Page 42 of Bewitched & Bewildered
The aisles are small, and it doesn’t boast the same selection the bigger markets did in Boston. Everything here is fresh, in season, and more expensive than I’m used to. It’s worth it. I’m always going to support small businesses in town. That’s especially true now that I’m one of them.
I spot Juniper standing in the middle of the cereal aisle. Her hair is in a loose bun, and she’s dressed differently than I’m used to—in dark yoga pants and a crop top.
My cart comes to a halt. I should keep avoiding her. Juniper kept her final promise. She hasn’t come to the shop in five days.
Why am I counting?
I push my cart and look straight ahead.
“Nice to see you’re back to normal.” I can’t resist saying something as I pass by.
Even though my words are calm and quiet, she jumps out of her skin.
“Gods!” she yelps. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“I’m not trying to scare you!” My lips twitch, even though she’s glaring.
“I thought I finally got rid of you.”
“Too bad. You didn’t.”
“That really is too bad.”
I bite at the inside of my cheek. I can’t linger for much longer. This is already the length of a conversation between casual acquaintances. She and I aren’t even that.
We’re in a neutral space now, and she doesn’t treat me with as much hostility. Sure, she isn’t inviting me to linger, but she isn’t telling me to fuck off either. It’s a start.
I grab a box of oatmeal and drop it in my cart.
“I’ll leave you to it.” I push forward.
“Wait.”
I almost don’t hear her. The word is so soft I wonder if she means to say it. I turn to her with crossed arms.
She looks different now, and it’s more than her toned-down appearance. I don’t realize until it’s too late. The stubborn way she holds herself has turned into something frail and soft. When she looks at me, her expression is vulnerable.
“What’s going on?” My voice softens, and my expression melts, too.
She stares at a box of fruity cereal. “What do you do when you feel like a failure?”
I frown. “You’re not a failure. Who’s making you feel like that?”
I hope it’s not me. She and I haven’t been getting along, but I don’t want to do anything to make her, or anyone else, feel like that.
“It’s not a who,” she says. “It’s a what. The shop isn’t what it’s supposed to be. It’s not what my momwantedit to be, and...” She trails off, letting out a soft sigh.
“Don’t stop there.” I abandon my cart to move to her. “You can talk to me. I get it.”
“You don’t. Your business is?—”
“An anomaly. I was struggling in Boston.”
“You were?” She lifts her gaze and sniffles.
Her nose is red. Has she been crying?
“It was a disaster,” I say. “My boss was terrible, and I was stuck working for a company I didn’t care about.”
