Page 51 of Claiming What's Mine

His fingers touched my cheek, and instantly I became his puppet. His fingers, his eyes, his lips, all of Jayden Henry, and the man he had become, took charge of my body, pulling the stings.

“Mom! Mom!” My daughter ran up, her smile glowing from ear to ear. “Check it out, I got seven! Look!” Shoving the jar in my face, I watched the little bugs as their backsides popped with color.

“Nice job, Honey,” I said, taking the hair from around her face and pushing it behind her ear. “Okay, I need you to go inside to brush your teeth, and get ready for bed.”

“Can I keep them by my bed tonight?”

“No, you have to let them go.” Smiling, I took the jar from her hands and untwisted the top, handing it back. “If you keep them in the jar, they'll die. We don't want them to die, not if we want more fireflies for next summer.”

Bliss wrinkled her nose and frowned. “Lame,” she said as she pulled off the top and let the bugs fly free. “If I can't keep bugs, and you won't let me get a dog, what can I have?”

“Oh, Honey. . .” Twisting her shoulders, I walked her into the house. “When you're old enough to understand what it means to take care of a pet, then you can get something. Maybe a fish.”

Tipping her head back to look up at me, her feet sludged over the floor reluctantly. “I'm old enough now, I know I am. Grandma said you had chickens and a rooster, and she said you had two cats.”

“Grandma's make up stuff, especially when they want to convince their grandchildren to ask for things they'll never get.”

“So you're saying Grandma is lying?”

“No, I'm saying if you really want one, ask Grandma to get it for you, and keep it at her house.” Giving her a little push, I stopped moving. “Now go brush your teeth and get ready for bed.”

“Fine,” she whined, rolling her eyes and moving slow as a snail. “But I still think it's lame.”

“You think everything is lame. You know what I think is lame?” I asked.

Bliss looked at me over her shoulder, stopping in the bathroom door. “What?”

“A daughter who can't keep her room clean, but wants a pet.”

“That's not lame, Mom, that's an observation.”

“I still think it's lame.” Smiling, I dropped my purse on the kitchen counter and jerked my head in her direction. “Teeth, go, it's bed time.”

“When do I start staying up later? Eight is so early for bed.” Bliss was in the bathroom, putting toothpaste on her toothbrush. “I'm not a little kid anymore.”

“Can you drive?”

“No.”

“Can you cook yourself a meal?”

“I can cook scrambled eggs.”

“Not without my help, so that doesn't count. Can you get yourself up for school without me waking you?”

“No, but—”

“Uh, uh,” I said, tisking her. “Looks like I still get to make the rules.”

“Lame,” she said, stuffing the toothbrush into her mouth with a slight smirk on her face.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Waving her off, I kicked off my shoes and walked into the living room. “We have a cookout Saturday at church, want to help me make a fruit salad?”

Popping her head out from the bathroom, her mouth was all foamy and full of toothpaste bubbles. “Can I pick out the fruit?” she asked, her words hard to understand and almost slurred.

“Yeah, you can.” Dropping onto the couch, I grabbed the remote and turned on the television. “We'll go tomorrow and get the stuff.”

“Can I pick out something for me too?”