RP Post: Brownies Are for Later

Cassidy sat cross-legged on top of the picnic table, sun dappling down through the park trees and warming her shoulders. The sandwich in her hand was squishy and soft, made just the way she liked it—peanut butter and jelly, not too much crust. She chewed slowly, watching a butterfly drift over the grass and wondering how long “not yet” was supposed to take.

The picnic basket was right there. She could see the foil-wrapped brownies tucked beside the plastic tub of grapes and the paper bag of chips. Her momma had packed everything neatly, like always. Cassidy knew the rules—sandwiches first, then fruit, then dessert if you still have room. But Cassidy always had room. That’s how tummies worked when you were three and growing.

Across the field, Sparrow was tossing the football in the air and catching it again, and the swings clinked and creaked behind her. But all Cassidy could think about was how the brownies probably smelled like chocolate sunshine and how unfair it was that waiting was part of everything. She took another bite of her sandwich and sighed through her nose, very softly, like a little storm cloud on a bright, hungry day.