Page 92 of Mr. Infuriating

“Banilla!”

She looked over at me with raised brows, and repeated, “Chocolate or vanilla?”

I grinned broadly as I finished half of my sandwich. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had pudding.

“Oh, chocolate, definitely.”

She returned my smile and put the chocolate flavor in front of my plate, then told Jake, “One more bite, baby,” as she peeled the lid off the vanilla cup.

He did as his mom asked, and she set the pudding on the little boy’s tray, much to his delight.

Gretchen cleared his dinner plate, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher.

She still hadn’t served herself any soup.

“Are you going to eat?”

“Oh,” she glanced at the stove where the pot of soup still sat. I noticed the burner was off. “I will.”

“When, darlin’?”

“Probably after I put him to bed,” she sheepishly admitted.

Glancing down at my now-empty sandwich plate, I felt a wave of guilt for having eaten my grilled cheese without her.

I stood and ushered her to the barstool next to mine. Once she was settled, I grabbed her bowl and went to where the pot of potato soup sat on the stove and ladled her a generous portion.

“Eat,” I commanded as I set the bowl in front of her, then opened her pantry and pulled out a box of club crackers and deposited it next to her bowl. Next, I opened her fridge.

“What can I get you to drink?”

She jumped up from her seat.

“Oh my god! I didn’t offer you anything to drink! I’m so sorry!”

“Sit your cute butt back down and eat. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own drink if I’d wanted one. Now, let’s try this again. What can I get you to drink?”

Gretchen looked mildly amused when she settled back onto the stool and replied, “Just water, thanks.”

Jake took the opportunity to aggressively clank his now-empty sippy cup on the high chair tray. “More miwk, pweeze!”

“No, baby. No more milk. You can have water.”

Again, she stood up, and I immediately tsked, pointed to her seat, and told her, “I got it,” as I grabbed Jake’s cup.

I served her a glass of ice water first. Then, under her watchful eye, I rinsed the sippy cup before filling it with water from the refrigerator door.

“Does he get ice?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t like it.”

After giving Jake back his cup, I sat down beside her and picked up my spoon to finish my bowl of soup.

“I can warm that up for you.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I took a bite.

“Thanks, it’s still warm. How’s yours?”

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