I couldn’t read what flavours they were, but one was orange, another green, and one a greyish pink. Grabbing all three, I shoved them into my cargo pockets, grabbed the platter with cheese and grapes along with the ham, and somehow balanced my haul back to the living room.
Plonking them beside Della, I dashed back to the kitchen drawers to pilfer a spoon for her. I didn’t need cutlery. I was too hungry to eat with manners.
“Sit still,” I ordered as I landed next to her on the plush comfy rug. I wanted to take this rug. To sleep on it. Wrap myself up in it in the forest. I never wanted to leave its comfy-ness.
But it was too big, too heavy, and after tonight, I would be travelling light.
I’d no longer have a baby to haul across the country.
I could fly.
My stomach growled at the enticing smells, and I ripped off the cellophane, dug dirty nails into the ham, and ripped off a handful.
Della licked her lips as I tore it apart with my teeth, swallowing before properly chewing, forgetting I was human and becoming an animal instead.
Her smacking grew louder as she squashed herself against my leg, reaching for the ham. I didn’t stop her as she copied me, powerless fingers clawing at the meat, little tongue licking air for a taste.
Even though part of me wanted to strike her for touching my food, I fought those instincts and tore her off a piece. She snatched it as if possessed by the same feral obsession, sucking and mouthing the smoky meat, frustrated tears filling her eyes as she failed to chew.
“Ugh, you’re so useless.” I grabbed another handful of ham, feeding the monster in my belly so I could at least find some compassion to be kind.
Content, if not annoyed with her lack of progress, Della sat quietly and let me eat. She never tore her eyes off my mouth and swallowed when I swallowed and smacked when I smacked, and when that crawling, tearing emptiness inside was sated, I shoved as many grapes into my mouth as I could then twisted off the lids from the baby food jars.
With ham-greasy fingers, I scooped up a bit of orange slop with the spoon and held it in front of her nose.
She gagged and fell backward.
I snickered. “That good, huh?”
I didn’t help her up. She’d been the one to tumble; it was up to her to figure it out, but I did shove the spoon in my mouth to taste what she’d refused.
“Yuck.” My lips puckered at the overly mushed paste that tasted vaguely like pumpkin. Nothing like the sun-ripened, freshly picked pumpkin that we’d grow at the farm, but a vegetable pretending to be a close cousin.
Tossing it to the side, I pulled a strip of ham off the bone and waited as Della figured out with her hopeless legs and arms how to sit up and wave her hands for something to eat.
I placed the ham on my tongue and chewed it. I chewed until the meat was juicy and tender, and then I passed it to her.
Instantly, the ham vanished from my hand to hers, then disappeared into her tiny mouth.
She bounced on the spot as she swallowed, eyes bright for more.
I didn’t know if it was the familiarity of the routine from living in the forest together—eating rabbit and rat—or if I’d turned her into a carnivore with our previous measly choices; either way, I tried offering the pumpkin on the spoon again, only to have it splattered over my cargos with demands for more ham.
Seeing as this would be the last time I ever saw her, I obeyed. Stripping ham, chewing, and giving it to her until she’d had her fill.
When her eyes finally grew heavy and the sparkle of dinner and toys dimmed, I stood and returned to the kitchen.
Della did her best to watch me as I reached outside the cat flap for my backpack and stuffed it with as much food as I could. But by the time I’d finished squashing in apple juice cartons and filling up a few empty bottles I found in the recycling bin with water, she was curled up on the rug, snoring gently.
The cat slithered past me, giving me a cold glare before trotting over to the baby on his rug. He sniffed her, investigated every inch, then curled up beside her as if accepting this new human in his home.
She didn’t need me.
Soon, when the sun rose, she’d have brothers and sisters and parents who would raise her as one of their own. For now, she had a cat to watch over her, fish to blow bubbles at her, and a kid who’d never meant to be in her life disappear.
She’d forget all about me.