A Cruel Summer

Chapter 29

Taylor can't hide the look of disgust on her face as she watches Levi eat his dinner. Spaghetti. Red sauce is coating every inch of the toddler's face, arms, and even some in his hair. His tiny fists grip the noodles that have not yet joined the others on the table they are seated at or the floor below them. With one enthusiastic shove, an entire red-tinged mass disappears into this open mouth. Taylor winces, her stomach churning at the sight as a thick stream trickles down Levi's chin, leaving a glistening, scarlet path toward his shirt.

"Slow down, Le," Karlie calls from the sink, cleaning the pot she had made Levi's dinner in, "You'll choke, buddy."

"He's more likely to paint the walls," Taylor mutters, wiping a stray speck of sauce from her own cheek. "He's like a miniature Pac-Man, except way less graceful."

It's not that Taylor doesn't like kids. She actually enjoys them quite a bit. Something about the unfiltered excitement they radiate, the way they charge through life with a reckless abandon she once knew. They remind her of herself, a younger Taylor, knees scraped and hair a wild mess, lost in the thrill of discovery.

But then there's the eating. Oh, the eating. The messy, sticky, technicolor explosions that follow every mealtime with a toddler. The way mashed potatoes become abstract finger paintings on highchair trays, the way waterfalls dribble down chins and onto clothes, pigmented by the flavor of the hour. She finds it profoundly gross, a fight with her gag reflex every time a rogue noodle slips from his lips.

"And this," Karlie says as she walks toward them, leaning down to wipe the dropped pasta from the floor, "Is why I want to get a dog. They're, like, furry mops. I won't have to clean the floors after every single meal anymore," she finishes with a chuckle.

"Oh god, don't even get me started on dogs. They're basically walking, slobbering carpets," Taylor laughs. "Plus, I'm not sure any dog could handle the biohazard level of a toddler's spaghetti night."

Karlie chuckles, picking up a noodle and examining it with mock seriousness. "Hmm, point taken. Perhaps a trained hazmat squad would be a better investment."

"No, mommy!" Levi screeches, slamming a fist full of spaghetti down on the table. "I want dog!"

Taylor flinches at the sticky explosion. "Whoa there," she says, her voice laced with a gentle amusement that barely masks her surprise. "Easy on the spaghetti bombs, kid."

"Honey," Karlie says sternly, though Taylor can still hear the hint of amusement, "dogs are a lot more work than you think. They need walks, they chew things, and they poop in places you wouldn't believe."

Levi's face scrunches up in concentration, his eyes wide and pleading. "But dog clean floor!" he declares, brandishing a soggy noodle like a triumphant flag. "Dog eat spaghetti!"

Karlie bursts out laughing, "But we already have Tay, Le! She's basically the same thing - she knows how to clean the floor, likes her walks, likes her naps, loves her spaghetti. She even drools in her sleep. It's like we already have a dog!" Karlie chuckles, earning a death glare from Taylor. "Except I'm not sure the potty training is where it needs to be. We can work on that."

Taylor's jaw falls open in an attempt to look intimidating, her lips betraying her as they curve into an amused smirk, "You are such a j-a-c-k-a-s-s," she spells out with a laugh, earning a wink from Karlie.

"What Tay spell, mommy?" Levi whines, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

"Oh," Karlie begins as her mischievous glare meets Taylor's, "Tay said she's going to get you and Eli a puppy! Isn't that so nice of her, Le? Give her a big hug."

Levi's eyes widen like saucers. "Puppy?!" he squeaks, the forgotten noodle clinging precariously to his cheek. His tomato sauce-stained face erupts in a grin that stretches from ear to ear. Before Taylor can even process what Karlie had just said, Levi barrels into her, smothering her in a sticky, spaghetti-scented hug.