Page 48 of This Could Be Us
“I know.” I pull out the cash to pay Preach.
“Take care.” Preach removes the cape from Aaron’s shoulders and uses the neck duster to rid him of stray hairs. “Good job today, guys.”
Preach high-fives Adam, but Aaron walks past the barber’s suspended hand, grabs his backpack, and heads straight for the door.
“Guess that’s my cue to roll out.” I laugh, hand Preach the money, and dap him up. “We’ll see you in two weeks.”
Adam and Aaron stand by the door, both silent but brimming with impatience. Adam wants pizza, one of the few foods he’ll actually eat, and Aaron can practically taste that new cube.
“Hops first,” I tell them once we’re in the truck, sensing that lunch at Guido’s might go left real quick if we don’t address the growing urgency of the cube situation.
As soon as we cross Hops’s threshold, a large poster by the door proclaims they have the new special-edition Megaminx twelve-sided cube.
“It’s here!” Adam turns to Aaron with a huge smile, like it’s what he wants more than anything too.
“Thank God,” I mutter, trailing Aaron, who’s speed walking several steps ahead of us in his quest for the Holy Grail cube.
When I round the corner, I bite back a curse. The brightly colored Megaminx poster hangs over a bank of shelves.
All empty.
I should have called ahead. Ordered online. Waited. Anything but leave this to chance. I know better. I usuallyplanbetter. I can berate myself later. Right now…
“Cube.” Disappointment flattens Aaron’s voice. He stands in front of the empty shelves repeating “Cube” several times as if it’s the password to reveal what he came for.
“Looks like they’ve sold out, Son.” I keep my voice even and matter-of-fact. “Let’s go check some other stores, or I can order it online.”
“Cube,” Aaron says, his voice pitching higher, eyes bouncing between me and the barren shelves.
“It’s okay, Aaron,” Adam soothes. “Let’s eat pizza and then go look for it somewhere else.”
“Cube.”
The word fires from my son this time, loud enough to draw the attention of a few kids farther up the aisle. Aaron’s fingers flex, curling and uncurling. Staccato breaths storm through his nostrils. He bounces on his toes a few times, gripping the device around his neck like it might anchor him to the calm slipping through his hands.
“Let’s go.” I reach for his arm, and he turns wide, distressed eyes to me.
“Cube!”
He slams his fist three times against his forehead and paces in a circle before the empty shelves, tension building and encircling the three of us in a tight, familiar ring. We’ve lived this before, done this so many times over the years, but it’s been awhile. I had almost forgotten how this feels, but my body remembers. My pulse spikes and my stomach knots, and my heart thrashes in my chest and my teeth grit because I’m so helpless. I always try to catch these meltdowns beforethey escalate because once they start, you almost just have to ride it. And I don’t want that for him. Years ago I cared what people around us thought. I’m not that guy who ever wants to draw attention to myself. Tremaine was always better at getting Adam to calm down. I always had Aaron, and I reach for the things that have helped in the past, praying they work.
“Son.” I step in front of him as he paces, take his elbow gently. He tries to jerk away, his fist pulled up to hit himself again, but I don’t let go. “It’s okay. We’ll find it somewhere else.”
“Cuuuuuuuube!”
It’s extended and explosive, the word strained to its limit and bouncing off the ceiling, ricocheting throughout the entire store. The hum of conversation around us dies. People stare. I ignore them, locking eyes with Aaron, rubbing his back. Sweat dots his forehead, and his chest rises with each ragged breath. He’s taller, bigger now than when this happened last. When the boys were small, we could play it off as a toddler having a tantrum or just another kid in the store giving his parents a hard time. But he’s fifteen now and stands only a few inches shorter than me, with tears in his eyes over this damn cube. I hear Adam sniffing behind us. He doesn’t have meltdowns as frequently anymore, but he’s so attuned to Aaron, like the thread of tension from his twin has wrapped around him too.
“Is there a problem?”
I spare a glance at the manager, who walks up the aisle, approaching a few measured steps at a time, cautiously, like we might strike at any moment.
“We’re fine,” I tell him.
“Cube! Cube! Cube!” Aaron yells, making a liar of me. We are not fine, and he doesn’t care who watches or wonders if we are.
“You don’t happen to have any more special-edition Megaminx in the back, do you?” I ask the manager.
“Sorry, no. We sold out fast, but a new shipment’s expected Thursday.” His gaze flicks past us to a mother and her son, who stand therehalf gaping, half trying not to stare. “Um, is there anything I can do to help?”