Page 44 of Unleashed

I lift my eyes, looking around the little faces staring back at me. “This is your field trip. Not mine.” I finally find what I’m looking for, and start separating the sleeves, handing one over to each girl.

“But you’re here too.” The little girl with the cockroach obsession takes her cheese, peels it open, and bites off the end like a psychopath, before asking around a mouthful of half-chewed dairy, “What is your favorite animal?”

I haven’t really considered it before. The years I probably would have spent thinking of my favorite colors and animals were dedicated to things like figuring out how to find food and ways to wash my clothes without a machine.

But I’m able to come up with an answer pretty easily.

“The hippos.”

“Why?” Zara asks as she peels a strip from her cheese, eating it like I taught her, the non-psychopath way.

“Because even though they’re vegetarians, they kill more people every year than any other animal.” I slap a strand of cheese between my lips. “So they’re not doing it for survival. They’re doing it because they’re annoyed.”

I swallow my snack, but it gets lodged halfway down my throat when I notice five sets of eyes staring at me in horror.

Pretty sure I’m gonna get a phone call about this later.

“Let’s go see some other animals.” I decide to try to distract them, hoping they’ll forget all about my love of homicidal hippopotamuses.

Unfortunately, the closest enclosure is the fucking hippos, and my new group of best friends proceed to tell every other kid within the area their newly acquired knowledge about the herbivores and their murderous habits.

Before those little brainworms can crawl any deeper into their noggins, I haul them out of the space and take them straight to the ice cream stand. Have they had lunch? No. Do I care? Absolutely not. This is about bribery. Making them love me enough they won’t even consider ratting me out.

They finish their incentive snack just in time for lunch. After using the package of wet wipes I take everywhere to clear all evidence from faces and hands, we head off to meet up with the rest of the class. Everyone’s meals are packed into coolers, and the kids wait patiently as their teacher passes them out. As soon as Zara has hers, I go to work setting her up.

I’ve packed her a lot of lunches over the years—she’s had to be in daycare from very early on—so my sister has a great spread. I also always pack extra, just in case, and today is no exception. She has multiple packs of cheese and crackers, two full baggies of turkey and cheese pinwheels, a gigantic container of grapes and cantaloupe, and four break-and-bake cookies I miraculously managed to get through the oven last night without burning.

I sit across from her, forgetting all about the little hiccup over the hippos as I watch my sister being generous with her food, making sure her classmates all get enough to eat. It’s so difficult to teach someone as young as she is how to be aware of other people’s struggles without breaking her little heart over what some kids have to go through, but this moment makes me think I might have accomplished that.

I’m just starting to eat my own food when I notice a little guy at the next table over with nothing but a half a peanut butter sandwich. He wolfs it down then sits and stares at everyone else as they obliviously consume chips and fruit and cheese.

Catching Zara’s attention, I let her know I’ll be right back, then dig into my bag of tricks to pull out one of the extra lunches I brought just in case. Carrying it to where he sits, I hold it out, doing my best to seem perplexed as to how I’ve ended up in the position I’m in. “I must’ve miscounted this morning and accidentally brought too many lunches. Do you know anyone who might be able to eat this one so it doesn’t go to waste?”

The little boy’s big blue eyes lock onto the paper bag in my hand before coming to my face. “I could eat it.”

I blow out a loud sigh, looking relieved. “Thank goodness.” I hand it over. “I was starting to get really worried I wouldn’t find anyone to take this.”

He snatches the bag from me, eagerly digging inside to pull out everything it contains. His eyes light up when he sees cheesy fish crackers and apple slices with caramel dip. There’s a bunch of the same turkey cheese roll ups I make for Zara, and a couple yogurt tubes to top it off.

And of course cookies. Because everyone deserves cookies.

Once he’s situated and happily filling his little tummy, I go back to my seat, quickly eating as much of my own lunch as I can manage before it’s time to pack up and go.

The bus ride back is filled with chatter about favorite animals and best moments. Thankfully, I don’t hear anyone mention murderous hippos, so I might be in the clear.

Hopefully. Because I would love to do this again. Field trips are freaking fantastic.

We get back to school, and, since I took the day off, Zara gets to leave with me instead of spending the rest of her afternoon at the daycare. Taking full advantage of being off during normal working hours, we make a quick trip to the library before hitting the grocery store.

By the time we’re finally done with our errands, we get home at about the same time we normally would. And that’s okay. We had a freaking fun day, and I don’t have to go to the grocery store this weekend.

I can’t help but glance in the direction of the tree Trevor’s been parking under, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or annoyed when he isn’t there. I know it should be weird to find him parked outside my house like that, even though it frustrated the shit out of me, it didn’t feel weird. It felt strangely… Nice.

The man has a mansion. I’ve only seen it from the outside, but I’m sure it’s gorgeously decorated and meticulously maintained. Definitely more comfortable than his car. Even sleeping in his office would be more comfortable than snoozing under that tree.

No one has ever made themselves uncomfortable for me. Not even to stalk me.

Not that I necessarily think Trevor is stalking me. He literally sees me at work every single day. If he needs a fix, he knows he’s going to get it. But I don’t really know what else to call his presence, so stalking it is.