“These are for the lavender sweater, with charcoal leggings. Not black. Charcoal is softer.”
The associate nods, like this is a masterclass.
“And the flower ones?” Lucy asks, pointing to the bright pink with embroidery.
He smiles, actually smiles, and slips them onto her other foot.
“Those,” he says quietly, tying the laces with precision, “are for when it is grey and you decide it should not be.”
She beams.
“You rotate them,” he says gently. “We do not wear the same pair two days in a row. They rest. That is how they last.”
Lucy nods solemnly.
“And when you grow out of them, they are cleaned and get new laces, then properly boxed, and one day your little sister opens the box.” Lucy’s eyes go wide. “And what do you tell her?”
“They were mine first,” she whispers.
He nods once. “Yes. And that you took care of them so she could wear them one day too.”
He stands, smooths Lucy’s sweater hem absentmindedly.
“We buy well,” he says calmly. “So we can pass well.” Then, to the associate, “We’ll take all four.”
“Of course.” She smiles.
“Now let’s go find you some snow pants and boots so you can make me some snow angels. But first,” he nods to the right, and they head that way.
He reaches for a box in my size, cream suede, clean and understated.
“Lenzin,” I start.
“You need shoes you can walk in,” he says calmly, handing them to the associate whose hands are already full, yet she manages. “You’ve been wearing boots every day.”
“I have other shoes.”
He gives me a look. “These are better.”
Better for what? Walking beside him? Standing in arenas? Chasing toddlers? Carrying twins? He doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to.
Lucy grabs his hand again. “Can I put cheese in my backpack?”
“Cheese is negotiable,” he replies solemnly.
She laughs.
“You hungry?” I ask her.
“Almost,” she says, glancing to the left.
“I bet you will be after we get those snow clothes.” Lenzin chuckles.
My argument about not buying myself snow clothes, along with so many other things, not being smart or sustainable, since I was about to be as big as a house, was dismissed with a smile and sparkling brown eyes.
And at the checkout, a man recognizes him.
“Hey, big fan.” I tense, not knowing what to expect.
