Aaron laughed like the shape of the wordhome, the sound rising and falling and rounding. Warm. Oscar walked down the next aisle and threw two packs of egg noodles into his basket.
“I didn’t ask to keep my severed breast tissue. Should I have?” Aaron asked.
“Cash or credit, sir.” Oscar picked up a box of jasmine rice. “Or…”
“Or?” Aaron sounded perky. Oscar imagined him intrigued, sitting up and waiting, knitting needles in hand, ready to make more trans-coded garments.
“Or perhaps we might trade in nuggets of information,” Oscar proposed.
“Great. Now I want chicken nuggets.” Aaron groaned.
“I thought you aterealfood.” Oscar narrowed his eyes, realizing only when he was already standing in front of the dairy fridge that Aaron couldn’t see his expression.
“No, I merely asked ifyoudid. How shall we go about transacting this?” Aaron asked.
Oscar pondered, wondering what information he might request.
“How about…” Aaron’s voice cut into his thoughts, obliterating every semblance of reason. “Twenty questions?”
“Fun.” Oscar got a carton of milk and a tub of butter.Oh,eggs.
“You start.” From the clicking in the background, Oscar could confirm that Aaron was indeed knitting.
“How long have you been knitting?” The question pushed out of him unbidden. He could have asked him literallyanythingelse. Anything that might get him closer toseeingAaron.
“Not that long, actually. Three years?” Aaron sounded happy enough to answer it. “What’s your favorite film? You never said.”
“You’re going to laugh at me.” Oscar pouted at the selection of vegetables sitting out in crates. Paulie always got the best produce, and it was all local. The bell peppers looked quite nice. Oscar eyed the price. “Well, fuck.”
“That the name of your favorite film?” Aaron laughed again. “What’s wrong?”
“The cost of bell peppers is what’s wrong.” Oscar picked a green one and deliberated which other color would be best. He couldn’t get more. “I’ve already removed two whole boobs. Can’t be selling organs now just to eat proper human food.”
“At least you can afford to think about bell peppers.” Aaron scoffed. “Someday, I’ll show you my selection of cup noodles.”
“Sir, I must feed you immediately. And my favorite film isMamma Mia. But I also enjoy cult classics!” Oscar said.
“LikeThe Matrix?” Aaron asked.
“Pff. LikeHocus Pocus.” Oscar smiled to himself. “Actually,if I had to choose another film, it would probably beLord of the Rings.”
“I loveLord of the Rings.” Aaron paused. “Your turn.”
“Is it your favorite? That’s my question.” Oscar picked from among the red onions on display. His basket was getting heavier than he’d anticipated, and he had to walk home.
“Probably, actually. Yeah, I’d say it is. AndRosemary’s Baby. Tons of horror,” Aaron said.
“Maybeyou’rethe serial killer.” Oscar headed to the counter, putting the basket down and walking around to the edge so he could start filling his backpack. “Your turn.”
“Not a serial killer. Favorite color.”
“That’s something you should guess…come on!” Oscar complained. He rolled his eyes. “It’s green. Yours?”
“I like purple. And yellow,” Aaron added hastily.
“Forty-one seventy-five, Oz,” Paulie whispered, offering him a smile.
Oscar reached for his debit card and pressed it against the reader. The receipt rolled out and with it, Paulie pressed a lemon candy into Oscar’s palm, its clear wrapper squeaking in his grip.
