Harry S. Truman into the pet carrier and made sure to pack his leash, because Harry S. Truman absolutely refused to be left behind. Gus paid for days the last time he’d left the ferret at home. Harry S. Truman could be extraordinarily vindictive when he chose to be. Gus didn’t know if it was a ferret thing, or an albino ferret thing, or just a Harry S. Truman thing.
It brought him attention, sure, but most people just cooed and smiled before giving Gus a wary look. He would rather deal with uncomfortable attention than a pissed-off ferret. And as he had that specific thought, he really wondered what his life had become.
“Grocery store,” he said as he locked to door to his house. “There and back and everything will be fine.”
He got into his father’s 1995 Ford Taurus. (“Ah, what a year for the Taurus,” Pastor Tommy had said on a regular basis. “The sleek lines! The torque! The handling , my god, Gus, the way it handles ! The men will fall at your feet when this car becomes yours!”) It was lovingly maintained with only 237,000 miles on it. It didn’t like the cold, but then neither did Gus. They were compatible that way.
He turned on the car and it filled with the sounds of NPR talking about paleontologists unearthing what could potentially be the largest dinosaur ever found somewhere in Argentina.
Gus smiled because it was going to be okay.
IT WAS not okay.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Casey said, coming up beside Gus with his own shopping cart. “I was absolutely convinced you would have groceries delivered so you wouldn’t have to step foot outside Abby.”
“Meep,” Gus said, startled. And then, “What.”
“Oh my fucking god ,” Casey moaned and that went places Gus tried very hard not to think about. “He’s on a leash . Gus. Gus . You’re walking your ferret on a leash in a grocery store . I don’t even—this is. What are you even —” He whipped out his phone and took multiple pictures.
Gus, still shocked to find out Casey existed here too, didn’t say a single word. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He also couldn’t help but notice Casey wasn’t wearing a beanie today and Gus could see his hair and the sides of his head were shaved, the long strands down the middle pulled back and tied with a thin leather strap at the rear of his head, pulled up into a slightly messy bun. For a horrifying moment, Gus wondered what Casey’s hair would feel like. But since Gus was neither creepy nor interested, he thought nothing of it, except for the fact that he had a bun which just looked stupid and not even remotely attractive, even if it fit him really well and made him look—
Nope. Not even going to go there.
Eventually, Casey got over the sight of a ferret on a leash and put his phone away, looking back at Gus. “Gustavo,” he said, a lazy smile on his face. “How are you?”
Gus said, “I’m buying groceries,” because he was incapable of even the most basic of human interactions. He scowled, but it was more at himself because he was a functioning human being and he should not be this flustered at someone like Casey. Casey was like anyone else Gus had ever dealt with. Even if he was wearing a thin white V-neck shirt where Gus could faintly see the outline of his nipples underneath and even if the sleeves of tattoos were true sleeves and went up his arms and biceps. Yes. Even if . Because he was like everyone else, and Gus should be treated as such.
Which, unfortunately, meant resorting to epic assholery. “Shouldn’t you be at Trader Joe’s?” Gus asked. “I highly doubt there’s anything organic at Billy Hampton’s Shop and Save.”
Casey laughed and it was deep and wonderful and Gus despised it. “No Trader Joe’s up here,” Casey said. “Billy’s is fine. They have black bean hummus, so I’m good.” He glanced down at Gus’s cart. “That’s… a lot of TV dinners.”
“Good,” Gus said. “You can count. I’m happy about
It brought him attention, sure, but most people just cooed and smiled before giving Gus a wary look. He would rather deal with uncomfortable attention than a pissed-off ferret. And as he had that specific thought, he really wondered what his life had become.
“Grocery store,” he said as he locked to door to his house. “There and back and everything will be fine.”
He got into his father’s 1995 Ford Taurus. (“Ah, what a year for the Taurus,” Pastor Tommy had said on a regular basis. “The sleek lines! The torque! The handling , my god, Gus, the way it handles ! The men will fall at your feet when this car becomes yours!”) It was lovingly maintained with only 237,000 miles on it. It didn’t like the cold, but then neither did Gus. They were compatible that way.
He turned on the car and it filled with the sounds of NPR talking about paleontologists unearthing what could potentially be the largest dinosaur ever found somewhere in Argentina.
Gus smiled because it was going to be okay.
IT WAS not okay.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Casey said, coming up beside Gus with his own shopping cart. “I was absolutely convinced you would have groceries delivered so you wouldn’t have to step foot outside Abby.”
“Meep,” Gus said, startled. And then, “What.”
“Oh my fucking god ,” Casey moaned and that went places Gus tried very hard not to think about. “He’s on a leash . Gus. Gus . You’re walking your ferret on a leash in a grocery store . I don’t even—this is. What are you even —” He whipped out his phone and took multiple pictures.
Gus, still shocked to find out Casey existed here too, didn’t say a single word. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He also couldn’t help but notice Casey wasn’t wearing a beanie today and Gus could see his hair and the sides of his head were shaved, the long strands down the middle pulled back and tied with a thin leather strap at the rear of his head, pulled up into a slightly messy bun. For a horrifying moment, Gus wondered what Casey’s hair would feel like. But since Gus was neither creepy nor interested, he thought nothing of it, except for the fact that he had a bun which just looked stupid and not even remotely attractive, even if it fit him really well and made him look—
Nope. Not even going to go there.
Eventually, Casey got over the sight of a ferret on a leash and put his phone away, looking back at Gus. “Gustavo,” he said, a lazy smile on his face. “How are you?”
Gus said, “I’m buying groceries,” because he was incapable of even the most basic of human interactions. He scowled, but it was more at himself because he was a functioning human being and he should not be this flustered at someone like Casey. Casey was like anyone else Gus had ever dealt with. Even if he was wearing a thin white V-neck shirt where Gus could faintly see the outline of his nipples underneath and even if the sleeves of tattoos were true sleeves and went up his arms and biceps. Yes. Even if . Because he was like everyone else, and Gus should be treated as such.
Which, unfortunately, meant resorting to epic assholery. “Shouldn’t you be at Trader Joe’s?” Gus asked. “I highly doubt there’s anything organic at Billy Hampton’s Shop and Save.”
Casey laughed and it was deep and wonderful and Gus despised it. “No Trader Joe’s up here,” Casey said. “Billy’s is fine. They have black bean hummus, so I’m good.” He glanced down at Gus’s cart. “That’s… a lot of TV dinners.”
“Good,” Gus said. “You can count. I’m happy about
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