“It’s pretty here,” he says from beside me, our legs moving in sync.
“It really is. I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, but I’ve fallen in love with it.” We cross a busy intersection where cars are honking and rushing away. I point down the street to a corner store that still has a couple of iron tables outside. “That’s the coffee shop. They have the best almond croissants you will ever have. It feels like you’re in Paris when you bite into them.”
“Too sweet for me,” he says, taking his hat off and flipping it backward so you can see his eyes now. “Do they have anything else?” he asks me while we wait for the light to change to green so we can walk across.
“Yes, they have lots of baked goods you could try. They even have gluten free cakes.” I start walking across the street, pointing out different shops for him when he goes out by himself.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me all this. You’re my chaperone, which FYI I looked up the meaning while you were in your closet talking to yourself.” He smiles. “Do you do that often?” he asks, looking at me. “I mean, talk to yourself?”
I stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk. “I don’t talk to myself.” Okay, fine, I do. I have some of the best conversations with myself. It’s how I process things. I make a note to have these conversations more in my head now that he is living with me.
“Babe, you were ranting.” He stops walking and comes back to me because I’m still standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Stop with the babe, please.” I shake my head, continuing walking with him till we finally reach the supermarket. There are crates of fruit lined up outside. He stops to grab a couple of clear bags to put the fruit in, passing some empty ones to me.
“Fill it up with oranges while I get some bananas. Do you have a juicer at home?” He doesn’t look up at me while he grabs apples.
“Um, I have no idea. Probably not. Don’t buy too much. It might go to waste.” I fill the bag with the huge oranges.
“Shit, I didn’t even check the schedule. When do we leave town?” He stops packing the bag of apples.
“Saturday right after the game. We play Philly Sunday night. Back on Monday.”
“Okay.” Is all he says before walking inside the market, grabbing an empty cart and putting the bags of fruit in them. “Is there a butcher around here?” he asks while we walk down the meat aisle.
“I think around here somewhere. Why?” I ask him, confused. There’s a whole aisle of meat right here.
“I usually just buy big slabs of meat and they cut it to make portions.” He gets his phone out of his pocket where he MapQuests the nearest butcher. “Closed now, but we can swing by there sometime tomorrow. Shit, it’s game day tomorrow. Okay, Monday afternoon it is.”
“Why don’t you grab what you want for tonight and we can work out the details later?” I ask him, grabbing myself a piece of salmon. I’m not eating out tonight. I’ve been living on room service for the last couple of days and I want a home-cooked meal.
“Oh, that looks good. Grab me a piece, babe.” He picks up a pack of T-bone steaks.
“Karrie,” I tell him, grabbing another piece of salmon. “I know you are used to one syllables, but it’s Kar-Rie It’s two syllables. I’m sure even you can do it.” I put the salmon in the cart.
“Funny.” He pushes the cart with his elbows almost bent over while we make it into the cereal aisle. He grabs the cereals filled with all the sugar in the world. “Oh, you think they have Fruity Pebbles?” His eyes scan over the rows, looking for it.
“And I’m babysitting a twelve-year-old,” I say while I toss him the box of Fruity Pebbles that’s right on my side next to the granola I grab for myself.
We end up filling the whole cart with way too much food. More food than I’ve ever bought. We load it all on the conveyor belt. The lady starts scanning our items and when I’m about to pull out my credit card, he grabs it from my hand.
“Don’t even think about it, Kar-Rie.” He smirks while he gives the clerk his credit card. “See, just like a big boy.”
I pfft out, rolling my eyes. “This from the one who almost had a temper tantrum when I put back the Fruit Roll-Ups.”
“Hey”—he points at me—“they were a surprise flavor.” He looks at the clerk. “Can we have these delivered?”
After I fill in the address we walk out, making our way back to the house.
When we get back home, I bring him upstairs to finally show him his bathroom. The walk-in shower has no door, just glass. There are about fifteen shower heads aimed everywhere. A Venetian mirror above the marble basin is in front of it with the vintage dark vanity. There are built-in shelves right next to the entrance to the shower filled with white folded towels. I hear the doorbell ring.