Page 3 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess
I kneel down by the bed and fish out my heels—however they got there. Frantically, I search for my wallet and pull out a bill. "Is this enough?" I ask her as I walk past.
"Hmm. Yes. I think so." She takes the bill and simply stuffs it in her jeans pocket.
"But this isn’t a swear jar," I say, surprised.
"It is at our house."
Well then.
I’m not entirely sure that’s true, but she’s not wrong about cussing. Maybe I've made a small contribution toward her becoming a real lady someday, one who won't let herself be picked up by a man who has a wife and child at home.
This kind of thing could only happen to me. On a Monday. So predictable.
Rosie goes to pour some more cereal into her bowl. This kid really has a big appetite.
"Do you always have so much sugar in the morning?" I ask, a little worried.
I can spare that much time.
Rosie shakes her head, shoves a large spoonful of the colorful treats into her mouth, and looks at me with her big, round eyes, as if that would help her eat in peace.
"I’m not actually allowed to eat this," she confesses.
"Why is it here then?" I ask, puzzled, and slide my heels on my feet.
I still had a hair clip in my bag. Where was it again?
I set the bag on the counter where Rosie is sitting so I can rummage through its seemingly bottomless contents more easily.
"Well, because Gabriel likes to eat them," she says matter-of-factly.
Well, how am I supposed to know that? Besides, she calls her dad by his first name? Very weird.
"But he always says I can only have a little bit because of my blood sugar."
I perk up.
“That’s a very grown-up thing to know.”
She nods proudly, and I start to feel a bit uneasy. "Do you... have diabetes?"
Rosie looks at me, eats some more, and nods.
How can she possibly admit she has diabetes and at the same time devour a spoonful of sugary cereal?
"Oh, sweetheart... then you really shouldn't be eating that." I can’t show her that I'm panicking now.
"Yes, I know. That's why I'm eating it while Gabriel is in the bathroom." Of course. This kid is pretty clever. But she's also putting herself in danger.
"Do you happen to have one of those little meters?" I take out mine, which I use to measure my blood sugar. Her eyes immediately light up.
"You have that too?" She seems thrilled.
You shouldn’t be happy about having type 1 diabetes, but the little girl probably doesn’t often meet other children or adults like her.
Rosie hops off the barstool and runs to her pink unicorn bag. She pulls out a small, bright pink meter.
"That’s cool," I say, and ask, "Can I take a look?"
