Page 35 of For Fox Sake

I blow out a breath. When Ari is hungry, nothing will make her happy. I could put a giant cake and ice cream and a real live unicorn in front of her, and she would find something to complain about.

“I’m almost done with the dusting. I still need to vacuum. Then we can go home, and I’ll make a pizza. How does that sound?” She loves pizza.

“Ugh.” She falls over on the couch, covering her eyes with one arm flung over her face. “Fiiiiiine.”

I do have that pizza in the back of the freezer still, don’t I? A concern for a later time.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling into the driveway.

Ari is still cranky, complaining the whole five-minute drive home about how her shirt is itching her, her feet hurt, her eyes are dry, the house is too dark, and why can’t we get a cat anyway?

I am so ready to get her into bed so I can breathe for a few minutes, and then we can start this whole dog-and-pony show all over again tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

Inside, I get Ari a glass of milk and then dig around in the freezer.

Please tell me it’s in here somewhere. I move the box of chicken nuggets to one side.

“Momma, I spilled.”

I wave a hand behind me. “Get the cleaning spray from under the sink and wipe it up.”

Her footsteps shuffle against the linoleum, then stop.

I continue my search through a variety of frozen culinary delights like taquitos and peas and—is that bagel bites? Those are pizza-adjacent, right? I can sell these to her, maybe have a less volcanic reaction in my hungry child when I have to tell her the actual pizza is unavailable.

“Momma?”

The pizza is definitely not in here. Crap.

“Momma?”

“Yeah, Baby, it’s the bottle with the blue liquid.”

“It’s wet all over.”

“What?” I spin around.

Water is leaking out of the open cupboard and dripping onto the floor.

“Shit!”

I fall to a crouch in front of the sink and start yanking items out of the way. “Go get a towel,” I order Aria.

She runs away and returns with a small washcloth, handing it over triumphantly.

I take a deep breath. “Maybe get a bigger one?” She’ll come back with a dish towel next, no matter what I say. “You know, actually, will you go grab the red toolbox out of the garage?”

I know she knows exactly what and where that is.

“And a flashlight!” I call out as she disappears around the corner.

I peer into the dimness inside the cabinet, trying to locate the source of the leak and sigh.

I need to cut the water to the house. Maybe I can have Ari hold the towel to the leak, while I run and do that? Ugh.

These are the times I really wish I had an extra pair of adult hands.

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