“You realize,” I said, “that this list is wildly optimistic.”
Star glanced over her shoulder.“How so?”
“Produce,” I said.“That’s a whole department.Does she want one of everything?”
She laughed and spun the cart around, nearly clipping a display of apples.“Relax.She just means fruit, carrots, and maybe some broccoli.This isn’t a test, Cole.If we don’t get something, we can always come back.”
“That doesn’t make it less intimidating,” I grumbled.
“You’re intimidated by grocery shopping?”
“I’m intimidated by expectations,” I said solemnly.“And I don’t want to have your mom thinking I’m an idiot.”
She rolled her eyes.“You’re ridiculous.”
“And possibly an idiot if we mess up grocery shopping.”
She didn’t answer that.She just smiled and pushed the cart toward the produce section, and I tried not to read too much into the way she hadn’t denied it.
We moved through the store like it was our own personal obstacle course.She reached for a bag of croutons while I read the list out loud, occasionally questioning the logic of items like “meat (maybe cow?)” and “cheese—whatever’s on sale.”
“Your mom is chaotic,” I said.“Here I thought it was just the ol’ ladies.”
“She calls it flexible.”
“I call it chaotic.”
Star bumped her hip into the cart, grinning.“As if you’re not used to that, Cole.”
I caught her eye.“I just didn’t realize the chaoticness was widespread.”
She laughed again, and I realized, somewhere between the apples and the bread aisle, that this felt easy.Comfortable.Everything with Star felt like that.
We debated cereal longer than necessary.She argued for anything with marshmallows.I argued for anything that didn’t turn milk into technicolor sludge.
“You’re twenty-three going on eighty,” she said.
“And you’re twelve,” I shot back.“With a credit card.”
She gasped.“How dare you?”She tossed a box of neon-colored cereal into the cart anyway.“Just because I eat it doesn’t mean you have to eat it,” she said.
“Is that how that works?”
She winked at me.“Sure it is.”
By the time we hit the cookie aisle, the cart was half full, and my stomach hurt from laughing.The aisle had shelves stacked floor to ceiling with brightly colored promises.
Star slowed, eyes scanning the options.“Okay,” she said, serious now.“This matters.”
I nodded.“Agreed.”
She gestured broadly.“So.Thoughts?”
I leaned against the cart, pretending to consider.“Classic Oreos are fine.”
She made a face.“Fine?”
“They’re dependable.”
