Page 50 of Someone Like You

One of his favourite aspects of the UK was that everything was smaller and less garish here: even one of the biggest malls in Glasgow seemed modest compared to the ones he was used to. It would’ve bothered many Americans, but Phil was very much okay with the downsizing, especially when he and Abby went out for one of their massive grocery hauls. To Abby, grocery shopping was as fun as shopping for clothes, but she didn’t have much time for it and Phil wasn’t overly fond on going on his own, so once a month they took the car and drove toSilverburnto stock up as much food and household necessities as they could, which unfortunately took hours. The one good thing was that Abby always made sure to pencil it in on early Saturday mornings, meaning no crowds and no chaos.

They currently had two fully loaded carts and the list Phil had on his phone was entirely checked off, but, for a financial consultant, Abby had zero spending awareness. She was every marketer’s dream customer: an impulse buyer attracted to flashy, colourful things, quirky flavours, and any novelty in sight. The exact opposite of Phil, who could’ve happily lived on the same five foods for the rest of his life.

They were in the juices aisle and Abby had stacked three bottles of dragon fruit juice into her cart before inspecting the shelves for inspiration. Phil loved watching her: her face was always scrunched up in concentration, eyes sparkling with excitement, like a little girlin a candy store. When the items were too high for her to reach, she tried jumping for them first, andthenturned to Phil for assistance. He was glad he could make good use of his height, especially because since meeting Ian he’d sort of become the short one.

While picking up a bottle from the top shelf for Abby, Phil caught a familiar picture a couple of shelves below and stopped for a second to stare at it longingly.

“God, I miss my grapefruit juice.”

He hadn’t touched grapefruit or anything with grapefruit in it in years because some chemicals in it interfered with his medication. As a former pink grapefruit juice addict, going cold turkey on it hadn’t been easy: since college, most of his hydration and vitamins had come from it and sweeter alternatives like orange weren’t as satisfying to drink.

Abby checked the carton in front of Phil, her pretty nose scrunching up at the‘100% organic grapefruit’banner on the label. “What about this one?” She picked a different item on the left. “Grapefruitflavour. It’s safe. This so-called juice has never seen a grapefruit in its sorry life.”

Phil took it from her, turned it around to take a better look at it, then his nose scrunched, too. “Can’t believe you’re encouraging me to drink a cocktail of chemicals and colourants.”

Abby sympathetically curled two fingers under his chin. “If you can’t have the real deal, you might as well try the next best thing.”

Phil didn’t wantthe next best thing. Didn’t want an artificial concoction fabricated to trick his taste buds to believe it was what he wanted. Perhaps it’d have worked if he hadn’t had the real deal first, but if he couldn’t have grapefruit, he’d rather have nothing at all.

“I’m not drinking this junk.” He set the carton back on the shelf. “Are we done here?”

Harsh. Very unnecessarily so. It was the thing he hated most about his mood swings: he could tell he was overreacting and treating people unfairly, but he couldn’t stop himself. There was aselfish little voice in the back of his head constantly whispering to him:‘You’re suffering. Let them suffer, too.’

That wasn’t him. He’d never wanted anyone to suffer because of him —anyonebeing Abby, because she was the only one who had stuck around when even Phil had given up on himself, the one who never took his fits of rage personally and gave him space without demanding answers or apologies, even when many were due. And Phil still had the nerve to sleep with her every night, and kiss her good morning, and sit by her as she drove them home from the mall, brimming with feelings for somebody else, and say nothing.

Because he was a coward.

Because being honest with Abby about what he felt for Ian would mean losing her, and he couldn’t imagine living without her. Abby was his heart, his emotional compass, the one whose mere proximity helped him keep his functional adult disguise on and bear the weight of it.

He couldn’t lose Abby.

But he couldn’t keep such a cumbersome secret from her either.

They were unusually quiet while putting the groceries away. Phil was being extra meticulous, angling every item to face forward, evenly distanced from one another. He hadn’t paid any attention to that kind of thing in a long while and Abby, of course, didn’t miss it.

“Everything alright?”

“Sure.”

He went on lining up the tomato sauce cans, then started with the beans and the chickpeas.

Abby put a hand on his arm. “Phil.”

“What?” he snapped. Abby’s eyes narrowed at him in reproach. As tiny as she was, she had a natural talent for looking imposing.

“You’ve been weird lately. You were doing so well, and now it’s like you’re regressing to—”

“I’m fine,” Phil cut short. “Just… coping.”

“With what?”

“Scotland.”

Abby blinked. “Scotland.”

“Yeah.”

It didn’t explain anything, but Abby understood he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

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