I tipped the plastic spoon against Bodhi’s lower lip, scraping a smear of orange sweet potato back into his mouth. He sucked it in with a wet gasp, his small knees kicking against the plastic tray of his high chair. Next to him, Luna and Soleil were already finished, their fingers sticky with pureed fruit as they stared at the small red plastic key ring I had set on the wooden kitchen table to keep them quiet.
The kitchen smelled of steamed squash and warm formula, a heavy, sweet scent that seemed to cling to the yellow floral wallpaper. The metal motor of the baby swing in the corner was silent now, but the room still felt crowded with the physical weight of their things, from the stacked plastic bottles drying by the sink to the three boxes of size-two diapers blocking the pantry door.
Ryan stood near the pantry, the light from his phone casting a cold blue square across his chin. He turned the screen toward me, his thumb scrolling through a gallery of white sand, turquoise water, and a wide wooden deck with lounge chairs.
“The guys sent these from the rental agency down in Corolla,” Ryan said. He gave a quick, defensive chuckle. “It is thirty yards from the deck to the water.”
“The formula went up to forty-eight dollars a can today,” I said, keeping my voice level and quiet as I wiped Bodhi’s chin. “I bought four of them at the grocery store on the way home, and the clerk said they expect another price increase next week.”
Ryan checked his reflection in the dark glass of his phone screen before sliding it into his front pocket. He did not look at the three high chairs lined up against the kitchen wall, nor did he look at the sink full of unwashed bottle parts.
“We have the budget for it, Shannon,” he said, reaching into the pantry for a box of crackers. “You do not need to make every grocery trip sound like a financial crisis.”
“I am not making it a crisis,” I said. “I am telling you what it costs to keep them fed while you are away.”
