Page 41 of Pick-Up
“Wet?” says my mom. “Why, wet?”
Right. I’m on the phone with my parents.
He is on a call too. “Yes,” he says to the person on the other end, adjusting his AirPods. “That makes sense.” He nods hello to me. Shrugs that he is, indeed, wet.
Mortified, I move to let him pass, but he gestures toward the shelves like he is also shopping for cereal. I have no choice but to turn around and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him while I continue looking for Crispix.
I finally spot the cereal. Of course it’s on the highest shelf. Way out of reach. Kind of like my self-respect.
“I have no idea why you called Sasha,” my dad says to my mom as I stand on tiptoe, pretending like that extra inch is going to make up for the footlong deficit between me and that blue box.
An arm appears above my head. I watch as a strong hand plucks the box effortlessly from its resting place.
“That’s fine as long as we’re not compromising our vision to appeasehim,” Ethan is saying as he hands me the Crispix, which was a benign breakfast product seconds ago and now feels radioactive.
“Who’s that I hear?” my mom says. “Is that Celeste?”
“That’s a man, not Celeste!” my dad says.
“She’s very tall,” counters my mom.
“So she sounds like a man?”
Ethan gives me a thumbs-up. I guess I look confused because he mutes his call and says, “That’s the goods.” He is talking about the Crispix.
I nod. “It’s in regular rotation,” I mouth. I have no idea if he understands.
I suddenly have a sensation like I’ve fallen through a wormhole into a silent movie. Only there are no captions and I can’t follow the thread.
“It’s for Bart,” I whisper. “I’m going out of town.” This makes no sense without context, which I assume is why he looks at me with legitimate confusion. But there’s no time to find out what he’s thinking. Because there are at least four conversations happening at once. Possibly five. And my cord is now caught on my sleeve. And the aisle is so narrow that I’m practically pressed up against Ethan’s damp chest. And I’m starting to seriously overheat. And I can’t stop staring at a drop of rain that is trailing its way down his neck.
I’m suddenly thirsty.
So I do the only thing I can. I salute him.Salute him?Then back down the aisle a few steps and turn to walk away, cheeks blazing.
“You know what, sweetie?” my mom says. “We should go. This isn’t a good time for us to talk. We’ve got to start our day.”
“Mom. You called me!”
“Did I? I don’t think so.”
I suppress rising panic—and put a pin in it until I get home.
20 | On the MarketDEMON DAD
I can’t decide if something’s wrong with me or if she’s the problem. Either way, Sasha and I are incapable of having a normal interaction.
When I see her in the cereal aisle, she’s tangled in her earbuds and I’m dripping wet (as she points out with a scrunched nose). But, in my defense, what adult owns a raincoat? She does. That’s who. And it’s weirdly good on her. Green like her eyes, which widen in what looks a lot like horror when she sees me.
I don’t know what’s up, but she was clearly not thrilled about running into me.
And here I thought we had bonded over cotton candy. Which makes me think I’ve way misread things. Which is not excellent. My stomach drops. But the train has left the station. So, here’s hoping for the best.
TO-DO
Finish call.
Finish grocery shopping.
