<blockquote>“She gave you weed?” She asks, and then, scowling, “you’re not suggesting we—”
Feng Xin makes a face at her. “No, are you kidding? With my baby in the room? You really think a lot of my parenting skills, huh.”
“Sorry,” Mu Qing mutters, because Feng Xin is a good dad, for the most part, once she stopped being stupid about leaving dangerous shit around her apartment.
“I thought,” says Feng Xin slowly. “I thought you might want it?”
“I don’t even drink,” Mu Qing says incredulously, “and you think I might want the shitty weed you got from the potential cannibal you went on a bad date with?”
“Weed is different from booze,” Feng Xin argues. “Maybe it’ll help you, like. Relax, a little.”
“Who the fuck says I need to relax,” Mu Qing snaps.
“Fuck,” says Cuocuo, gummily but unmistakably.
Mu Qing stares at Feng Xin, who stares right back. “Please tell me that wasn’t his first word.” </blockquote>
