“For school.”
“And shoes,” I add. “School requires running.”
Lucy looks down at her sneakers, “Can they sparkle?”
“If necessary,” I reply.
Hildy watches me carefully as Lucy wedges herself between us again, grabbing both hands.
“I’m brave,” she declares.
“Yes,” Hildy says.
“And I didn’t cry very much.”
“You didn’t,” I agree.
As the automatic doors slide open and cold air hits us, it feels like the sun is shining.
Chapter 21
Sparkle
Hildy
Lucy is still vibrating from the whole ordeal as we leave the pediatrician’s office, her energy and excitement growing over her triumph. I love that even though I’m still at some level in shock, her joy supersedes it. Her little feet swing out in front of her with each step, determined to keep up with Lenzin’s strides. She adores him, he makes her feel seen, cared for, and stronger than she ever has felt. Her steps seem to say I survived, I survived, and nothing’s gonna stop me.
I have all her paperwork clutched in my hands. Immunization records, forms for the state, forms for the city, forms for the school, and duplicates for me to keep in a safe place. Lucy is officially cleared for preschool, and I am officially out of excuses for why she shouldn’t go, why I shouldn’t take the semester off because she needs to be looked after and loved, God she deserves all the love in the world. The terror and relief I feel come at even intervals; they just take turns being louder.
She walks between us as we head to his vehicle, one hand in mine, one hand in Lenzin’s, and it feels like we are the parents on the brochures—three shadows elongated in late winter sunlight, moving in a perfect, illusory line. Lucy keeps glancing up at each of us, as if to confirm that yes, she’s still flanked, still protected, still protected by two fully grown adults who would do anything to keep her safe. She does this three, maybe four times before we even reach the vehicle.
“I was brave,” she tells us, again.
“You were,” Lenzin replies, never missing a beat, never letting her statement go unacknowledged. He says it with such depth, such gravity.
At the car, he opens the rear door and, instead of waiting for Lucy to scramble in herself, he picks her up, careful of her arm, careful of her pride, careful of … everything, and settles her into her booster with a precision that borders reverence.
He doesn’t ask if she wants help; he just does it, ensuring the belt is flat against her chest, the shoulder straps properly aligned, and the click of the buckle. He checks it again, gives the whole thing a gentle shake, and when he’s satisfied, he lowers his head, so they are eye-to-eye.
“You did amazing. We are proud of you,” he tells her.
Lucy’s face glows. “We’re proud of you, too, Lenzin Faulker.”
I can’t help but giggle a bit, she flips flops between calling him one or the other and asked me what she should call him while we got ready today.
“Thank you, Schatz,” he closes her door, pauses, hands braced on the top of the door, and looks at me. His eyes are sharp, as always, but softened by something I can’t name. Maybe it’s pride, but I suspect it’s more complicated than that. There’s a whole novel of unsaid things in his stunning brown eyes. I want to ask him what page he’s on, but now is not the time.
He opens the passenger door, “Let’s do some shopping.”
I don’t have the energy to argue, and Lucy is so … happy.
He gets in, looking just as happy as she is, and again, my energy is at the level where I don’t want to fight it, I want to be as trusting as Lucy is in all of this.
Lenzin climbs in, buckles himself, and glances in the rearview. “Backpack?”
She glances at me, green eyes —my eyes, Mom’s eyes on a clear day— full of excitement. “What color do you hope to find?”
Lucy giggles, hands pressed against her cheeks in delight. “I want rainbows,” she says, then, after a beat, “and axolotl’s. Rainbows and axolotl’s and sparkles and ice hockey.”
