Marissa’s eyes widen.
“Damn. No wonder he lost his shit. Now I have this unbearable urge to apologize to him.”
“Maybe don’t bring it up,” I suggest gently, and she nods.
“What does his ex want? Do they have kids?”
I nod. “Three. I confronted her once, told her that Hammer wants to be left alone, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. She wants to apologize,” I say the word like it's rotten.
Marissa shakes her head slowly but doesn’t say anything.
“What did you do after they sent you home?”
“I was practically vibrating with anxiety, so I spontaneously decided to have a swim before coming home.”
“How was the pool?”
She sighs dreamily, and I imagine her in a wet swimsuit. “It was lovely. I can’t remember the last time I went swimming. I’ll try to do it more often.”
She then frowns. “Of course, all the positive effects of the pool were undone by getting a phone call from D-Y-L-A-N,” she says with a glance at DJ, who couldn’t care less about our conversation.
“Oh?” I tone my interest down to appropriate, friendly levels. “How did that go?”
She makes a face, and I can’t help but grimace.
“Yeah,” Marissa says pointedly.
It’s almost time for me to head back to work, but I desperately want more of her.
“Do you guys have any plans for this afternoon? I figured we could go get some groceries before my AA meeting?”
*
“I didn’t know you had two cars,” she says when I meet her in the garage after work.
I pretend I’m focused on buckling DJ in. “Yeah, I barely get to drive the SUV. In fact, I was gonna tell you to use it for your errands and stuff. Lucy has one of these, and she always lauds it as the ultimate mom car.”
She thinks for a minute, throws herself into the passenger seat, and presses the heels of her palms into her eyes.
“I think I’ll actually take you up on that,” she says dejectedly. “I have to go to court for those parenting lessons, find DJ a new pediatrician, get him registered, we need to look into getting a place… There’s a lot of stuff to do. Thanks.”
There’s something very intimate about grocery shopping with someone. You’re essentially showing them who you are behind closed doors, what your habits and priorities are, not to mention revealing your guilty pleasures.
I push the cart with DJ strapped in the little baby container on it, while Marissa walks on my right.
“Did you know you can get an entire chicken for far less per pound, and then you can divide it into pieces, use them for different meals, and use the bones for stock in the end?” She says as I put three packages of boneless chicken breast in the cart, clearly trying really hard not to sound like she’s meddling.
“I did know that,” I say and move on to the marinated chicken thighs.
She wants to say more, but manages to stay silent until I start loading up on canned beans. “I usually get the dried ones and cook them myself. It’s not difficult. You only have to soak them beforehand.”
She hasn’t put a single thing in the cart yet. I pretend to think for a minute.
“I could. But I would have to remember to soak them in advance, and then cook them for a long time. I wouldn’t be able to come home, have lunch, and go back to work within an hour as I do now. Same with the chicken: I like being able to simply throw it on the grill, no prep, no hassle. Sometimes I take time on the weekends to make stews and stuff, and I portion them out and freeze them to eat during the week, but generally, I like making my life easier for myself.”
“Must be nice,” she mumbles, and I stifle a laugh.
She sees it, and she smiles as well. “Sorry. I guess I’m used to my system.”
