Page 118 of Back to Willow

Thankfully, it’s only a ten-minute drive, and his non-stop excited chatter is enough to keep my low batteries running until we reach McDonald’s. It’s not like it’s the best place to go, but it’s what he begs me for, and I can’t refuse him.

Once our bellies are full of food, we stop by the florist to make her a personalised bouquet. Dylan chooses a whole rainbow of colours, and I make sure to add as many baby’s breaths as possible. Of all of the flowers in here, it’s the one that fits her the most.

“Should we add perfume to the gift?”

“Perfume?” His head tilts to the side in thought.

“Yeah,” I answer, pulling him with me this time around. “Come on; she’ll love it.”

The food was enough to keep Dylan’s mood afloat—no tantrums or even spunkiness has peeked out. It’s slowly giving me confidence. While I know an evening is way easier than having him for a night or two or even full-time, the time lets us get used to and know each other.

I’ve got this.

By the time we get to the store, I’m in automatic mode. I head to the shelves where I know the brand of perfume she used back in high school.

“Does she even use the same perfume?” I ask myself.

“Can I smell it?” Dylan pipes in, reminding me of his existence.

Fuck, I really am tired.

Spraying it on one of those white papers, I flail it to diffuse the scent before giving it to him. The slight crease between his eyebrows smooths down as he smiles and looks at me with a broad smile.

“That’s how Mum smells,” he assures me.

Somehow, I feel like I should know this. I’ve been around plenty by now, enough to know her scent by heart.

When I bring the paper to my nose, nostalgia hits me full force. It is Willow, for sure. And all of the memories of us together in school and after school quickly take over my brain.

“Alright, let’s pay,” I mutter, my shoulders sagging from the lack of energy.

My eyes feel heavy again, and the thought of sleep starts to ring through my brain like an alarm. Through the payment, the cashier flirts a little, noticing the flowers while Dylan is still walking around full of energy. Who does he get it from, anyway?

The numbers from the payment machine blur before my eyes— a clear sign that my body’s exhausted. It’s barely past eight, and I have around half an hour to get Dylan home before his bedtime. Somehow, it feels like I’ve been up for forty-eight hours.

“Thank you,” the girl chirps as she gives me the receipt.

When I finally have the wallet inside my jeans pocket and the perfume bag in my hand, I turn to the exit. Ready to walk to my car and drive to Willow’s. I’m five meters down the shopping mall’s corridor when I notice something’s wrong like I’m forgetting something I shouldn’t be.

I rack my brain for what it could be as I look at the flowers and perfume in front of me. Willow’s presents, they’re here. Everything’s good.

Now, I just have to get Dylan home, and—

“Fuck! Dylan!”

“Sir,” a female voice calls just as I turn around to get back in the store.

She’s holding Dylan by the hand, a panicked look on her face as I rush to them.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I rush out, hugging him to me and not even caring how I am crushing half of the bouquet.

I almost forgot my kid in the fucking store.

“Mum says those words are bad,” he chimes in, some sass in his voice.

“Fuck, you’re right.” The girl clears her throat, and I look at her as she widens her eyes in warning. “Shit–I mean…ugh!” Rubbing my face with the hand that’s holding the perfume bag, I stop to take a breather. “I’m sorry, bud. I, uh…I thought you were right behind me.”

The girl snickers and gives me a disapproving look, definitely judging me for forgetting Dylan inside. He just shrugs, unaffected, and adds, “Uncle Jake has done worse.”

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