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The store helper steps up. “Yes, we carry prenatal and postpartum clothing, supplements, devices, literature… even items to help with high-risk pregnancies. You name it, we’ve got it.”
“I see where my money’s going on this trip.” Lakeshia starts toward the mommy section but stops when the attendant discreetly clears her throat.
“There’s also a daddy section. I can have an aide meet you there if you’d like.”
I catch Lakeshia’s eye, a mischievous grin growing on my face. “Is there something?—”
“Yes, he’d like someone to meet him while I shop for myself.”
“Lakeisha, why’d you let me out in public if you didn’t trust me?”
“That!” She points at me. “Act a fool when I’m not around. I won’t have you getting me kicked out because you decided to act out.” She turns to the helper, grabs her arm to rush her to the maternal area, and whispers, “Let’s go before he draws us in with his smile. It’s devastating, and I haven’t built up a resistance to it so I know you’ll fall faster than a spinning top when it stops whirling.”
I shake my head but go on my way. The daddy and me sets stop me mid-step. Although we don’t know the gender yet, the options for both are too enticing to my sarcastic sense of humor. Phrases likeDrool Deliveryon the onesie andDrool Catchercause my fingers to tingle. I’m sold when I see theNarcolepticonesie andInsomniact-shirt.
I reach out to grab one of everything when a voice says, “Obasan, he can shop for himself.”
I shake my head.
There’s no way.
I grab two items, when an older, familiar voice responds, “That’s what’s wrong with modern women. You’re here, the clothes are here. Why make him take time out of his busy day to drive all the way here to buy something you can get for him now?”
My hand freezes over the clothes as an image of the lady from the gas station comes to mind.
Coincidences exist.
Right. I’m mishearing the lady’s voice. A remote gas station is one thing but at a baby store in the heart of Serenidad? There’s no way.
Coincidences exist.
Until they don’t.
I drop my hand and slowly turn with a sense of growing dread, praying I’ll breathe in relief when I confirm my fears are unfounded.
Except they aren’t.
The hair is in the same bob. The same Liese black dye she’s always bought since the eighties to hide her premature grays. The same face that used to smile at me when I exceeded her expectations.
I stand frozen as the sweet memories of being her dear son flash before my eyes. All the laughs and hugs she freely gave before the incident happened.
She notices me before I collect myself and disappear. Her face pales and a hint of a wistful smile appears. “Fumio?” Her voice shakes and she reaches her hand out but lets it drop to hang listlessly by her side.
Disgust and hatred more intense than the day she disinherited me, transforms the warm, loving mother I knew. In her place is the person who threw me away and convinced everyone in the family I murdered my twin brother.
Aya Nakashima. My mother.
“Fumio died, remember, obasan?” The young woman accompanying her touches her shoulder.
She looks familiar…
“Shinji?” She asks, her face frozen in surprise. “Oh, my goodness. It’s been forever. You disappeared during my senior year in high school. How have you been?”
“Hikaru?” I force her name out, finally recognizing my cousin.
She favors her mom’s side of the family with their rounder faces and full cheeks.
“Yeah. How random is it to meet in a baby store?” She pats her belly, molding the loose shirt over an almost invisible bump.
