As I should’ve anticipated, a text message rattles among the metal shelving, and Jonas gives me a whale-eyed stare, as if he’s prepared for us to get in trouble for making a noise.
Cassidy:quick Q: can you pick up some diapers for me? <3
I can. Although we’ll be evenmorebehind, so I’ll have to call the clinic and let Wanda know I’ll be a few minutes late. And then I’ll also have to ask Whit to check on Mom, since I don’t have time to pop in before my afternoon is full of patients.Shit,and I don’t know what I’ll feed Jonas for lunch—a ten-year-old boy can’t skip meals the same way I tend to do. Hopefully Wanda can help with that, too.
I glance over at Jonas and hold up a plain black pair of sneakers. “How about these ones?”
His face contorts. “Mid.”
“Okay.So, like, is that a yes?”
“Dad said I could get some Nikes.” He continues down the aisle, then holds up a gray Nike sneaker. “This one’s good.”
“Well, your dad isn’t paying for them.” I start scanning the tower of boxes to look for his size. “And if I’m spending over a hundred bucks on a pair of shoes, they’re going to be for me. What size shoe are you?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. But I need these ones.”
With an irritated exhale, I hold my empty palm out toward him. “Give me your shoe so I can check the size.”
My phone beeps again in my back pocket while I wait for him to untie his sneaker.
Dad:Hey kiddo, I’m gonna be late tonight, so you’re in charge of dinner.
Frozen pizza, it is.
“Jonas, can youpleasepick up the pace?” I snap my fingers at him, and finally he hands over a sweaty sneaker, which I have to bring disgustingly close to my face in order to read the worn number printed inside.
“All right. They don’t have your size in these black ones. So, how about gray?” I point to the neighboring shoe on the shelf.
“How about Nikes?”
“Jonas.”
“Blair.”
I huff. “Okay. First of all, I was in the room when you were born, so you’ll put some damn respect into theauntietitle. Secondly, you don’t deserve shit after getting suspended, so you should be thankful you’re getting anything at all.”
I toss his stinky old shoe, and it lands with a thump at his feet, but he makes no move to put it on.
“I’m not wearing them.” He pops a shoulder with discontent, staring longingly at the stupid shoes that cost a ludicrous amount, given how quickly kids outgrow or ruin them.
“Well, that’s a fight for your mom to have with you.” My fingertip jumps between the boxes to find his size in a charcoal pair. “Please put your shoe on so we can leave. We’re seriously running late.”
The shoebox I need slips out of the pile like a Jenga block, and I stand back up triumphantly. He shuffles his old shoe around with his foot, but doesn’t put any real effort into slipping it on.
Watching him isexcruciating.
My blood pressure’s a percussion playing behind my eardrums, and I anxiously lick my lips. “Jonas,please. I’m gonna leave here without you, at this rate.”
“Relax,” he chides, finally sliding the stupid shoe over his stupid little foot. And by the time it’s tied and he catches up with me, I’m almost done paying for the “mid” sneakers.
“My dad is just gonna buy the Nikes for me when I see him.”
I roll my eyes discreetly, knowing damn well I’m only here buying shoes for a preteen boy because his dad is a deadbeat. And if he buys his kid some nice shoes, it’ll only be because he’s trying to win my sister over in their appalling on-again-off-again situationship.
“You know what, kid? I hope he does.”
Denver
