Page 30 of Property of BamBam
“But he’s healthy.” It’s more of a statement than a question, since I’m looking right at him, and I know that Doc checked him over thoroughly when we got to the clubhouse.
“Yes, thank goodness,” she replies, pushing the cart toward the back of the store. Since I usually either have a prospect pick up what I need or I order it online, this shopping expedition is rather eye-opening.
She stops long enough to grab two totes which she somehow manages to get on the bottom of the cart. Before I can ask, she says, “I’m going to save some of his clothes to make a quilt down the line, but the rest, I plan to donate to Hope House for another mom who might need them.”
“Get what he needs,” I decree. At her look, I continue. “Whatever he or you need, Livy. I mean it. Got more than enough money that this shopping expedition won’t even make a dent in it.”
Stopping in her tracks, she looks up at me and asks, “Why?”
“Because while you’re not ready for anything beyond the friendship we’re building, the two of you are mine, Livy,” I reply. “That means I’ll take care of what you have to have, do you understand?”
A small smile plays on her lips before she nods. “I think I’m starting to,” she murmurs. “I hope you don’t live to regret this,” she teases. “Because while I’m pretty much set, all things considered, he literally only has a few onesies that still fit. Even his socks have gotten too tight.”
“What are you waiting for, woman?” I ask. “Time’s a ‘wasting, after all.”
“This is way too much,” she mumbles as the cashier continues to ring up what’s on the conveyor belt as I add from the cart when room becomes available.
“How so?” I ask.
“Because he’ll probably outgrow all of this in the next month or so,” she retorts, her face now a deep pink because of what I just put to be rung up.
“And when that happens, we’ll go shopping again,” I promise as I place the totes at the end of our order. “If you want, you can put the bags into the tote,” I tell the kid who’s bagging everything.
“Uh, yeah, that would work pretty good,” he replies, his own face now beet red as he puts Livy’s tampons and pads into a bag. I resist rolling my eyes, but barely.
Once the total is displayed, I hear Livy’s gasp, but I’m already sliding my debit card into the machine before she can react. “BamBam!” she hisses. “I was going to pay for it!” I guess she missed the part earlier about her being mine and what that means, but soon, it’ll sink in, and she won’t question the things I do for her and Theo.
I take the receipt from the cashier after grabbing my card and sliding it back into my wallet before I tuck that into the inner pocket of my cut. “Thanks.”
“I uh, I can push this out for y’all,” the bagger says. “It’s kind of full.”
“Appreciate it, kid,” I reply, taking one of Livy’s hands in mine as we follow behind the teen, Theo still snugly tucked against my chest as he sleeps.
Lunch is a somewhat quiet affair because she’s still a bit miffed that I paid for her stuff. Eventually, she’ll realize that as my ol’ lady, that’s my job. To provide. To protect. To care for. As long as we’re together, she doesn’t have to bring anything except her phone and maybe her driver’s license, although she’s still too young to drink, so outside of having identification, she could leave that at home as well. She’ll learn, though. Issy is the same way with Rio, which has resulted in some funny arguments between the two of them.
“BamBam, I need to apologize,” she quietly says as she feeds Theo a bottle.
While I’m not an infant expert by any means, I know he still eats every few hours, but it’s a bit ironic that he waited until our meals were set in front of us before he woke up and demanded to be fed.
“No, you don’t,” I reply. “Give Theo to me so you can eat, sweetheart.”
We’re at one of the many TexMex restaurants around and anyone who knows good Mexican food knows you need to eat it while it’s hot. Before she can lift a finger, the waitress who delivered the food earlier, brings a fresh, hot plate for Livy,removing the one she was about to eat. “Is not hot,” the woman says in her lyrical yet broken English. “Made fresh. You eat while your man feeds the bebé.”
With that, she leaves the table and I look at Livy to see her eyes are wide and disbelieving. “I’ve never had that happen before,” she says as she picks up her fork.
“While it’s not a club business, the owners are related to Pancho and Constance whodowork for the Triple R, so we’re in here a lot,” I reply.
“But that’s wasting food!” she exclaims.
“No, they’ve got several people who come in who can’t afford to eat that they feed. Orders that were messed up in the back? They’re still edible but Jorge won’t allow them to serve the customer, so it’s ‘donated’ to the folks who don’t care that the enchilada sauce is a little heavy or the queso doesn’t have the jalapenos that were ordered.”
“That’s really nice,” she murmurs only to moan when she forks some of her enchilada into her mouth. “Holy smokes, that’s good,” she says around a mouthful of food.
Then she blushes and covers her mouth in horror, which has me laughing out loud. “Livy, I like a woman who enjoys their food.”
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t talk with my mouth full,” she rebuts. “My mother would be so ashamed of me.”
“I think if she tried the enchiladas, she’d probably do the same damn thing,” I tease. “Now, eat up, because I still want to run you over to the laundromat.”
