Page 8 of Defending her Heart

“Dip them in flour?” I open the freezer drawer and fish around for a familiar bag. We may be three grown women at the Wentworth house, but we always have frozen chicken tenders on hand.

“Can you cut the chicken into long snakes?”

“Snakes?” I pop up and quirk my head.

“Sometimes Daddy makes nuggets. Sometimes chunkies. But I like the skinny snakes the best.”

“Um, how exactly does your father make the chicken snakes?”

“With chicken, silly.” Paisley shakes her head like I’m asking the most ridiculous question ever. “The chicken is in the meat drawer in the refif-erator.”

Shit. Her dad makes chicken fingers from scratch? I’m not completely incompetent in the kitchen, but I wouldn’t classify myself as competent either. With help from my munchkin-sized sidekick and Google, I manage to dredge the chicken and get it in the oven when Paisley tells me they usually have fries.

“Please tell me you don’t make them from scratch.”

“We keep them in the freezer.” Paisley opens the drawer and pulls out a blue and yellow bag. “The smiley face fries are my favoritest.”

“I’ve never had smiley face fries before.”

“I’ll show you how to make them.”

She gets out a cookie sheet, and when she struggles to open the bag, I help her cut the top and watch her pour them out in a single layer. We put them in the oven with the chicken.

“What vegetable?”

“We don’t eat them.” When I raise my brow, she says, “Not when it’s chicken snakes and smiles night.”

“Mhm.” It’s not my place to force vegetables on her, so I don’t push the matter. “I’m going to make a salad for myself. Would you like to help me?”

When Dani goes through her green food boycott, I have her help me make a salad and she will usually eat a few bites.

There’s a nice array of vegetables in the refrigerator, and while the chicken and fries cook, I chop and Paisley arranges the salad in two bowls. I add fresh blueberries, cucumber, a sprinkle of feta cheese, and chopped walnuts.

“You put fruit and nuts in your salad?” Paisley giggles.

“It’s my secret recipe. Try a bite.” I spear a piece of lettuce, cucumber, and blueberry and feed it to her.

“Blueberries are my favorite.”

We nibble on salad while the food cooks, and by the time the timer beeps, our salad bowls are empty. We clean up together, read some books, and play with her dollhouse before I finally convince her to take a bath.

She asks if she can take a bath in her dad’s bathroom because he has a big tub, but I don’t feel comfortable being in his private space.

“You know how we talk about respecting our classmates’ personal space?”

Paisley nods while she brushes her doll’s hair. “No touching someone else’s pencils or markers without asking first.”

“That’s right.”

“And don’t touch backpacks. Or someone else’s lunch boxes. Yesterday Kimmie ate one of Charlotte’s cookies when she wasn’t looking.”

I wasn’t aware of that, but there’s no need for us to go down the rabbit hole of tattling on the class.

“Your daddy’s room is like your personal space at school. I don’t have permission to go into his room or bathroom.”

“I gave you permission.”

“You can give me permission to go into your room but not his.”

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