I'm pretty sure the Desert Peach became a 7 Eleven by the time I started walking Molly to the Andrew Square station, where we would take the CT3 bus to Boston Latin.
In the beginning, we'd stop in to grab a drink and pseudo-healthy snack. One day Molly asked me to get some kind of pastry close to the register that didn't look all that breakfast-y.
"I don't think I'm comfortable buying you that. If you want, you can buy it, but I'm not going to."
Molly's eyes lit up with new information. "Really?"
"It's your money. I can't tell you what to do with it."
She just smiled in confusion.
This might have been the modern equivalent of letting a kid take a sip of alcohol, but the fact remained that I had given Molly options she had never previously considered in her life, and she didn't quite know what to do.
She just stood there. She looked at the pastry she wanted, at the register, at me, the register, the pastry a little more, back to the register, then finally me.
Finally she said, still smiling with bewildered excitement, "I got a twenty."
"And I'm sure they can break change,” I said.
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