“Is your knowledge of America based solely on Eighties teen movies?” Rafe knew Eamonn didn’t mean any harm, but his question still stung. “There is no Chad or Skip waiting for me. There, uh, neverwas.”
“Well, that’s bollocks. American men sure have their heads up theirarses.”
“I usually found myself in the Baxterrole.”
Eamonn pointed them to the dairy aisle. “Yogurt?”
“It’s only sixty pence?Sure!”
Eamonn tossed yogurt cups in their basket. “What’s aBaxter?”
“It’s this term from a movie I once saw. He’s the nice guy who gets dumped in romantic comedies so the two leads can get together. Think Bill Pullman inSleepless in Seattle, if you’ve seenit.
“In high school, there was this guy I liked, and I thought we were hitting it off at a party until he asked if my friend was single. Then last year, I started dating this guy, until he dumped me for his closeted fuckbuddy. I don’t know. I’ve gone on lots of first and second dates, but I just can’t seem to score a run. That was a baseballmetaphor.”
“Iknow.”
“Do they play baseballhere?”
“No, but I still know what baseballis.”
“Right.” Rafe didn’t know what made him open up about this. Perhaps it was the magic ofAsda.
“I stand by my original statement. It’s bollocks and American men are prize idiots,dude,” he added with his Americanaccent.
He knew Eamonn was just saying that to make him feel better, but it worked. “Relationships. Who needs ‘em?”
“Precisely.”
In a way, Rafe was glad that Eamonn didn’t do casual and was his flatmate. They were two strikes against Rafe trying to pursue him for Operation: Slut. It would only end in disaster, and Rafe liked having him as afriend.
Eamonn leaned over the shopping cart. “We have breakfast covered. What do you like to eat forlunch?”
“Sandwiches. I likesandwiches.”
“Alright then! Well, for that, you will need bread and lunch meat.” Eamonn clapped his hands together, and Rafe had this spark of knowing things would beokay.
“To the bread aisle!” Rafeyelled.
“To the bread aisle!” Eamonn called out like he was Buzz Lightyear. He put his feet on the bottom of the cart and zoomed down the main aisle. Rafe ran alongsidehim.
“You don’t have to go sofast.”
“Yes, we do. No adventures start with walking.” Eamonn’s smile and arched eyebrow sent a wave of heat rolling through Rafe. He would have to get used Eamonn’s facial expressions giving him that reaction. Like the rest of his British culture shock, he assumed it would subsideeventually.
But for now, to the breadaisle!
* * *
Rafe didn’t knowhow much time passed in Asda. It was like a Vegas casino. No clocks. No sense of hours and minutes. He and Eamonn zipped through the aisles like they were on supermarket sweep. Each choice of food emboldened Rafe and demystified cooking for him. He grabbed whole wheat bread, peppercorn-flavored turkey meat, Dijon mustard. He even bought a head of lettuce, not the pre-mixed bag. He was ready to livedangerously.
Rafe nearly jumped for joy when he saw how cheap Asda-branded canned food was. Only fifty pence apiece for off-brand Chef Boyardee and Campbell’ssoup.
“Wait a tick,” Eamonn said. “Those are condensedsoups.”
“What does thatmean?”
Eamonn laughed and shook his head, a normal occurrence this afternoon, but Rafe didn’t care. He found himself saying things just to get a reaction for Eamonn. He knew that there were different kinds of mustard. He knew that non-perishable food had expiration dates years in the future. He hadn’t planned to play the role of dumb, gullible American, but he was addicted to Eamonn’s reactions. In this instance, Rafe honestly didn’t know about condensedsoup.
