Fool Me Once

Spaghetti with meatballs. Turkey meatballs. Murkeyballs. Ian doesn’t eat; to our collective surprise, he eats these.

He’s finished the meat and only noodles remain, cooling and covered in Parmesan. He eats string by string, tilting his head back as far as he can, a cavalier sword-swallower dropping noodles into his mouth. The pasta falls into coils, and he chews.

Kelly quarters a meatball and waits. His head tilts, and she waits. When his eyes are staring at the ceiling her fork darts forward, silently placing a slice of meat onto his plate. Crouching tiger, hidden Mama Celeste.

His chin falls and his eyes follow, landing on the intruder. He frowns, glances between me and Kelly and the meatball. Theories flicker behind his eyes, which narrow. He is suspicious. I’ve met my quota…haven’t I? He opens his mouth to speak, but changes his mind and spears the meatball. He chews.

Kelly’s eyes meet mine and they swell with wonder. I—very slightly—shrug.

He reaches for a noodle and Kelly reaches for her fork, quick but greedy. Addicted to the thrill of outwitting a too-clever four-year-old. Tilt, dart, chew.

His chin falls and his eyes follow. ‘Wha…?’ He glares at us. Busted. ‘Heeey!’