Page 83 of The Sun
Elias
It had been three weeks since Sunny and I had started seeing each other, and I quickly learned that two things sucked about having to date her in secret. One was obvious, we only had stolen moments. Minutes here, and minutes there. If we were lucky, we would get a few solid hours.
The second reason it sucked was that mundane life chores could easily turn into a small form of torture.
Sundays were my favored day to go shopping. If I timed it just right, I would get in and out of the Piggly Wiggly before church let out, making me one of few people in the store. That’s how I preferred it. Nothing grated my nerves more than standing in line behind some lady with a thousand coupons.
“Why did you make me come with you?” Judah opened the freezer door, grabbed a few Totino’s Pizzas, and tossed them into the shopping cart.
“Because I’m sick of you eating my food. And when we get home, I’m writing my name on my stuff. You can write your name on yours. So help me God, if you eat something that’s mine, I’m going to punch you.” I had come home to an empty fridge more times than I could count.
Judah gave me a blank stare. “Atlas eats your food.”
“Atlas is always at Doodles. He eats Doodle’s food.”
“I forgot something,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
Ignoring him, I turned the shopping cart down aisle two in search of instant oatmeal and Captain Crunch. When Judah came back, he dropped three boxes of cookies and an economy pack of condoms on top of the groceries.
I stared down at the prophylaxis with a cocked brow. “I’m not paying for your dick sleeve.”
“Come on, we can share them.”
Turning to glare at my idiotic brother, I headed down the hygiene aisle and plowed right in to someone else’s buggy. “Sorry, I. . .”
Mrs. Lower stood behind the shopping cart, Sunny right beside her with pink cheeks. My eyes must have lingered on Sunny too long because Mrs. Lower cleared her throat.
“Elias?” Her gaze strayed from my face to the tattoos on my arm, and I noticed her swallow because only bad kids had tats. The thing was that every single piece of ink held meaning. I looked at my tattoos as a poetic expression, not rebellion. Society, however, only saw a delinquent instead of fucking Edgar Allen Poe.
“Hey, Mrs. Lower,” I said, then nodded in a how-do-you-do-way to my girlfriend. “Sunny.”
“How have you been? How’s your aunt Billie?”
“Good.” I couldn’t help but glance at Sunny again. “Pretty good.”
“This must be one of your brothers.” She glanced at Judah.
“Yeah.”
We stood there with one of thoseI know I should talk to you, but I don’t know what to say, and this is getting awkward moments.
Finally, Mrs. Lower said, “I’ve, uh. I’ve come to a few of the games. You boys are pretty good.”
“Thanks.”
She fidgeted with her coupon book while Sunny shuffled her feet over the grimy grocery store tile. “You should come to church sometimes. It would be good to have you there.” In small-town Alabama, that phrase was the go-to when someone had no idea what else to say.
“Yeah. Maybe. Well,” I moved the cart to the side. “It was good to see you.”
“You too.” And then she and Sunny started around the corner of the aisle, the wheel on their buggy squeaking. Sunny looked over her shoulder, and I mouthedI love you.
With a smile, she thumbed at her chest and held up two fingers before she disappeared behind the shelving.
“Sick!” Judah snarled his lip then yanked the buggy out of my grip and headed toward the checkout. “How long have you been dating? Two weeks?”
“Three.”
“And already with the,‘I love yous’? You’re a puss.”
