I tug my bag up higher onto my shoulder as I walk into the store, Earl trailing close behind. Fortunately, the only other person in sight is Clark, the clerk, who gives me a friendly wave as I pass.
“Good morning, Birdie. Can I help you find anything?”
“Just looking around, thanks,” I say, then grab a basket.
Earl heads straight to the chocolate section, conveniently on the opposite side of the store from my target. To stay under the radar, I wander the aisles, feigning interest in a new pickle-flavored potato chip they recently got in, and then a lipstick display on an end cap near the aisle.
Once I notice Earl is distracted by a lively debate with Clark over milk versus dark chocolate, I make a beeline for the condoms. It won’t take long, and on my way to the register, I’ll toss a few extra items into my basket in case Earl decides to wait for me.
I’m confident about my plan—until I reach the condom aisle. Dozens of options span multiple shelves, and I scan themfrantically like my life depends on it. Honestly, half of these labels might as well be in another language—Extra Sensitive, Ribbed for Pleasure, Strawberry-Flavored, Glow-in-the-Dark, Extra Large, Jumbo, Latex-Free… and the list goes on.
I pick up a purple box with a feather on it and read the description, wondering how I’m supposed to know if Walker has a sensitivity. Next, I reach for one labeledStrawberry-Flavoredwith a kiss stamped on the front.Do people really give blow jobs when the recipient is wearing one of these?The last one I reach for is a pack of jumbo condoms.How am I supposed to know how big Walker is? Do guys measure themselves? What’s the difference between Extra Large and Jumbo? Can a condom be too big?
I’m sweating bullets, clutching the boxes to my chest, painfully aware of just how out of my depth I am. Just as I’m ready to buy one of everything, my gaze drifts to the other side of the aisle, stacked with row after row of lubricant, and another wave of panic hits me.
I’m moving that way when my tote bag bumps the shelves behind me, sending a cascade of condom boxes tumbling to the tiled floor. The racket is so loud you’d think I’d dropped a bag of bricks instead of a pile of small boxes.
Before I can react, Earl charges down the aisle, alarm etched on his face, brandishing his chocolates like a weapon, with Clark right on his heels.
“Miss Birdie, are you all right?” he asks, his voice tight with concern.
“I’m fine!” I reply, my voice shooting up an octave. “I got turned around looking for shaving cream and accidentally knocked over some merchandise with my bag. Just me being clumsy.”
No chance they buy that pathetic excuse. I come here so often I could navigate the aisles blindfolded, and the layout hasn’t changed in over a decade.
Earl’s gaze sweeps over the boxes scattered at my feet before landing on the ones still clutched to my chest.
“I tried to catch some of the boxes before they hit the floor, but clearly, I failed spectacularly,” I blurt out, letting out a squeaky laugh.
I shift from foot to foot, cheeks burning hotter than the fluorescent lights above. My mind races through every possible way to fix this disaster, but I come up empty. My only hope is that Earl and Clark agree to play along before anyone else walks in.
“It’d be amazing if we could pretend this never happened,” I offer, silently pleading with my eyes.
I hold my breath, waiting for their response. If they don’t go along with my suggestion, the entire town will soon learn about my public embarrassment in the condom aisle.
Clark sidesteps Earl, dodging the fallen boxes, and reaches for the ones in my hands. I hesitantly let them go and watch as he tucks them into his apron pockets.
“Earl, show Birdie where the shaving cream is? I’ll clean all this up and meet you at the front when you’re ready to check out.”
My mouth hangs open in shock as Earl slips his arm through mine, steering me down the aisle. “Come on, Miss Birdie. Let’s get what else you came for so you’re not late for work.” He glances around to make sure we’re alone, then drops his voice to a whisper. “You done picked some good options back there. Ethel swears by the ribbed ones if you want a suggestion on what to try first.” I could have gone my whole life without hearing that tidbit.
“Don’t worry,” Earl adds. “My lips are sealed tighter than a Mason jar.” He mimics locking his mouth and tossing away the key.
Maybe I should be horrified that my taxi driver is doling out advice on my sex life, but instead I’m relieved to have someone in my corner. Somehow, I trust Earl to keep this between us, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
The problem is, I can’t even buy condoms without creating a full-blown disaster. How am I supposed to get through sex without screwing that up too? At least I gave Walker fair warning that he’d regret this arrangement, and I suspect it’ll happen sooner than either of us expects.
Man I Need
The clock on the dash shows I’m fifteen minutes early to get Birdie. I called Earl earlier to give him a heads-up that I’d be the one picking her up from work for our date. He sounded oddly amused, then lectured me on beingresponsibleandsafe. Like he’s one to talk; the whole town has dodged his vehicle at one point or another.
On the drive over, it occurred to me that I’ve never really done the whole dating thing. In the past, I’d meet someone at the bar and end up back at her place—easy, uncomplicated, and minimal effort required. With Birdie, I want to do this right and show her the kind of treatment she deserves. That’s why I swung by the local florist and grabbed her favorite flowers. I may haveearned several perplexed stares, but seeing her reaction will make it worth it.
I’m in the feed store parking lot, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of “Something Like That” by Tim McGraw on the radio. While I wait, I figure I’ll text Briar. I’ve been meaning to ask why Earl always drives Birdie around, and his comments earlier brought it to mind.
Walker: Why doesn’t Birdie drive?
Briar: Well, hello to you too, big brother. It’s so nice to hear from you.
