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8
ZAC
Ilocked my car, taking Grayson’s hand as we crossed the Target parking lot. We got inside and I grabbed a cart, heading for the boys’ clothing section. “Okay, G-Man, let’s start with clothes.”
“Clothes are boring,” he whined. “Can we start with toys?”
“Toys? Back-to-school shopping doesn’t really involve toys, bud, sorry.”
He sighed dramatically, his steps becoming a cross between a shuffle and a stomp. I arched a brow at him, and he stood straighter, walking normally again. I wouldn’t say I was a mean dad—unless you counted caring about his dental hygiene and junk food intake—but there were certain things I didn’t tolerate. And a bad attitude over something like this was one of them.
School shopping wasn’t my favorite way to spend a Saturday evening, either. But school started on Monday, and my out-of-whack work schedule hadn’t left us much time for this, so here we were.
Besides, being here on a Saturday night was better than sitting at home thinking about whatever Layla was up to. It had been over a week since our meetup at Mickey’s, and I still had her on my mind whenever I wasn’t occupied with something else.
We cruised up to the shirts, and I jerked my head at a row of colorful tees with popular characters on them. “You wanna pick out a few of those while I grab the shorts and jeans?”
He took one look at the Sonic the Hedgehog shirt at the front of the rack, and his eyes lit up. “Yes! Size small now, right?”
“Yep.”
I watched him flick through the tees for a second, marveling at how much he’d grown since the last time we’d gone back-to-school shopping. He’d been starting kindergarten then, and we’d shopped on the other side of the aisle in the toddler section where all of the sizes ended with a T. Then he’d had a growth spurt in the spring that put us over here in thebig boysection, updating his wardrobe once again. That jump had hit me right in the chest. And now? Now, we were up to the smalls. Man, the whole thing didn’t feel verysmallto me.
“How many can I get?” he asked, taking a third shirt off the rack and tucking it under his arm.
I scratched my head. “Uh, well, most of your extra-smalls can be donated at this point, so I guess get like … ten?”
“Ten?Nice.”
“There’s a table with some folded ones,” I said, pointing to it. “Check there, too.”
I turned back to the bottoms and picked out some shorts and jeans, trying to get a good mix of basketball shorts, khaki shorts, and the jeans with the magical little adjusters at the waist so I could make them fit his slender frame. Jo was the one who’d pointed out that sweet little feature when I’d vented about how everything seemed to fall off him even though it was supposed to be his size. But when she’d shown me they were adjustable? Boom. Game changer.
When we were finished with tops and bottoms, we sized-up his underwear and got some new socks. Then came shoes, which was a bit of a fight, because he wanted six different light-up shoes and couldn’t seem to pick a favorite. We’d settled on one light-up pair, some basic running shoes, and a pair of plain black slip-ons that I figured might come in handy if he had to dress up a little.
“Okay, now for the school supplies,” I said, pulling a folded piece of paper out of my back pocket and looking it over.
“What do we need?”
“Everything but the kitchen sink, apparently,” I muttered, scanning the list of items as dollar signs flashed in my mind. Back-to-school shopping was no joke.
We made our way to the corner of the store where yellow and orange banners featuring pencils, binders, and backpacks marked the spot. I let Grayson pick out his favorite colors and characters for most of the stuff, surprised to find myself having fun. It was like a scavenger hunt or something, me calling out what we needed and him racing to find it and toss it in the cart. But then I rounded a corner too fast and hit someone with my cart while they were crouched down in front of the composition books, bringing our fun to a screeching halt.
“Oh, shoot, sorry. I didn’t see you there,” I said, hoping it hadn’t hurt much.
All the air rushed out of my lungs as Layla stood, swiping her long hair over her shoulder. Her eyes bulged when she saw it was me who’d hit her, but then she straightened her shoulders, and her face grew blank. “Um, no worries. It’s fine.”
My words caught in my throat as she took a stack of notebooks and dropped them into a nearby cart. We hadn’t spoken since that night at Mickey’s, and the urge to make this interaction last longer raged against the feeling that I should walk away.
“Are you back-to-school shopping, too?” Grayson asked her, eyeing the contents of her cart.
She smiled down at him. “Yes I am.”
He tilted his head with a frown creasing his brow. “Aren’t you a little too …oldfor that?”
I choked on my own tongue, scrambling to figure out how to make my mouth form a coherent sentence. “Gray—”
Layla waved me off and let out a musical laugh. “You’re right. I’m not a student, I’m a teacher. So, I’m getting supplies for my classroom.”
