I shudder. “No, please not a turtle. Ihateturtles.”
“I don’t want a dogora turtle,” Nico says. “I want a praying mantis.”
I nearly choke on a broccoli floret. “Awhat?”
“Is actually a good pet,” Enzo chimes in. “Very easy to take care of.”
Oh my God, Enzoknowsthat Nico wants to bring this horrible thing into our house? “No. We are not getting a praying mantis.”
“But why not, Mom?” Nico presses me. “They are super cool. I’ll keep it in my room, and you don’t ever have to see it. Unless you want to see it.”
He flashes me that endearing smile of his. Right now, he has this adorable round face and a gap in his teeth. But you can just tell that in another six or seven years, he’s going to be breaking hearts like his father used to before we were together.
“I don’t care if I see it,” I say. “I’ll know it’s there.”
“We will keep it contained,” Enzo tells me, flashing his own version of that same smile. Damn my husband for being so handsome.
“What do you feed it?” I ask.
“Flies,” Nico says.
“No.” I shake my head. “No. We are not doing this.”
“Don’t worry,” Nico says. “They’reflightlessflies.”
“They arewalks,” Enzo jokes.
“It won’t even cost you anything,” Nico adds. “We’re going to grow the flies ourselves.”
“No. No, no, no.”
Enzo reaches under the table and gives my knee a squeeze. “Millie, we pulled the kids out of school and made them move here. If Nico wants a praying mantis…”
Bullshit.Hewants the praying mantis too. It’s just the type of thing that Enzo would think is cool.
I look over at Ada for help, but she’s too absorbed in making little piles of noodles on her plate. She is spelling out her name in noodles. She doesn’t generally play with her food, so she must be really anxious.
“If I were to say yes,” I say, “where would we purchase a praying mantis?”
Enzo and Nico high-five each other, which would be adorable if I wasn’t so terrified of this insect they are bringing into the house.
“We can buy a praying mantis egg,” Nico explains. God, how long have they been discussing this? It seems like they have a very firm plan in mind. “And then it hatches and there are hundreds of them.”
“Hundreds…”
“But is okay,” Enzo says quickly. “They all eat each other, so then usually there’s only one or two left.”
“And then we can christen them,” Nico adds. “Okay, Mom?”
I imagine how horrified Suzette Lowell would be to discover there is a praying mantis as well as a colony of flightless flies in her perfect cul-de-sac, which is the only thing amusing aboutthis situation. Okay, fine, I guess I’m going to let this happen. But I swear to God, if there are flies all over my beautiful new home, Nico is going to have to move out.
FOUR
If I unpack one more box, I am going to throw up.
I have unpacked five billion boxes today. That’s a conservative estimate. And now I am standing in the master bathroom, staring down at a cardboard box on which I wrote “BATHROOM” in permanent magic marker, and I just don’t have the will to open it. Even though it has crucial bathroom stuff inside it. Maybe I can brush my teeth with my finger tonight.
The sound of footsteps grows louder outside the door, and a second later, Enzo pops his head into the bathroom. He smiles when he sees me standing there with my BATHROOM box.
