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“I want a different one!” says Noah, equally looking like he’s about to cry.
I crouch down between them. “Come on, guys. I know making choices is hard when you want stuff, but it’s not fair when it’s not a discussion. It’s easy to get angry over this kind of thing, but why don’t we talk it out, okay?”
They share a look and then nod at me. “Please can I pick a different one, Chloe?” Noah says, his voice still choked with the tears at the back of his throat. “You can have the two you want.”
“Fine,” she says, dramatically closing her eyes and thrusting the box back at him.
“Thank you, sweetie,” I say, ruffling her hair. “That’s the next one on our list to buy, I promise.”
I stand back up and turn around, and jump on seeing Lucas standing right next to me, scrolling on his phone. “Is it time to go yet?”
“Aren’t you helping Ava?” I ask, blinking in confusion.
“Yeah, we finished.” He flaps his hand vaguely in her direction, and I look to see her with both hands wrapped around a basket that she wouldn’t have a hope of lifting. It’s filled to the brim with dolls and other toys, stacked neatly to optimize space. “I have nothing left to teach her.”
I will literally never understand how his mind works.
“Come here, Ava, honey,” I say, walking over to grab the basket and shove it onto the cart. “Let me get that for you.”
“Toys for profit,” she beams. What is Lucas’s brother going to think when he comes back to find all his kids turned into mini business tycoons? Ava is definitely going to have some vocabulary that’s unusual for her age. I won’t be surprised if she turns out to be the kind of kid who makes a fortune scamming her friends into buying cookies during break at school.
I turn back to Lucas. “I just have a couple more things on my list, mostly diapers and baby wipes and stuff.” I don’t tell him that I also want some fresh first-aid stuff too because I don’t trust him to have anything in date, and kids get into scrapes easily.
“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters into his phone.
I’m not his mother, so I don’t berate him. I don’t really care if he doesn’t care. This is already more responsibility than I ever wanted, and I don’t have the energy to waste on getting him to act like an adult too.
That said, I don’t exactly want to linger here either. The kids have been great so far, but shopping is an energy drain on us all and I don’t want to push anyone — me included — to the point of having a tantrum. I rush us through the rest of the store, not complaining when Ava picks up a mop that she decides she wants to be friends with, or when Noah and Chloe start bickering intensely about shapes.
Finally, we’re on the home stretch for the checkout.
“Can I go wait outside?” asks Lucas, yawning at his phone.
I fix him with a stern look. “We’re nearly done, and you’re paying. Grow up.” He wilts under my gaze. Perhaps that was a little too harsh, but I’m tired too.
“Hey folks, how are you?” asks the woman at the counter as we start unloading. She peers down at the kids and coos. “Aren’t you just the cutest?”
“No,” says Chloe, sulking and folding her arms like she’s seen Lucas doing all week.
The woman smiles harder and turns it onto me. “They’re tired,” I explain with a shrug. Carefully, I set up a production line with the kids, getting them to hand objects from the cart along to me so I can put them on the conveyor. All the while, Lucas leans on the cart and ignores us all.
“Aw,” the woman says, her entire face crumpling. “How old are they?”
“Two, seven, ten,” I say. “They’re a handful.”
“It’s so great to see you bring them out. It’s not so common to see both parents out on a shopping trip.”
That gets Lucas’s attention. “They’re not ours,” he scoffs.
“We’re not together,” I explain, my face burning with embarrassment and my back burning with the laser-focused eyes of the kids.
The woman draws out one longohand stops making small talk, leaving us to repack our purchases in silence. I think that’s even worse than the awkward misunderstanding — the knowledge that none of us know what to say next.
I try not to listen to the price when she announces the total. Lucas taps his card like it’s nothing.
The kids run on ahead to the car while Lucas and I bring the overstuffed cart. “Is that going to keep happening?” he demands.
“What?”
