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“You got icing on your nose.”

She froze. “Where?”

“Right side.”

She wiped the side of her nose.

“Other side.”

She wiped it, but still didn’t quite get it.

I grabbed a napkin and leaned across the table. “Hold still.”

“I had it.”

“You absolutely did not.”

She smiled while I cleaned the icing away.

She made it through less than half before announcing she was full and closing the box for later.

We wandered downtown for a while after that, stopping whenever something caught Mila’s attention—which meant nearly every window we passed. By the time we reached the park, she had asked for three bracelets, a dollhouse, and four different pets.

“Who’s cleaning the tank?” I asked.

“You.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be your turtle.”

“But I’m a kid.”

“You’ll still be a kid when it needs cleaning.”

She sighed. “You don’t understand animals.”

“I understand them enough to know I don’t want one living in my house.”

“Our house.”

“Exactly.”

She let that go long enough to count three dogs walking past us before starting again.

“What about a fish?”

“No.”

“A hamster?”

“No.”

“A lizard?”

“Mila.”