Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“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 before they 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 there half gaping, half trying not to stare. “Um, is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, I’ve got him.” I look away from Aaron long enough to show the manager the calm in my own eyes, or at least I hope that’s what I project. He doesn’t leave but backs away a few steps, looking relieved he won’t have to intervene.
Aaron is all that matters, and I annex the onlookers, the manager, even my own anxiety to the back of my consciousness until my sole focus is my son. Aaron’s fear, his panic, his dismay swallow even my periphery, and there is only my boy and these few seconds where to him it feels like the end of the world.
In this moment he may even feel like a threat to the people around us—a nearly grown man angry and volatile. To me he is just mine, and more than anything, I want to make this better. All I have are these words, though, which sometimes prove useless, but I have to try.
“Calm down, bud.” I press my forehead to his, clasp his nape. “Breathe with me, okay? Remember how to do that?”
He nods, tears streaking his smooth brown cheeks, his face caught between that of a child and that of a man. A muscle in his jaw bunches, and his eyes meet mine, flared with panic like this situation is a balloon he let the air out of and he’s holding on for dear life even as it flails all over the room. Like even he couldn’t have anticipated its frenzied trajectory and now he can’t seem to release it from his grappling hands.