walked over to her and tossed a box of maple cookies into her cart. “Come on. Don’t look at me like that. I was just calling you to see if we needed milk back at the house. I didn’t realize you were shopping, too. And I also didn’t realize that you were in the same store until I saw you in the cookie aisle. Lying to me, I might add.”
She didn’t know if she should be embarrassed or mad or happy to see him. She chose D: none of the above.
Scott glanced at the piles of health food in her cart.“You trying to kill us?” he asked.
She could explain to him about the importance of a nutrient-rich diet, or about saving the Florida wetlands, but she knew she couldn’t change the mind of someone whose idea of lunch was half a bag of barbecue ranch potato chips. Instead, she told him, “This is the food Dr. Nguyen recommended.” He could argue with her all he wanted, but he couldn’t argue with a licensed medical professional.
“Those were suggestions,” Scott said.
Well, maybe he could argue with anything.
“Exactly,” Ramona said. “And that’s why we’re getting one box of maple cookies.”
“Jeez, Ramona. I expected more from you. I mean, I knew you were always the health nut, but—”
“What’s wrong with being healthy?”
“The better question is, ‘What’s wrong with eating cardboard?’ And the answer: everything,” he said. “Naw, you were always the organic soy militant, and Nessa was always sneaking me the good stuff.” He held up his potato chips for evidence.
Ramona bristled at her sister’s name. So few people mentioned Nessa these days, that when she did hear it, a bunch of negative images flashed into her head.
“Hey, sorry,” Scott said. “I didn’t mean to … I know it’s still a sore subject.”
“Naw. It’s not your fault.” But even though the words came out of her mouth, and even though she wanted to believe she was over it—
She started walking away.
“Wait.”
“I really have to finish these errands,” she said. “I should’ve been back at the house a half hour ago.” She walked faster and faster down the cookie aisle, until she found herself practically jogging behind her shopping cart.
He chased after her. She hadn’t gotten far, just a few feet past the cereals. “Wait. I’m, well, I’m sorry for bringing up Nessa. I know it’s a sore subject.”
“Look,” she said. “I’m not mad.” And she certainly wasn’t. She was sad. She was the other sister, the one not chosen, and that didn’t make her angry—except maybe at herself.
“I don’t buy that for a second,” he said.
“I’m not!”
“Ramona, come on. This is me you’re talking to. I know when you’re mad. Believe me.” He said it like she was constantly in a state of anger, like she was Grumpy Smurf or something.
To prove that he was wrong, to prove that he didn’t know the first thing about Ramona Scapizi, she said, “Scott, would you like to help me finish the rest of my list?”
“I would love to.”
Together, they walked to the bakery aisle.
• • •
Scott was already late for work. His lunch break had already started to bleed into his afternoon. As soon as he helped Ramona load up these groceries into her van, then he’d be off.
Just his luck, had Ramona decided to park all the way on the other side of the parking lot. “It’s good to walk,” she always said.
Every time Scott saw Ramona’s wheels—a light brown van at least a decade past its prime—he couldn’t help thinking that she drove the dorkiest vehicle on the planet. It was a van meant for soccer moms, not unmarried twentysomethings who should know better.
Then again, she’d had it forever. It was almost like her trademark. He couldn’t picture her driving a little pink sports car.
Scott grabbed the last bag from the cart.
All that damn health food,
he thought.
It just wasn’t natural.
Then again, the green apples looked pretty delicious. Maybe if he just grabbed one—
When
She didn’t know if she should be embarrassed or mad or happy to see him. She chose D: none of the above.
Scott glanced at the piles of health food in her cart.“You trying to kill us?” he asked.
She could explain to him about the importance of a nutrient-rich diet, or about saving the Florida wetlands, but she knew she couldn’t change the mind of someone whose idea of lunch was half a bag of barbecue ranch potato chips. Instead, she told him, “This is the food Dr. Nguyen recommended.” He could argue with her all he wanted, but he couldn’t argue with a licensed medical professional.
“Those were suggestions,” Scott said.
Well, maybe he could argue with anything.
“Exactly,” Ramona said. “And that’s why we’re getting one box of maple cookies.”
“Jeez, Ramona. I expected more from you. I mean, I knew you were always the health nut, but—”
“What’s wrong with being healthy?”
“The better question is, ‘What’s wrong with eating cardboard?’ And the answer: everything,” he said. “Naw, you were always the organic soy militant, and Nessa was always sneaking me the good stuff.” He held up his potato chips for evidence.
Ramona bristled at her sister’s name. So few people mentioned Nessa these days, that when she did hear it, a bunch of negative images flashed into her head.
“Hey, sorry,” Scott said. “I didn’t mean to … I know it’s still a sore subject.”
“Naw. It’s not your fault.” But even though the words came out of her mouth, and even though she wanted to believe she was over it—
She started walking away.
“Wait.”
“I really have to finish these errands,” she said. “I should’ve been back at the house a half hour ago.” She walked faster and faster down the cookie aisle, until she found herself practically jogging behind her shopping cart.
He chased after her. She hadn’t gotten far, just a few feet past the cereals. “Wait. I’m, well, I’m sorry for bringing up Nessa. I know it’s a sore subject.”
“Look,” she said. “I’m not mad.” And she certainly wasn’t. She was sad. She was the other sister, the one not chosen, and that didn’t make her angry—except maybe at herself.
“I don’t buy that for a second,” he said.
“I’m not!”
“Ramona, come on. This is me you’re talking to. I know when you’re mad. Believe me.” He said it like she was constantly in a state of anger, like she was Grumpy Smurf or something.
To prove that he was wrong, to prove that he didn’t know the first thing about Ramona Scapizi, she said, “Scott, would you like to help me finish the rest of my list?”
“I would love to.”
Together, they walked to the bakery aisle.
• • •
Scott was already late for work. His lunch break had already started to bleed into his afternoon. As soon as he helped Ramona load up these groceries into her van, then he’d be off.
Just his luck, had Ramona decided to park all the way on the other side of the parking lot. “It’s good to walk,” she always said.
Every time Scott saw Ramona’s wheels—a light brown van at least a decade past its prime—he couldn’t help thinking that she drove the dorkiest vehicle on the planet. It was a van meant for soccer moms, not unmarried twentysomethings who should know better.
Then again, she’d had it forever. It was almost like her trademark. He couldn’t picture her driving a little pink sports car.
Scott grabbed the last bag from the cart.
All that damn health food,
he thought.
It just wasn’t natural.
Then again, the green apples looked pretty delicious. Maybe if he just grabbed one—
When
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