Theo: Hey. How are things going today? Is Charlotte being good for you?
I glanced over at Charlotte, who was reclined against the armrest with her fuzzy pink blanket tucked under her chin and her stuffed raccoon propped neatly beside her. Her eyes were locked on the TV, where a group of He-Man Women-Haters were up to no good.
I picked up my phone and typed back.
Me: She’s doing great. We did some arts and crafts this morning, and now we’re watching The Little Rascals.
For the third time this week.
Theo: Nice. She was telling me about that movie yesterday. It’s supposedly the Best. Movie. Ever.
I smiled, my head hearing those last words in his dry, even tone.
Me: It would seem so. I hope you’re not too mad at me for introducing her to this latest obsession.
Though really, if Charlotte had to get latched onto a movie, at least it was one I actually liked.
Not that I’d really managed to sit and watch it from start to finish yet. I’d been using the downtime to submit applicationsfor anything that felt even remotely adjacent to my degree. Exercise science assistant roles. Physical trainer at a gym. Recreation center jobs. And even an activities coordinator at a retirement home.
Theo: No worries. Though I think I might have to ask Jessie to buy more pickles if this keeps up. We were almost out when I went to grab one last night.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
Because, yep, Charlotte’s sudden interest in pickles was absolutely the movie’s fault.
Every time the two younger characters launched into their ridiculous little pickle song, Charlotte would gasp loudly, whip her head toward me, and announce that she needed a pickle.Pronto!It was imperative that she eat hers at the exact same time as the characters on screen.
It had become a whole thing.
And when I’d been on the phone with my mom last night, giving her an update on my life, babysitting Charlotte and her suddenLittle Rascalspickle obsession, she’d laughed and said that I’d totally done the same thing at her age. Pickle demands and all.
Which made me love our afternoon ritual even more now.
Me: Sorry about creating a pickle monster.
Theo: Don’t be. I’m just glad she’s having fun. And trying new foods.
That made my chest warm.
Me: Maybe we should start watching Popeye the Sailor next. It supposedly inspires people to try spinach, according to my mom.
Theo: Do it! That girl could definitely use more veggies in her life.
I smiled at my phone.
I didn’t actually know much about Popeye beyond the basics. A cartoon sailor. A can of spinach. Muscles that ballooned the second he swallowed it. My mom had used him as Exhibit A more than once when she was trying to convince me to eat my greens so that I’d be stronger for gymnastics.
For a split second, my brain supplied the image of Popeye flexing, forearms absurdly oversized as he hoisted something heavy with ease.
And then, without warning, that image shifted to a memory from Monday night. Theo, at Romeo and Lia’s house, scooping up a very tired Charlotte with one arm like she weighed nothing at all. The way she’d wrapped herself around him, perfectly content. The solid strength in his forearms, as if holding her there was the most natural thing in the world.
I swallowed and forced my attention back to my phone.
Apparently, my brain had decided Theo Archibald was the real-life spinach success story.
I shook my head at the ridiculous thought and refocused on my laptop.
The last thing I needed was to daydream about how sexy my boss for the week was.