Page 44 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“Mommy, I want the cookies! I want the cookies now!”
The little boy couldn’t have been more than three, his face puffy and streaked with tears as he arched his back in the shopping cart. His mother looked like she was about two seconds away from a breakdown, her black hair escaping from a messy ponytail, and exhaustion written across her young face.
“Baby, we talked about this,” she said. “We’re getting healthy food today. We can make cookies at home.”
“I don’t want home cookies! I want store cookies!”
The tantrum was reaching epic proportions, and I could see other shoppers shooting disapproving looks in their direction. The mother’s shoulders hunched forward like she was trying to make herself invisible.
I’d been that mother once. Not literally, but I’d been the woman in public falling apart while strangers judged every choice I made. It was a special kind of hell.
“Excuse me,” I said, approaching their cart with what I hoped was a friendly smile. “Your little man has excellent taste in cookies.”
The mother looked up with confusion written across her face. “I’m so sorry. He’s usually not like this, but he missed his nap and?—”
“Honey, you don’t need to apologize to me. I’ve got a God-child who once threw himself on the floor of Target because I wouldn’t buy him a toy dinosaur.” I crouched down to the toddler’s eye level. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Brandon,” he sniffled as his sobs reduced to hiccups.
“Brandon is a strong name. You know what strong boys like Brandon need?”
“Cookies!” he shouted, and I laughed.
“Sometimes cookies, but other times you’ll need energy for all that strength. And you know what gives you the best energy?” I picked up a banana from the display nearby. “These yellow power bars. They’re like superhero food.”
Brandon glared at the banana, then his glare softened, and curiosity took over. “Superhero food?”
“Absolutely. Do you know who Curious George is?”
His face brightened. “Yes!”
“George eats them all the time, and he can swing from trees. That’s pretty superhero-ish, don’t you think?”
His mother was watching our interaction with relief and amazement. “Can you say thank you to the nice lady, Brandon?”
“Thank you,” he whispered, accepting the banana like it was made of gold.
“You’re welcome, baby.” I stood up and turned to his mother. “You’re doing great, Mama. These little phases pass quicker than you think.”
“Thank you so much. I was starting to think I was the worst mother in St. Louis.”
“Not even close. Trust me.”
As I walked away, I heard Brandon asking his mother if they could get more “superhero food,” and I couldn’t help but smile. Crisis averted.
I was debating between organic and regular carrots when a voice from the next aisle over sent heat shooting down my skin.
“Let me help you with that, sir. These shelves are too damn high for normal people to reach.”
My heart felt like it backflipped in my chest. Christian.
I abandoned my carrots and peeked around the endcap display of Halloween candy. Sure enough, there he was in the cereal aisle, reaching up to grab a box of Cheerios for an elderly man who couldn’t have been more than five-foot-five.
“Much obliged, young man,” the older gentleman said. His voice had a slight tremor. “These stores aren’t designed for folks like me.”
“No, sir, they’re not.” Christian handed him the box, and a smile curled up his lips and suddenly my stomach was fluttering. “You need anything else while I’m here?”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m looking for that instant oatmeal with the fruit already in it. My wife used to buy it, but I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”
