Page 93
Story: Accidentally Yours
Willa and I tiptoed into our room carrying Delilah, who had just, miraculously, fallen asleep. I gently lay her down in the bassinet and prayed.
“We did it,” I whispered to Willa, grabbing hold of her hand.
“She finally surrendered.” Willa sighed.
Daisy suddenly appeared in the doorway with a pink tutu over her pajamas, holding a spoon.
“Don’t move,” Willa whispered to her.
She dropped the spoon. The metal hit the wood floor, like it was sounding off the alarms.
We froze. Daisy stood there staring at us, bent down, and picked up her spoon, dropping it to the floor again.
“She’s doing it on purpose,” Willa said.
“She’s testing us.”
She picked up the spoon again and dropped it. Delilah stirred and grunted.
“Okay. It’s either her or us,” I said.
“Let’s not jump into war just yet. I feel like we’re in a hostage situation.”
“We are. Butwe’rethe hostages.”
“We can reason with her,” Willa said.
“Reasoning is not her love language.”
“Give Mama the spoon, Daisy.”
“No.” She picked it up and shuffled down the hall.
“Hostage situation averted.” Willa smiled. “What’s for dinner? We can DoorDash something.”
“And risk waking the baby? I’d rather starve,” I said.
“True. I think we have a frozen pizza in the freezer,” she said.
“The beep of the preheated oven might be too loud.”
We tiptoed out of the bedroom and stopped mid-step when we hit the living room. There was Daisy, sitting in the middle of the couch, with red star-shaped sunglasses on and a full bag of Goldfish crackers dumped across her lap and the cushions, watching Miss Rachel.
“Oh my God. It’s a snack massacre,” Willa said.
“Fishes.” Daisy looked at us, holding one up in her hand.
“Is that so, boss?” I sighed. “Daisy, why are the fish all over the couch?” I asked.
“Look at her,” Willa said. “She’s not eating them. She summoned them like her own personal army.”
“Her power is definitely growing.” I nodded.
“Maybe she’s having an emotional breakdown because of the baby,” Willa said.
“Or maybe she’s upping her bullying skills to unleash on her sister.” My brow arched.
“Who knows.” Willa threw her hands up in the air. “This couch is toast.”
“We did it,” I whispered to Willa, grabbing hold of her hand.
“She finally surrendered.” Willa sighed.
Daisy suddenly appeared in the doorway with a pink tutu over her pajamas, holding a spoon.
“Don’t move,” Willa whispered to her.
She dropped the spoon. The metal hit the wood floor, like it was sounding off the alarms.
We froze. Daisy stood there staring at us, bent down, and picked up her spoon, dropping it to the floor again.
“She’s doing it on purpose,” Willa said.
“She’s testing us.”
She picked up the spoon again and dropped it. Delilah stirred and grunted.
“Okay. It’s either her or us,” I said.
“Let’s not jump into war just yet. I feel like we’re in a hostage situation.”
“We are. Butwe’rethe hostages.”
“We can reason with her,” Willa said.
“Reasoning is not her love language.”
“Give Mama the spoon, Daisy.”
“No.” She picked it up and shuffled down the hall.
“Hostage situation averted.” Willa smiled. “What’s for dinner? We can DoorDash something.”
“And risk waking the baby? I’d rather starve,” I said.
“True. I think we have a frozen pizza in the freezer,” she said.
“The beep of the preheated oven might be too loud.”
We tiptoed out of the bedroom and stopped mid-step when we hit the living room. There was Daisy, sitting in the middle of the couch, with red star-shaped sunglasses on and a full bag of Goldfish crackers dumped across her lap and the cushions, watching Miss Rachel.
“Oh my God. It’s a snack massacre,” Willa said.
“Fishes.” Daisy looked at us, holding one up in her hand.
“Is that so, boss?” I sighed. “Daisy, why are the fish all over the couch?” I asked.
“Look at her,” Willa said. “She’s not eating them. She summoned them like her own personal army.”
“Her power is definitely growing.” I nodded.
“Maybe she’s having an emotional breakdown because of the baby,” Willa said.
“Or maybe she’s upping her bullying skills to unleash on her sister.” My brow arched.
“Who knows.” Willa threw her hands up in the air. “This couch is toast.”
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