Page 17 of York

My stomach tightened the second I saw Denny notice it as well. And when she looked up, her eyes as wide as a doll’s, I knew she was going to ask.

“Okay,” I agreed.

I didn’t remind her of our golden rule when it came to toy shopping: you can get one thing. She knew it inside and out. And it broke my heart a little each time I said it.

As we moved inside, I said a silent prayer that she chose one of the little stuffed animals that were fifteen bucks instead of the nearly thirty-dollar ones. But I’d buy either one. Just for a small treat to remember a very important day to her.

Then I could spend all night figuring out work to start as soon as possible.

“Mama! Painted dogs!” She rushed over to the stuffed animal, petting its head.

“Is that the one you want?” I asked.

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know.”

She made her way down the row, touching various stuffed animals. York lingered behind me as I followed her, so I didn’t realize what he was doing until he already had four stuffed animals in his arms. He’d picked up each one Denny had paused to look at or touch.

“You don’t need to do that,” I whispered to him. “She would be thrilled with one.”

“I got years’ worth of stuffed animals to make up for,” he said as he turned to pluck plastic sleeves full of small animal figurines off a rack. Then another, and another, all different kinds of animals, until he had seven of them shoved in the crook of his arm. But that wasn’t enough. He reached above them to a see-through plastic purse meant for storing your animal figurines and taking them on the go.

“Does she like books?” York asked, making my heart swell with how much he did seem to want to know about her.

“She loves books. Both fictional and educational,” I told him as he perused the options before deciding one each of the six books was necessary.

“You mind?” he asked, holding out the books to me. “This place needs carts.”

“I don’t think they expect most people to attempt to buy everything in the store,” I shot back, plucking some of the animal sleeves from him too.

When we moved up behind Denny, she had her head craned back to look up at the T-shirt collection, each one featuring a different animal.

At York’s questioning look, I shrugged. “A lumberjack and an outdoorsy camper somehow managed to make a fashionista.”

“She likes clothes?”

“She loves clothes.”

“What size is she?” he asked, already walking over to a lilac tee with a lemur on the front.

“5T, but if you’re buying her something, go with an XS instead, so she has some room to grow still.”

He didn’t get her one. Oh, no. He got eight different shirts. And a bucket hat. And a snake as he passed. And a vet kit that was sitting near the checkout.

Denali, so overwhelmed by everything, seemed entirely oblivious to what was happening as she ran back to grab the anteater plush as her final choice.

It wasn’t until she ran back to York at the checkout that she saw the pile.

“Whoa!” she said, eyes comically round. But it still hadn’t clicked that the items were for her.

“Why don’t you put that up there with the rest of your stuff, munchkin?” I asked when York didn’t seem to grasp what was going on in her little head.

“My stuff?” she asked, eyes scrunching up as she looked at me.

“Yeah. All that is for you,” I told her, waving toward the belt. Then, while she was still processing, I whispered so only she heard, “You should say ‘Thank you.’”

She didn’t just say ‘thank you.’ She threw herself at York’s giant leg, wrapped her arms around it, and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Now, that’s a good daddy,” the cashier said, smile bright.