for them. Low-stakes. Nothing that
makes noise. Don’t be that guy.
Me:Noted.
Nate:Also don’t call her “ma’am” in
front of them. You did that to Jen
once and she almost threw a fork at you.
Me:I’m never going to live that
down am I?
Nate:Never
I tossed the phone on the counter and looked around my apartment, as if there might be answers lying under the mail I hadn’t sorted. There weren’t. There was just me, the old couch, and the sense that the gravity of my life had shifted three degrees to the left.
So I grabbed my keys and did something I had never done before: I went to the toy aisle.
The store smelled of plastic and cinnamon pretzels, the kind of scent that makes you overspend and forget your list. I didn’t have a list, just panic and a mental image of three small judges banging gavels. I hit the toy section and froze. Shelves glittered like a rainbow had exploded. Action figures posed mid-punch next to dolls whose eyes followed me like tiny security cameras. There were puzzles, blocks, art kits, plushies the size of armchairs, and an entire wall of things that made noise.
Nothing that makes noise,I repeated, stepping away from a drum set.
A store associate in a vest appeared at my elbow. “You looklost,” she said kindly. “New uncle? Birthday party? First rodeo?”
“Third option,” I said. “Meeting my girlfriend’s kids. I need something that says ‘I am fun but also safe and won’t ruin your house.’”
She nodded like she’d been waiting her whole day for this. “Ages?”
“One’s five, Zeke. The other two are twins, one year old. Avery and Chloe.”
“Adorable,” she said, already walking me toward a shelf. “For the five-year-old, try this.” She handed me a small building set labeledSTEM Starter. “Ninety pieces, which is a lot, but they’re chunky blocks. No tiny choking hazards. And look, no batteries. Quiet.”
“Quiet is good.” I exhaled.
“For the twins,” she continued, moving through the aisles, “you want tactile. Soft stackers, board books, or these little crinkly animals. Here, a fox and a bunny. They’re machine-washable.”
I held the fox and bunny up. “They feel like they make noise.”
“They crinkle,” she admitted. “But it’s apolitenoise.”
“Polite noise I can live with,” I replied.
She smiled. “You’re going to do fine.”
I added a small pack of sticker sheets at the end of the aisle on impulse: stars, dinosaurs, and something sparkly that saidQueen of Everything.
On the way out, I called Nate.
“Report,” he said, like he was going to log it.
“STEM blocks for Zeke. Crinkle animals for the twins. Stickers as backup.”
“Strong load out. Don’t forget cookies.”
“I remembered cookies,” I said, turning into the bakery parking lot. “Question, do I get the cheap sugar cookies with the neon frosting or go full fancy?”
