Page 80 of Queen of Nothing

I didn’t look.

Serena sticks shopping lists to the fridge every night for me to take in the morning. But each time I wake up, even after all this time, I’m slow.

My mornings used to be catered to me.

I could stay in bed and Abigail would bring me breakfast and all my coffees, all my favourite roasts. And at Bluestone, the coffee machine was always on and powered up, ready to deliver a freshly brewed liquid heaven.

Not here.

Not in this new life.

I give a lame excuse. “Sal wasn’t meant to go to Ms Brown’s today, so I was running late for work. I forgot to take the list.”

It’s true. But Serena decided this morning, when I was already behind, that she needed more rest, and so that meant I had to drop him off at Ms Brown’s.

Serena’s sigh is long. “You didn’t get the shopping then?”

There’s a clatter on the other end of the call before the screen shifts, and a video request comes through.

I hit the accept button, but I don’t watch her face come up, not as I pull on Fair Street, and Ms Brown’s house comes into view.

I stop a few houses down and pull over.

Serena holds up the shopping list to the camera.

“The store shuts in an hour,” her echoed voice tells me what I already know, because I literally work at that store. “We need most of this tonight. Sal doesn’t have milk for his breakfast cereal, no bread for his lunch sandwiches, there’s no coffee—”

No coffee.

That is a disaster.

We buy instant, granulated rubbish that tastes more like dishwater than coffee, but my body is hooked on the caffeine, and I do get desperate.

I huff a drawn-out grated sound. “Ok. I’ll get the shopping done now, then come back for him. It’s too hard getting him in and out of the car seat.”

I also need Sal to stay out of this part.

“I’ll text you the full list,” she says.

The video flips around, and I can make out the truth of her face, one she hasn’t illusioned today, which means she hasn’t left the apartment all day. Not even to do laundry.

Serena rattles on, “And maybe pick up a toy for him, if there’s something new in-store. Are the magazines in yet?”

My fingertips drum on the steering wheel. “They came in this morning.”

Every month, Sal gets those plastic-packaged kid’s magazines that always have a bonus toy in them. And when we’re on the move, we tend to pick fast food places that give out little toys, too.

Keeps him happy.

Or complacent.

Either way, it distracts him for a little while, and that’s peace and quiet.

Serena props the phone against the microwave.

The new angle is a wide scope of the apartment, except the bathroom and bedroom area.

Serena moves out of sight, and I hear some rummaging around.