Waves of Us

30 | teach me how to swim

Emmie finds me sitting on one of the small tables outside the store.

"Ready to go?" she asks as my drink runs empty.

I nod, standing up and tossing it into the trash. "Sufficiently satisfied with the amount of sugar I just inhaled."

"As long as my baby's happy."

"Very happy."

Since we managed to snag some time to do some food shopping the other week, we decided to make it a weekly trip that can kill two birds with one stone: spend time together and get work done.

The store isn't busy since it's a weekday, so we peruse the aisles at a leisurely pace and not feel like we're getting in anybody's way or vice versa.

"How'd it go last night?" Emmie asks when we round a corner in the produce section.

I had texted her about a rowdy group of guys that came in during the last hour we were open. I'd alerted her of the arrivals but got too distracted to keep her updated after they had left. It was pretty late by then and I was the most tired I'd been all week.

"I had a killer headache for most of the night so that was fun." I reach down to test some of the avocados and see if they're ripe.

She cringes the right amount and dumps a container of strawberries into the cart. "Men offer us no shortage of disappointment."

"Especially when they hound us in groups," I add. "And their specialty is attacking when we're at work so we're forced to paint a fake smile on our face and say thank you."

Emmie laughs. "Oh, the joys of working in the service industry."

"Did you ever reschedule dinner with your brother yet?"

We're in the pasta aisle so I rifle through the shelves looking for ingredients to make spaghetti, a dish I somehow manage to not screw up.

"Not yet but Anthony said he's bringing Kaioh with him to the protest so we might go somewhere after."

"Calum wouldn't stop texting me the other night asking what he should wear or put on his poster," Emmie laughs. "You'd think we were taking him to Disneyland or something, he's so excited about it."

I smile at the thought of him rummaging through his closet to find the perfect fit for the protest. "He's too good to me."

Emmie shakes her head. "He's exactly the right amount of good for you. Calum is the kind of friend we all need."

"You're right." I reach up on my tippy toes to grab a box of pasta shells and let them fall into the cart. "The only thing he lacks, much like me, is the ability to cook a decent home-cooked meal."

She looks pointedly at the box in the cart and back up again at me. "What are you getting that for then?"

"Don't they have those jars of cheese sauce or something?"

"Wow. You're a chef."

As I push her away from the cart and roll forward, I stick my tongue out at her. If my friends and I can convince ourselves we are doing something special by adding an egg and green onions to our instant ramen, then a dinner of pasta shells with cheese sauce must be a culinary masterpiece.

Before I can turn back around, the cart halts and the body that caused it lets out a grunt.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry."

The man swipes at himself before looking up at me. "That's one way to meet people."

The first thing I notice is that he's holding a jar of cheese sauce in his hand. The second is that he's got a cute face.

"It's no big deal," he says, leaning down to catch my eye.

I don't realize I'm staring a little too long, and when it catches up to me, the heat rises to my cheeks. Luckily, he doesn't seem to notice.

"Sorry, you just reminded me I need to grab some of that." I look at the jar in his hands.

He turns it over in his hands as if contemplating why he's even holding it in the first place. And then, without a second thought, he places it into our cart before I can protest, which I do.

"Don't worry, it's all yours," he says.

"I'm not taking your cheese sauce after I ran into you with my cart."

"Does it count as flirting if you end up getting something in return?"

He looks back at me with a sly smile on his face because he's well aware of what he's doing.

I look down at the cheese sauce. "Maybe this was just a masterclass in manipulation. Now I don't need to fight against the hoard of kids crowding around that shelf."

As if on cue, the kids let out a ripple of little screams, the other customers turning their heads toward them in waves as the sound hits each individual. My cart's victim and I wait until their mother wrangles them together.

"I guess it's working then." He peers down into the cart and surveys the other items. While slightly invasive, I don't mind because he doesn't give any creepy vibes. And he did offer up his jar of cheese sauce. "I take it you're not much of a cook."

I look down at the sparse array of fresh ingredients. While college is not something I'm suffering through, my diet says otherwise. "Not sure where you got that idea from. Gordon Ramsey is shaking at my mere presence."

The guy laughs at my joke. "You're funny. Painful to be around but funny."

"Weirdly enough, not the first time I've heard that."

This stranger gives me too much credit for my self-deprecating humor, but he's the first person outside of my inner circle to laugh with me in a long time so I take what I can get. I also can't help but wonder if this is a random opportunity for me to try something new. After all, if I'm trying to move on from something, even if that something feels like a mere ghost of my former self, there are worse things than laughing with a cute guy in the supermarket.

"Any recommendations on how to spice things up?" I ask, glancing down at the pasta.

He puts on a speculatory face, eyes squinting in concentration. "Not sure what I'm supposed to tell a master chef like yourself, but there is something small I like to add to my mac 'n cheese."

"Please. Do share."

"Broccoli. It's small," he says, "but you feel infinitely more like a chef just by adding it. And you'll convince yourself it makes up for the cheese and pasta you're eating it with."

I nod in appreciation. "As it just so happens, I like broccoli."

"I knew you had a taste."

At that point, I'm not sure how it happens, but when I walk back to Emmie, still by the shelf with all of the boxes of pasta, I hand her the receipt with his number written on it.

"Homeboy is getting ahead of himself, isn't it?" she laughs.

I grab the receipt back and shove it into my purse.

"Who knew you had it in you." Emmie hip checks me before taking the cart back. "Let me take that before you pick up all the boys in here."

I roll my eyes but allow myself to laugh along with her. The sound is a nice return to the soundtrack of my life. "Shut up."