Bananas
Flowers
Cond
I couldn’t even write the whole word at first but also didn’t want to chance actually forgetting them either. That was at least part of the reason for planning this all out, right? I didn’t want to forget anything, so I wrote “oms” at the end of “cond” and folded up the paper. Once it was shoved into my pocket, I headed out the door and drove to the store.
Partway there, I pulled over and took out the list. I scratched out everything but the letter “C” since that should be a big enough clue for me, and anyone reading my list over my shoulder wouldn’t know what it meant. It could stand for carrots, chicken, or cookies.
Cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C!
Mayra said it was superfluous since she was on the pill. One quick reminder about Aimee and Scott had her seeing things my way. The last thing I wanted to do was to miss planning that particular aspect of the evening.
The store was crowded for a Saturday morning, and I tried to move silently between people and not meet anyone’s eyes as I gathered up the items on my list. Most of it was stuff I bought every week, but once I got to the flowers, I just stood in the floral department of the store and stared at all the different types and colors. I had no idea what to get for her or even what kind of flowers she liked.
What if she didn’t like flowers?
What if she was allergic?
“May I help you?”
I nearly jumped right over the cart as the woman who worked at the floral counter sneaked up behind me. I closed my eyes tightly and hoped she would go away.
“Are you looking for an arrangement?” she asked. “Who is it for?”
“For whom,” I whispered.
“Excuse me?” the lady said.
I couldn’t answer her. I’d already corrected the grammar of a total stranger who was just trying to be helpful, and I could feel the panic rising in my chest. Keeping my eyes closed, I shifted the cart away from her a little. She huffed and walked away.
Maybe flowers weren’t necessary.
Next to the floral department, there was a big selection of balloons, and I tried to find an appropriate one for the occasion, but it just didn’t exist. Congratulations seemed the most fitting, but that still seemed wrong. There were, however, boxes containing a small tank of helium and an assortment of balloons sitting nearby. I smiled to myself and put one of them in my cart. It was twenty-five dollars, and I hadn’t budgeted for it, but I was pretty sure I could make up for it without too much trouble. I ran my hand through my hair and started toward the pharmacy area.
Mayra had already saved me thirty dollars in haircuts, I thought to myself. That covered the balloons.
I pushed the cart up and down the aisle full of vitamins and then the one full of cold-relief products. I checked over all the different hairbrushes and combs and even looked at the various types of makeup in a large display. I wondered what kind Mayra used and if she would be wearing any tonight.
Maneuvering the cart closer to the actual pharmacy counter, I saw someone who I thought might be related to someone else I had seen acting as a substitute teacher at school a couple of years ago, so I quickly pushed the cart back to the produce section on the other side of the store.
About an hour later, I had made it back.
I stood with my body angled toward a display of ankle and wrist braces, but my eyes kept moving right beneath the drop-off counter for prescriptions to the assortment of boxes labeled Trojans. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I had to work hard to keep myself from hyperventilating.
Trojans was a ridiculous name for a brand of condoms. It conjured up images of war and horses, and I didn’t want to think about either of those things.
I had to get out of there.
But I couldn’t leave without one of those boxes.
I was going to have to get through checkout with it, and I had more than ten items. I couldn’t even use the express lane!
I had to get ahold of myself, grab a box, and get the fuck out of there.
Taking a deep breath, I looked around to quickly ascertain that there was no one else nearby, and then I darted out and grabbed a large, gold-colored box. I didn’t look at it or read the label; I just shoved it in the cart underneath a box of Cheerios.
Moving back to my original position, I nonchalantly began to peruse the ankle braces again.