"Seren, the peas are not decorations."
"They look better this way." Seren had arranged her peas into a careful circle around her mashed potato and was now assessing her work with the satisfaction of someone who had improved on the original design. "It's a garden."
"It's dinner."
"It can be both."
Nia looked at her daughter across the kitchen table and made the specific calculation she made approximately four times per meal whether the hill she was about to die on was worth dying on. The peas were still on the plate. That was something.
"Five peas," she said. "Eat five and the garden can stay."
Seren considered this with the gravity of someone reviewing contract terms. "Three."
"Four."
"Deal." Seren ate four peas with the decisive efficiency of someone who had gotten what she wante
