Page 52 of Unrivaled

The fact that I’m supposed to be one of the adults in this situation is legitimately terrifying.

There’s a tentative knock on the door, and I hear a little voice on the other side.

They’re here.

I make one more quick scan of the room—not that I have time to change anything—and pull the door open, finding Tiffany standing on the other side with Ben holding her hand.

He bounces up and down, pulling on her hand, eager to get inside, looking past me at the new additions. “Gray! Gray! You got more stuff!”

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. This kid is so full of energy and curiosity, it’s impossible not to smile in his presence. “Yeah, bud. I thought you could use a few more things. Come on in.”

Pulling away from his mom, Ben races inside. Tiffany follows more slowly, looking around the space, her face impassive. Ben is all reaction, though, bouncing from the couch to his chair to the space my mom set up for him in the corner.

He turns to face me, his eyes wide. “Can I sit here?” he asks almost reverently, his hand on the back of one of the chairs at the table.

“Of course,” I tell him, infusing as much warmth into my voice as possible. “I got it for you.”

“You did?” I can’t decide whether his astonishment that I would buy him something like a table and chairs is funny or sad.

“Who else would I get it for?” I ask, crossing to his side to show him the bin full of paper, crayons, stickers, and safety scissors, and then the next one with the puzzles and toys Mom said would be good for a kid his age. “I wasn’t sure what all you liked, so I just got a few basics to start with. I hope it’s okay.” I glance at Tiffany, who’s looking around at all the latest additions with an unreadable expression.

Ben pulls out the scissors and gives them a few experimental snips, his tongue caught between his teeth. Then he turns to Tiffany. “Mama! Scissors! Can I cut?”

“The package said they can’t cut skin,” I put in just to make sure she knows I got him the appropriate kind.

She gives me a grateful smile. “If it’s okay with Gray, it’s okay with me.”

Bouncing on his toes and vibrating with barely restrained excitement, Ben peers up at me. “Can I, Gray? Please please please?”

Laughing, I pull out a few sheets of paper and set it on the blue plastic table. “Knock yourself out.”

He sits himself down and starts cutting, his face screwed up in concentration.

Tiffany watches him from her spot next to the couch. “When did you get all this?”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I suddenly feel a little sheepish. Is this too much? Did I let my mom go overboard? “Uh … honestly?”

She gives me an acerbic look, crossing her arms and cocking her hips. “No. I want you to lie to me.”

Chuckling, I drop my hand back to my side. “After I ran into you the other night. I want him to be comfortable if he’s going to spend more time here. So I called my mom for help.”

Her eyes widen, and I nod. “Yeah. This is pretty much all her. I thought she was gonna buy out the whole store, or at least the children’s section.”

Tiffany pulls her lips between her teeth, and I’m not sure if she’s stopping herself from laughing or commenting or both.

I make a rolling motion with my hand and grin. “Come on. Spit it out. I know you have something to say.”

Turning in a slow circle, she takes in the rest of my apartment, and when she’s facing me again, she’s biting the inside of her cheek. But her perfect pink lips are pulling up in an irrepressible smile. “No, it’s just …”

I raise an eyebrow, silently inviting her to continue.

She drops her arms and sighs. “It’s … sweet. Even if your mom picked everything out, the fact that you would call her, it’s”—she shrugs—“reassuring, I guess. It means you care enough to get it right. But …” She bites her lip and shakes her head.

“But what?”

She narrows her eyes and glances at me sideways. “Your mom doesn’t do all your shopping, does she?”

Laughing, I gesture at the couch. “No. You should’ve heard her blast my decor choices in this apartment. She’s an interior designer, so she has strong opinions about how people set up their homes. The fact that mine only meets minimal functionality standards is a sore point for her. And she likes to bring up the fact that I rejected her help when I moved in, calling my couch a dumpster rescue”—I hold up my hands in reassurance—“it wasn’t, by the way. I bought it off Craigslist like any normal college student. But I think I only paid fifty bucks, so it’s definitely not the newest or nicest piece of furniture in existence. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself without my mom’s help. But I don’t know anything about little kids …”

---