Page 35 of Foxed Up

Eli, putting the bagged kiwi into the cart, giggled. He liked hearing his father get teased, apparently. I gave him a fake-stern look, and he grinned, showing his dimple.

I couldn't help smiling back. "What next, kiddo?"

"Milk and toast," said Eli promptly.

"Bread," I corrected. "You can't buy toast."

"Why not?" asked Wallace suddenly. "They sell every other kind of convenience food, at stands or specialty stores. Why not have a toast stand somewhere? I'd buy from it."

"Toast is too easy," said Eli seriously. "Anybody can make toast!"

"They sell toast at diners," I reminded. "With the breakfast foods."

"Yes, but have you ever eaten diner toast?" Wallace made a "yuck" face.

As far as I could tell he was being entirely serious. I still wanted to laugh and squeeze him in a tight hug. He was ridiculous and entirely edible.

He said, "It's dry and not very interesting. And it's usually that cheap bread that tastes like nothing. I want good, hearty, grain toast. I'd buy it from a cart — hot, with fresh butter and maybe jam. Like a hotdog cart, but for toast. Especially on a rainy day, or when it's cold, or there's no time to stop for breakfast."

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," said Eli ostentatiously, looking at me from under his lashes to see if I'd caught that.

"Is it?" said Wallace, smiling down at him. "I wonder who says that?" He looked at me.

"Daddy does," said Eli. "But it's not true. Supper's the most important because you don't have to rush."

"Does your father rush your breakfasts?" asked Wallace in mock horror. He tsked. "What a waste."

I was trying not to laugh at them; it was hard to keep a straight face.

"No, it's me getting ready for school," admitted Eli. "I always lose my shoes."

"Do you really? My mother used to make us keep our shoes by the door so we couldn't lose them."

Ourshoes? Did he have siblings? He'd never told me, I realized. I hadn't met his family yet, and he didn't talk about them much.

"I tried that," said Eli, "but Daddy tripped over them and said fuck."

"Eli!" I almost choked. "That's — we don't say that."

"Oh." Eli looked abashed, as he suddenly remembered fuck was a bad word and it wasn't supposed to be said by kids, or adults in public. "Well, you did," he said quietly.

A nearby woman shopping alone cast me a scandalized look. She'd clearly heard at least some of the conversation.

"That," I said with as much dignity as I could muster, "is because you put them right in front of the door, and I almost fell on my face. If you put them to the side, it would be fine. And Daddy's trying to stop swearing."

Wallace looked skeptical, but he didn't contradict that. I shepherded our little group along, eager to move on to another topic and another aisle.

In the dairy section, Eli wanted to get chocolate milk as well as regular milk, and I didn't fight him on it. He was being really good, and I could give him some leeway as a reward.

Wallace lingered dreamily over the bread loaves, trying to find the one that would make the heartiest toast. I almost felt like I was taking two kids shopping; he was definitely not in a hurry or being very focused.

When my son remembered he had to get peanut butter, and ran off to get some without waiting for us, I sidled closer to Wallace. "What was with Green?" I asked. "What was that about?"

"Oh." Wallace looked embarrassed again. He drew a line awkwardly on the floor with his shoe. "Well, I — I've been sending him gift cards, so he can afford to get more fresh things. I suppose he was saying thank you." His ears looked pink at the admission.

For a moment, I stared at him, then I couldn't help the soppy smile that overtook my face. "Still feeling guilty, huh?"

"No," said Wallace, bristling slightly. "It's — it's just that I have a good job, and no children, and he has a hard job that doesn't pay well and lots of mouths to feed, and it's just best to help where you can, okay?"