Page 101 of Brutal Reign
“Come on, let’s go see these tomatoes, and then we can bring your mom breakfast in bed. How does that sound?”
“Good! Can we pick the biggest ones?” Kin asks, slipping his small hand into mine.
“Absolutely,” I promise, leading him toward the kitchen.
Minutes later, we’re in Yarik’s garden, the morning sun warm on our backs. Kin crouches between tomato plants, examining each fruit like he’s conducting important scientific research.
“Why do some tomatoes have bumpy parts?” Kin asks, pointing to a particularly ugly but ripe specimen.
“Those are the tastiest ones,” Yarik explains patiently. “The pretty ones aren’t always the best.”
Kin continues to inspect each plant while I hold the basket. His concentration is absolute.
Finally, he points to a tomato on the vine the size of his fist. “That one’s like a dinosaur egg!”
“Everything’s like a dinosaur with you,” I tease as he adds it to our basket.
“Can I pick flowers for Mama? Girls like them.”
“Where did you learn that?” I ask, amused.
“Boys give girls flowers when they want them to be happy.” He shrugs, like everyone knows this fact.
Yarik chuckles from where he’s checking his pepper plants. “Smart boy.”
“Very smart,” I agree. “What kind of flowers do you think your mama would like?”
Kin considers this. “Pink ones. No, purple! Her favorite sweater is purple. And she had purple nail polish, but Simon didn’t like it.”
And that’s why I’m going to make sure Simon dies a slow, painful death.
“Well, Simon’s not here anymore. And I happen to know Yarik grows the best flowers.”
Yarik gestures toward a section of the garden bursting with lavender and purple asters.
Kin abandons the tomatoes and races toward the flowerbeds, his dark hair catching the morning breeze. He stops abruptly and turns back to me. “Maybe you should give her the flowers,” he suggests.
“You think so?”
Kin nods earnestly, and I realize he’s playing matchmaker, ensuring I stick around as his stepfather. Can’t say I mind that.
“How about we choose them together?”
As we pick a bouquet for Hope, Kin keeps up a steady stream of chatter about everything from dinosaur diets to his favorite colors, to the fact that he wants to learn to swim like a fish.
We’re about done when, out of nowhere, he says, “Mama says my real daddy lives really far away. But you’re here now, so that’s better.”
I ruffle his hair, my throat tight. “Yeah, buddy. I’m here now.”
By the time we head back inside, Kin is practically dancing with excitement about surprising Hope.
“Should we make her coffee too?” he asks as Yarik washes the vegetables in the kitchen sink.
“Definitely coffee,” I agree. “What else?”
“She likes toast with jam. And bananas.” He thinks hard. “Sometimes she eats cereal with me, and always gives me the marshmallows.”
“Let’s make her something special,” I say. “How about eggs, toast, and some slices of the tomato we picked?”
