“Having a kid with red hair drove my mother nuts. She’d be carrying me around in a store or pushing me in a stroller, and strangers would stop her and, without permission, reach down and touch my curls. She never knew what to do because it was so creepy and violating. Then, when I was old enough to walk around, it got even worse because people would then not only grab me, but they’d also lean in too close and ask rather aggressively, ‘Where’d you get your red hair?’ Such a weird question, right? And I’d try to give a genetic explanation about my mother’s grandmother while my own mother fumbled awkwardly, both trying to protect me and feeling societally forced to be polite. But it was all stupid. Today, she and I would have told everyone to shut the fuck up and to not touch anyone’s child. Sorry. Too much?” I’ve never told anyone this.
“Not in the least. But I’m sorry. It never would have occurred to me that you people with the envious hair have not been utterly worshipped. People are stupid.” She grabs me in. When we are browsing through scarves, Anj says, “Also, sorry if that got awkward earlier. With the boys wanting attention from you about your socials.”
“No, it’s all good. I’m the one who is likely a misfit. You’re the one who is a legend.” I wave away her lost look. “Took thirty seconds to find videos of you hauling traps like a beast, not to mention all the articles about you paving the way for women in this industry. Damn impressive.”
“Fucking search engines,” she says with a laugh.
“I’m sorry.” I drop my head. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have looked.”
Everyone’s info is so goddamn available now that it doesn’t occur to me sometimes that I shouldn’t search for it. That it’s gross to do so.
She waves a hand and winks. “Nah, it’s fine. And maybe some love here and there is not bad. I did work my ass off.” She glances at my cast. “Did you want some help shopping?”
It’s hard to admit it, but yes. “I guess I was hoping to find stuff to make dinner. Dave has been so good to me, and it’d be nice to do something in return. I don’t really cook, so maybe just some pasta and sauce. A good jarred one.”
“Ugh, he’s been so pissy and cold for so long. We like this new him.” She leads me into a specialty market and seemingly throws random stuff into a cart.
“He’s not usually, like, fun and relaxed?” I ask, surprised.
She practically snorts as she stops at a fish and meat counter and orders a few things. “Dave? No. Cranky bastard. Well, life hits, right?”
Life does hit, yes.
She pivots and grins. “But not since he came back from Puerto Rico and casually mentioned you. After we all pressed him, of course. Naming names was a big fucking deal. And now we all know you’re the reason he’s not such a curmudgeonly nightmare.”
“We’re not…it was a vacation thing,” I explain.
“Ah, yes, I’m sure.”
“He felt sorry for me. I’m just renting his place now.”
“Let’s go with that.”
My cart is loaded up with all sorts of unfamiliar stuff that Anj has picked out, but at least I seem to have a new friend.
I tap her arm. “Anj? I appreciate all those nice things you said about me. About Dave. But he wasn’t looking at me tonight. He was looking at that father and son.”
She stops in place and shrugs. “Fine. Maybe not this time, but I promise you that he’s not been himself recently. But in the best way possible.”
After we check out and she helps get stuff into my car, she asks, “Coffee this week?” She adds as she thumps my ride, “Sexy beast, this one. Nice choice!”
Before I have time to react, Dave shows up, and Anj groans at his look.
“Ugh, Serious Dave is back. And he’s the worst eavesdropper ever. Pathetic.” But she playfully bats his arm. “Like I didn’t see you following us for the past ten minutes.”
He was following us? Overheard that whole conversation?
He shrugs. “I was worried. Sorry to break things up, but there’s some kind of scary winter ice storm coming. Wet snow is headed here very soon, and that’s just what’s starting us off.” Dave points to the darkening sky.
“Well, I’ll leave now,” Anj concedes. But she pats me on the shoulder. “Talk soon? But he’s right. Do get out of here.”
I wave as she gets in her car and takes off.
“You’ll head home now too?” Dave asks. “Follow me home, yes?”
“Of course.”
After I check the forecast on my weather app, I agree that it sort of sucks, but I ignore it, as I feel certain that I’ve got time. It’s not as though Boston’s never had a storm or a hundred, so I’ve got this.
