Chapter 5 Why the Attitude?
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Ohhh,” she said playfully as she reached for a bottle. “Romantic dinner date?”
She handed him the bottle.
Andrew accepted it, smiling. “I’ll be getting two.”
She chuckled lightly as she turned back to the shelf to grab another bottle, placing it into an empty cart.
“She must be a really lucky girl,” the assistant commented.
“Yes,” Andrew replied, his smile widening. “She is.”
“Aww,” she said. “I love love. Will that be all?”
“No,” Andrew said, placing the second bottle into the cart. “I’ll need a few other things.”
“No problem,” she replied warmly. “I can help you with that.”
They moved through the store together.
\---
'A SHORT WHILE LATER'
The cashier slid the receipt across the counter, her manicured fingers tapping lightly against the glass surface.
“All set,” she said, lifting her eyes with a trained, professional smile. “Thank you for shopping with us.”
Andrew adjusted his grip on the cart handle, nodded once, and raised two fingers in a lazy wave.
“Bye,” he said.
“Bye,” the sales assistant replied, smile still fixed. “Thanks for shopping with us.”
Andrew didn’t respond again. The wheels of the cart rattled softly as he pushed it past the automatic doors. The cold Brooklyn air hit his face immediately, tugging at the collar of his jacket. He squinted slightly, scanning the parking lot, then angled the cart toward a black SUV parked a few rows away.
The cart bumped gently against the rear bumper as he reached the trunk. He pressed the key fob. A sharp beep echoed. The trunk lifted.
Andrew leaned forward, grabbing the wine bottles first, carefully placing them to one side. Grocery bags followed— bread, canned food, packaged meals— thudding softly as he stacked them. He paused, adjusted one bag, then slammed the trunk shut harder than necessary.
He grabbed the cart again and wheeled it back toward the entrance. The metal wheels screeched faintly as he shoved it into the cart bay. Without looking back, he turned, walked briskly to the driver’s side, opened the door, and slid in.
The engine roared to life.
The SUV rolled out of the parking lot, merging into Brooklyn traffic. Andrew rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping against the door. His eyes flicked briefly to the dashboard screen.
The time glared back at him.
His jaw tightened.
“What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
He leaned forward slightly, pressing harder on the accelerator. The engine responded immediately, the car surging ahead. His fingers tightened around the wheel as he weaved through traffic, impatience written across his face.
A red light forced him to stop. He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched, eyes darting to the clock again.
“Fuck,” he whispered, louder this time.
The light turned green. He floored it.
—
The SUV pulled up in front of the elementary school with a sharp stop. Andrew shifted into park and killed the engine. As silence filled the car, his eyes lifted instinctively toward the benches by the gate.
Pete sat there.
Small. Stiff. His legs dangled, feet not touching the ground. A backpack rested beside him. Next to him stood Miss Becky, arms crossed tightly over her chest, posture rigid.
Pete’s head snapped up.
“Dad!”
He jumped off the bench immediately, face twisting into something between relief and annoyance. Andrew opened the door and stepped out.
Pete straightened himself but didn’t run forward. His lips pressed into a thin line. His eyebrows pulled together.
Andrew plastered a faint smile onto his face as he walked toward them.
“Hey, buddy.”
Pete didn’t smile back.
“Why did you take so long, Daddy?” Pete asked, his voice small but pointed.
Andrew crouched down immediately, bringing himself to Pete’s eye level. He reached out and ruffled Pete’s hair.
“I’m sorry, champ,” Andrew said lightly. “Daddy had a few errands to run.”
Pete tilted his head away slightly from the touch.
“That’s not fair,” Pete said.
Andrew’s hand lingered for a moment, then dropped. He stood up and turned toward Miss Becky.
She didn’t offer a greeting.
“I called you,” she said flatly. “Several times.”
Andrew shrugged, smile still clinging to his face. “My bad. The number you have is the home line, not my personal cell. I didn’t see the calls.”
Miss Becky’s eyes narrowed.
“You kept me here for over two hours after closing,” she said. “That’s unacceptable.”
Andrew exhaled through his nose. “Relax. I’m here now. I'm sorry.”
“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “Your wife never—”
Andrew’s smile vanished instantly.
“Don’t,” he said sharply.
Miss Becky lifted her chin. “Your wife was always punctual. Always reachable. She respected the school’s time.”
Andrew rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Why the attitude?” he asked. “It’s not like I haven't apologized.”
Pete glanced between them, fingers curling around the straps of his backpack.