Alexa’s hand pauses on a bag of apples. “Mostly, yeah. My parents weren’t really…” She glances at Ash, who’s busy making Henry laugh by playing peek-a-boo. “Let’s just say my grandmother was more of the parenting type.”
There’s something in her tone that suggests a story I recognize. Different details, maybe, but the same underlying theme of adults who weren’t equipped to be parents. I want to ask more, but there’s a careful way she says it that tells me this isn’t the time or place.
“She sounds like a good woman.”
“The best.” Alexa’s smile is warm but tinged with sadness. “She taught me everything I know about taking care of people. How to make a house feel like home. She left me the house when she passed six years ago. Ash and I have been there ever since.”
So, she’s been in that house most of her life? That explains the lived-in feeling I’ve noticed from my occasional glimpses through windows, the way everything seems settled and comfortable. It also explains why I’ve never seen a man around. She’s raising Ash alone.
“That must be nice, having that kind of history in one place.”
“It is.” She hands me a bag of sweet potatoes. “Some people think it’s boring, never leaving your hometown. But there’s something to be said for roots.”
“I can imagine.” I can, actually, though it’s hard to picture. I’ve lived in the same house for three years now, but it still feels temporary somehow. Like I’m just staying there until something better comes along.
“What about you? Have you always lived in Boston?”
“Most of my adult life. I grew up in the suburbs and moved here for my residency and never left.” I don’t mention the years before that, the succession of foster homes and group homes that made the concept of “home” something I had to learn as an adult. “The city grew on me.”
“Where did you do your residency?”
“Boston General. Same place I work now.” I realize this is the most personal conversation I’ve had with anyone outside of Amy in months. “I’m in oncology.”
Alexa stops pushing the cart for a moment. “That must be difficult work.”
“It is. But it’s also rewarding. When treatment works, when patients beat the odds…” I trail off, thinking about Mrs. Reyes and the promising results from her latest scans. “It makes the hard days worth it.”
“Ash, what do you think Henry would like?” Alexa asks, redirecting the conversation away from my work. It’s a smooth transition, and I appreciate her instinct to include her son.
“Maybe some of those baby crackers?” Ash suggests. “The ones that dissolve when they get wet?”
“Good thinking.” Alexa grabs a box of something called “puffs” from the shelf. “These are perfect for babies Henry’s age. They help with motor skills.”
We continue through the store, Alexa effortlessly selecting items while keeping up a steady stream of conversation with both me and Ash. She knows exactly which formula to buy as backup, which diapers are the best value, and which wipes are gentle enough for sensitive skin.
In the diaper aisle, I’m once again overwhelmed by choices. Sensitive skin, overnight protection, swimming diapers, training pants. When did something as basic as a diaper become so complicated?
“These are good,” Alexa says, grabbing a pack. “The sizing runs true, and they don’t leak. Trust me, leak-proof is worth paying extra for.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask as she adds baby wipes to the cart.
“Trial and error. Lots of error.” She laughs. “When Ash was little, I tried every brand on the market, trying to find ones that worked. Some babies have sensitive skin, some are heavy wetters, some are just particular about what they like.”
“And Ash was particular?”
“Ash was everything. Sensitive skin, irregular eating schedule, didn’t sleep through the night until he was almost two.” She ruffles his hair affectionately. “You were worth every sleepless night, though.”
Ash grins at her, then turns back to Henry. “Want to see something cool?” He makes a silly face that gets Henry giggling. The sound is infectious, and I find myself smiling despite the overwhelming nature of baby-supply shopping.
“You’re good with him,” I tell Ash.
“Mom says I have a gift with kids. She used to bring me along when she babysat because the kids liked having someone closer to their age around.”
“That’s smart.” I look at Alexa. “You used to babysit a lot?”
“All through high school and college. It was good money, and I enjoyed it. Plus, it gave me practice for when this guy came along.” She nudges Ash gently.
“Did you always want kids?”
