Page 36 of Bedtime Stories
Keane: Noted. Share?
Always. For you, first dibs.
He sends a thumbs-up and then, because he’s relentless, another message:
Keane: Good review. 8/10 for life-changingness. Next snack: try something green and mysterious.
I almost choke on a kernel. Green? Mysterious? My brain immediately goes to seaweed chips. Eww, gross.
Yes, Daddy. Green mystery tomorrow. I’ll be brave.
Then I laugh and type,
Also, takeout for dinner? I’m low on healthy choices unless you count gummy citrus as fruit.
His answer is instant and mercilessly domestic.
Keane: I’ll pick you up at seven. Don’t eat anything that ruins your appetite. And change your socks.
I stare at the screen and feel soft and ridiculous and very, very seen. My day’s been hijacked into the best kind of project: being delightful for someone who already thinks I am. I suck my salty fingers clean, thinking about how small rules such as water, socks, and snack reports have somehow made my whole life feel more secure and more sparkly at once.
