me. “Not everything is about money.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Most people would only buy a few items.”

“I’m not most people,” I deadpan.

She shakes her head, her eyes trailing over my body before meeting mine again. My eyebrows lift at her obvious inspection. “Oh, I know.”

I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Mommy, when do you die?” Chad calls out, and I’m taken aback by the question.

Our eyes move to the screen to watch as Mufasa falls and dies.

“Not for a very long time, sweetheart,” she reassures him.

He seems happy with that and doesn’t ask anything else.

“Is that normal?” I whisper.

“Pretty much. Whatever pops into his mind, he asks.”

I watch Chad, fascinated. “He’s a pretty cool kid.”

“He is, isn't he?”

I nod. And I don’t tell her I’ve had a change of heart in my fears about kids. I’m trying to find the best time to tell her.

“I’ll go sit with Chad before I leave,” I say and walk back to Chad to watch the beginning of the movie with him.

A little while later, Jemima calls out, “Dinner’s ready.”

“It’s time for me to go, but I hope you feel better soon, buddy,” I say, roughing up his blond hair.

“Please stay for dinner,” Chad begs with sad eyes. What is it about his face and voice that make me unable to say no?

“You can’t say no,” Jemima whispers behind me, startling me.

“How do kids do it?” I ask, turning to her.

---