She glances up, brushing hair from her face. “Yeah, I know. But I forgot milk and my bagels, and—oh!” She reaches into one of the bags, pulling out a box. “And these.” She grins, holding up a pack of pregnancy tests. “Just a few more days and we’ll get to see if we made a baby.”
Her voice is playful, light. She leans into me, chest against mine, her fingers tracing my shirt. And for a second, all that frustration softens. I smile. “Right.”
I reach for one of the bags to help her unload them. First up, a pack of magnets—eight of them, little circles with pink-and-white plaid patterns. I flip them over, scanning for a price. Fifteen bucks. For magnets.
Before I can say anything, she’s talking again. “I’m excited to try this coffee creamer,” she says, putting it in the fridge. “It’s new.”
“Uh-huh.” I keep unloading the bags. Snacks, granola, organic labels everywhere. I like healthy stuff, sure, but organic is also double the price for half the quantity.
“Megan,” I start, “did we really need all this?”
She straightens. “It’s groceries, Mason. So…kinda.”
“It’s not just groceries,” I mutter, holding up the magnets. “This is luxury stuff we can’t afford right now.”
Her arms cross, her expression soft but firm. “Magnets areluxury?”
“Fifteen-dollar ones are,” I say, setting them down. “And all this organic stuff…it’s fine, I’m not saying it’s bad, but it’s expensive, and—”
She cuts me off, her voice raising. “You’re the one who’s used to all this homegrown, homemade, better-for-you crap! I’m just trying to please you!”
“Okay, but—”
“You haven’t said anything about a budget, or what’s too much, or what’s fine!”
I hold up my hand. “Okay,” I say calmly. “You’re right. We didn’t talk about it.”
“Exactly, so don’t talk down to me like I’m just spending for fun. I make money too, Mason.”
I take a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “Meg. Take a breath, okay? I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
She exhales hard through her nose, still standing stiffly across from me.
“I’m not trying to make things harder,” I say carefully. “I just want us to be smart. We don’t have to stop getting things we want, I just…” I gesture toward the bags. “We gotta be mindful. Especially if”—I glance at the pregnancy tests still on the counter—“if there’s a baby on the way.”
Her expression softens, but her shoulders stay tense. “I know,” she says quietly, eyes fixed on the counter.
My tone shifts, gentler now. “I just…I paid the bills when I got home, that’s all. Seeing the totals just got in my head a little.”
“Right,” she mutters, still not looking up. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “Just…no more random things for a while, okay? No more Pinterest-inspired décor.”
The second it’s out of my mouth, I know I said it wrong.
Her jaw drops slightly, eyes flicking up to mine, wounded. “You don’t like it?” she asks, voice small but sharp around the edges.
My stomach sinks. “I never said that,” I start carefully, gesturing around the room. “I said no more…for now.”
Her eyes scan the space—the soft pink pillows, the candles, the little wreath she hung on the pantry door. “I guess I did get a lot…” she says quietly.
I press my lips together, not trusting myself to answer without making it worse.
“Sorry,” she adds, voice tight.
I sigh, stepping closer. My hand slides around her waist, settling on the small of her back as I pull her in. “It’s okay,” I murmur against her hair.
She exhales slowly, her hand coming up to the back of my neck. Her fingers trail through my hair, gentle and unhurried, massaging lightly as she leans into my chest.
