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Which was fine.
My own phone had vibrated a few times, and it looked like Claire had sent me the list that I had to see to.
She’d clearly been modest with it. Listing just the bare essentials. Even marking next to Judah’s clothing size that Two or three outfits would be fine.
Two or three, I scoffed as I grabbed two carts at the big box store, walking through the baby section and dropping one of almost everything in the boy section into the cart and grabbing some overnight Pull-Ups before heading to the women’s section.
She’d been even more modest with her own requests, but I grabbed a ton of pants and shirts, some sweaters, pajamas, socks, and underwear. There was no bra size listed, so I skipped over that while having a little talk with myself about picturing the poor woman with nothing on under her shirts.
She’d been through enough. She didn’t need me eye-fucking her while she rested and recovered.
I swung by the shoes, then made it to the toys. Where I probably went a little too nuts. But kids needed shit to play with. And usually needed to have those toys rotated, so they didn’t lose interest.
After the snacks and juices and the high chair, I was technically done. All I had to do was check out then pick up the crib.
But I found myself lingering, walking around with Claire on my mind, since Judah was more than adequately shopped for.
The woman had been a victim and prisoner of a dickhead for years. She deserved some pampering.
Luckily for her, I had a mom and two sisters. So I knew a thing or two about the soft shit they liked.
Fuzzy socks, a nice robe, the coziest blanket I could find. Then the self-care shit that helped them feel better about themselves. Face masks, good body wash and lotion, a little makeup, if she ever wanted to wear any, though she clearly was fucking flawless without it.
Then, done with that, I grabbed some more first aid shit, and checked out before heading home.
I backed the car into the drive, knowing it would be endless trips in through the garage, but I grabbed a few bags and went to the front door first, not wanting to freak her out with the sound of the garage opening without her knowing I was home first.
“It’s me,” I called in case she was close as I put the key in the lock, hearing the steady beep-beep-beep as I opened the door, then quickly punched in the code on the inside panel.
As I turned, I found her walking in from the living room, Judah on her hip.
And, fuck.
I couldn’t count the number of times I’d imagined this very scene. Me coming home from work to find a woman and a kid or two or five waiting for me.
Seeing it was like a kick to the gut.
Even if, I reminded myself, she wasn’t mine. Neither was Judah, even if he did send me a big smile as he looked at me.
He was a happy kid.
I figured that was one hundred percent his mother’s doing.
“Hey,” she said, giving me a wobbly smile.
She’d been crying. Her eyes were red, the lids swollen, and her cheeks splotchy.
I figured it was just overwhelm and relief.
“I have to bring some stuff in through the garage, but I didn’t want to freak you out,” I told her as I moved through to the kitchen, setting the bags on the table.
By the time I made it back with the next set of bags, she was carefully organizing the clothes for Judah as he played with the big block set in bold, primary colors I’d picked up after watching him try to build with the cups earlier.
“This is too much,” she insisted by the third trip in, her eyes round.
“It’s not,” I insisted before going back for one more round before I carted in the heavy shit.
When I made it back in the last time, I caught her standing there in the kitchen, holding one of the pairs of fuzzy socks in her hands, her lower lip all wobbly.
