Page 88 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
Do I even want to know the answer?
Does she even know that I know?
My grip tightened, and the bundle snapped slightly in my hand. I dropped it into the cart. The thud made the shopper next to me glance over. I shoved the cart forward, heat crawling at the back of my neck. I arrived at the pyramid of lemons. Big, solid ones. I pressed my thumb into the skin.
"I just don’t want her to leave.” I stopped dead. My head snapped up, eyes scanning the empty aisle behind me, then flicking to the old man weighing apples at the far end. Had he heard? He didn't look up. I snatched two lemons and tossed them into the cart.
The cart rattled as I stopped in front of the rice. There it was. The blue box of Arborio rice. I grabbed the box as I dragged in a breath, puffing my cheeks out, and let it out in a long stream, “What am I going to say to her?”
“We should keep doing dinners,” I muttered under my breath. “Even after you move.”
I winced.
That sounds like I'm asking for a cooking buddy.
My grip on the box tightened before I dropped it into the cart.
Dinners weren’t the point. The point was her leaning against my kitchen counter, arms crossed, not backing down an inch as she defended her microwaved quinoa. “Efficiency is the ultimate seasoning.” The first time she ever made me laugh. I smiled.
The point was her asking about using the balcony. I’d been ready to give up the space for her, to make sure she felt at home. But she’d asked permission. She didn’t just assume. She’d given me the choice.
The point was her instinct to nurture, not just her nieces, but the love between her brother and his wife. She gave them the gift of a night off without them even having to ask. Behind all the wit and efficiency was a person who instinctively took care of the people she loved.
That’s what I didn’t want to lose. Her.
The checkout line was a special kind of torture. Short, but moving with glacial slowness. I placed the lemons, the asparagus, the blue box of rice on the conveyor belt. It jerked forward.
I don’t want to go back to before you.
That doesn’t sound right either. My right hand locked onto the cart handle. The world narrowed to the hum of the freezer doors. The cashier’s voice asking for a club card sounded like it was coming from underwater.
I dug for my wallet, fingers clumsy, a receipt spilling out and fluttering to the floor. The guy behind me sighed. I bent to grab it, the heat at the back of my neck rising.
The cashier pushed the bag toward me. I hooked it with one hand and got out quick, the cool air outside snapping against my hot face.
Walking home, the straps dug into my palms, bumping my leg with every step. I wasn’t any closer to knowing what to say. I kept turning the words over, same half-starts circling in my head, none of them right.
I stopped at my apartment door. My hand froze halfway to the lock. Rehearsal was over. I took a deep breath.
I don’t want to lose this.
My jaw tightened.
I closed my eyes. Deeper. Go deeper.
I don’t want to lose us.
I opened my eyes
This was it.
I pushed the door open.
And stopped.
Flattened moving boxes. Stacked neatly by the wall.
My mind blanked. My body didn't. The same cold void that had opened in my chest the day they told me about Nora opened wide again. Different reason. Same ache.
