Phoebe
The raspberries looked divine. Plump, red, robust. But they cost $6.99 a punnet. And her bank account had about that much in it. She set them down and eyed the bananas. The boys were sick of them, but the price worked. “I’m on a fucking banana budget,” she muttered. Since moving in to her parents’ house, she was cutting back on everything. They’d reviewed the savings account, and it was all but dried up. There was only two thousand dollars left in it. And she’d had to write a personal check for the electrician just the day before, since they’d exhausted the last bank installment. Phoebe was trying to remember if she’d thought to transfer the money from savings to checking so the check would clear, when she heard her name.
“Phoebe! Is that you?”
A river of dread ran down her spine. “Vic-toree-uh.” Drat. She was on her way to visit Jake at the rehabilitation center, and she’d wanted to pop in to the grocery store to pick up a few quick things before she did. Now she was stuck.
“How are you? How is the new house going? We just miss you so much in the ’hood.”
Phoebe very much doubted that. “Oh, well. Things are good.” She nodded for emphasis. “Really good.”
Victoria cocked her head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Phoebe chucked the bananas in the cart a little too forcefully.
“And how is the renovation going?” Victoria swept her long chestnut hair over her shoulder. “I am just so glad ours is done. It gets to be too much. The stress. The time. The money!” She barked out a laugh. “As I’m sure you’re finding…”
“It’s going fine, thanks. You know how it is.”
Victoria leaned in conspiratorially. “Boy, do I. It’s one thing to plan the reno, but as they say, nothing goes according to plan.” She laughed as if that were hilarious. “Any hiccups yet?”
Phoebe would not give Victoria the satisfaction. “Nope. None so far,” she lied.
“Because Don ran into Rob, and he was saying that you’d hit an electrical snag.”
Phoebe grit her teeth and smiled. Damn Rob and his outgoing personality and honesty. “It’s all getting taken care of.”
But Victoria didn’t seem to hear. “We had to redo our entire electrical system. Did I tell you that?”
“No, no, you did not.” Phoebe was pretty sure she was about to.
“We went so far over budget that I finally said, ‘Don.’ I said, ‘Don, what difference does it make now? We’re already over, so let’s just splurge and get that Viking range we wanted.’?”
Rose, the loan officer, cleared her throat loudly in Phoebe’s head: “Just because you’re over budget doesn’t mean you keep going.”
“Is that so? Wow. And look, it all turned out.”
Victoria grinned wildly, in that feral cat way of hers that Phoebe could not stand. “Oh, yes it did. We are so happy. Just couldn’t be happier.”
“Thrilled to hear that.” Phoebe gripped the shopping carthandles and pushed off. “Good to see you!” she said, before Victoria could say another word.
By the time she got to the checkout line, she realized she’d forgotten bread. Crap. She had planned to make sandwiches for the boys before she brought them to T-ball. Phoebe glanced across the store at the bread aisle, then back at her checkout line. The woman in front of her still had a ton of things on the conveyor belt, but the man behind her had her blocked in. Phoebe turned to him. “Excuse me, can I sneak by? I just need to grab something.” She slipped past him, ignoring the imploring look, and made a dash for the bread aisle. Her usual favorite, the organic whole-grain oat, was six dollars a loaf. Phoebe groaned, and grabbed the regular kind, vowing not to look at the ingredients. With the loaf tucked under her arm she dashed back, squeezed past the grumpy guy once more with an apology, and unloaded her cart just as the woman in front finished paying. The victory was small, and yet Phoebe relished it. “Hello!” she said brightly to the checkout girl. She did not even mind it when the bagger left and went on break.
“Allow me,” Phoebe said, taking her place at the end of the counter. She really needed to start bringing her own reusable bags. The environment and all that.
Phoebe tucked everything neatly into two bags, far less than her usual ten or twelve, but she prided herself on the neatness of it all. She glanced at her watch. And she was still running on time to meet Jake!
“That’ll be fifty-seven thirty-five,” the checkout girl said.
“Sure thing.” Phoebe handed her her store savings card, then popped her bank card into the machine. “How’s your day going?” she asked the checkout girl.
“Sorry,” the girl said.
“For what?”
“Your card was declined.”
“Declined?” Phoebe blanched. She squinted at the tiny screen, but it was all a blur. Her account balance had said three hundred dollars when she checked it that very morning! But she was so mortified she was not about to prolong this moment a second longer looking for her reading glasses. “I must’ve used the wrong card. Hang on.” The man behind her in line cleared his throat.
