I JUST WANT YOU TO LIKE ME | ✓

▬ 19: little by little

The woven handles of the shopping bags cut into my elbow crease as I dig for my keys. I balance the bromeliad in my hand, careful not to spill any soil, only to almost trip on Ziri's trainers left right in front of the door.

'Sorry!' comes his sheepish apology when he hears my stumble. He hurries to kick the shoes to the side and takes the bags from me, peering in to look for the things he texted me to buy. 'Thank you. My saviour.' 

'No worries.'

I usually do the food shops, mostly because I'm the one with a car, but also because if personalised hell is real, I think Ziri's would be an Asda Supercentre with a shopping list that always added an item when you managed to find the first. He's all for valuing daily life, but there's no way he can "romanticise supermarket chains and fluorescent lights". Anything bigger than Barua's Market in Sufsdale is where his enthusiasm for groceries ends.

'I also bought this plant,' I say, lifting the bromeliad. 'It were on sale.'

Ziri rocks from side to side in a happy dance as he beams at the orange flower at its centre. 'So pretty.'

Only when he retreats to the kitchen with the shopping do I notice the mess — like he's left every appliance and dish we own on the counters — and the picnic blanket at the centre of the floor.

'What's this?'

'We've not had a date in ages and I wanted to do somethin nice for you. Then it started rainin after I'd already started preparin for a picnic. And you're gonna be like, "why didn't you check the weather?" Well, good question...' He throws his hands into a dramatic shrug, holding an aubergine in one hand and a packet of Marie biscuits in the other. 'I thought we'd do it inside anyway. Who says we can't have a picnic on our kitchen floor?'

Ziri turns to me, abruptly sincere. 'Is that okay? Or are you tired?'

'Course, it's okay. It's more than okay — it's lovely. Thank you.' Leaving the bromeliad beside the incomplete pizzle on the sofa table, I help him empty the shopping. 'Sorry for being late, I had to do overtime again.'

'It's calm. Gave me more time to prepare.'

Not that he's finished either way. When has Ziri ever finished anything on time? I smile, not bothered to attempt to repress it in his presence, though it fades sooner than I'd like.

'Eloise asked me to come in on Tuesday and I said I can't cause I've a doctor's appointment and she said, "what's with all these doctor's appointments lately?" Like, I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to ask that. What if I had brain cancer or summat? I dunno, maybe it was in my head. But then she goes, "when I promoted you, I didn't mean you could work less". Like what the fuck, I do overtime at least once a week.'

My stomach cinches.

'Sorry–'

'No, that's really unfair,' Ziri interrupts. 'She can't expect you to work more than it says in your contract. And she definitely has no right to question you about your health — that's so intrusive.'

His validation lifts the guilt that clings to my shoulders like a shroud. For a moment, I allow my eyes to fall out of focus, allow my mind to drift into the attic, before I blink myself back.

'Is it okay if I take a quick shower?'

'Please do. I still have more to set up.'

After showering, I change into a pair of loose trousers and a linen button-up: comfortable but a little nicer than Adidas joggers, and put on some of the pomelo and agarwood cologne he likes.

When I return to the kitchen, Ziri is turning on the LED tealights to add to the real candles. Rain tickles the windows behind him.

Looking up, Ziri smiles and buries his head into his shoulders. 'You look nice.'