Ralph grinned.
You’re projecting. It’s sexy because you know the man behind it.
Maybe so. But it was also the voice of a man that belonged to someone else, and he needed to remember that most of all.
What are you doing, Ralph?
And as he continued his trek north to Ellicott City, the skies darkened.
6
Bo hated Wal-Mart, had almost considered making two additional stops just to avoid it. But the lure of the modern super-center had won out: one-stop shopping.
On his way in, he saw bundles of firewood stacked outside to capitalize on the weather forecast. The impromptu sign—Firewood $11.99!—prompted his pondering the potential loss of electricity. Whoever had sold Joey Drive to Ralph had left a decent amount of firewood from the previous season—off the patio, stacked against the rear brick wall. It was at least a year old, but it was dry and would burn.
No, thank you, Wal-Mart. To hell with your expensive impulse-purchase psychology.
When he entered, there were enormous wall displays of beer and snack chips on both sides of him, and a huge, round container of snow shovels dead ahead.
Yes, sir. There’s a reason Wal-Mart is one of the top retailers.
He started on the grocery side—not intentionally, but because he parked nearest to that entrance. In produce, he picked up some somewhat sustainable fruit—apples, oranges, and bananas.
The appliances at Joey Drive worked and there was a microwave. As he made his way back through the grocery aisles, he chose items for their longevity and practicality—bread, peanut butter, and jelly—things that would last, should he need them too.
This place is already looking picked over. It’s a good thing you’re here now.
Bo zipped down the depleted aisles, scoping with speedy scrutiny in case there were items he’d not considered, often using the heavily picked places as guidance.
Soup... toilet paper... eggs.
The frozen food section was where he made splurges on meat and vegetables—frozen pizzas and meals that looked amazing on their pictured boxes, even though he knew they contained nothing remotely similar inside.
* * *
He was making record time, whizzing through the aisles, avoiding as best he could the panicked and confused faces of others there to stock up with staples—and everything else—for the impending apocalypse.
It was much less crowded in the home department, where he went looking for a set of sheets. He splurged on a quality thread-count, knowing they would follow him wherever he landed. He also picked up some pillows, a blanket, and a couple of towels. He looked down a few more aisles to see if there was anything else he should consider. Once satisfied there wasn’t, he headed across the store to personal hygiene.
As Bo scurried along the different lanes, his thoughts went to the office Christmas party the previous December. Dale had blown it off, making excuses, claiming he didn’t feel well. But Bo had known better. Dale didn’t like Ralph—not because of the kiss, though—Bo had been wise enough never to broach that subject with him. He had nipped Ralph’s faux pas in the bud himself to spare Dale any needless suspicions. No. Dale’s dislike of Ralph stemmed from the fact that they were both in sales. Ralph was a very successful real estate agent who owned his own company. Dale was a retail manager for a women’s clothing chain. Preconceptions aside, the former was far more ambitious and lucrative than the latter from any perspective.
Bo knew how hard Ralph had worked to get where he was. He also knew that Dale was prone to laziness, hated his job, and was apt to talk shit about people for no reason other than their apparent success and happiness. His griping implied that successful entrepreneurs were born with silver spoons or some other nonsense. Bo was no psychologist, but he suspected there was something deeper there in Dale’s misery, something he needed to work out on his own.
In Bo’s eyes there was professional envy of Ralph even if it was rarely voiced. That was reason enough for him to keep the kiss a secret. One ridiculous jealousy he could handle, but a second was not something he wanted to contend with. Besides, Bo loved his job, and Ralph had respected his refusal. The end.
Kinda.
At the office party in Dupont, Ralph and he had made lingering eye-contact a few times and the more they drank, the more frequent the glances.
Bo thought about the way Ralph had dressed down that night, yet still kept that professional edge. He wore jeans with a blazer, burgundy sweater-vest, plaid shirt, no tie. He reminded Bo of the old JC Penny Christmas catalog men he’d been so preoccupied with as a kid.
Man, if Mom had known the real reason it took so long for me to make my list!
Yolanda, Ralph, Shirley, and the girls were taking selfies and posing with Santa hats, bows, and—naturally—under the mistletoe.
Shirley gave Ralph a playful kiss on the cheek in one, and Opal had asked them to smile for another. She was taking too long and, last second, Bo couldn’t resist the urge to photo-bomb them. It was impulsive on his part and had made a cute picture. He’d seen it on Ralph’s desk.
Ralph has a picture of you on his desk.
