And, with satisfaction, I grab my book and settle in to wait for my boyfriend to get home.
IT’S SATURDAY EVENING, and I’m sure the local clubs and bars are filled with twenty-five-year-olds bumping and grinding and drinking.
Me? I’m standing in the International aisle of the grocery store, watching my girlfriend’s hips sway as she meanders along, plucking things off the shelf, and I follow behind with the cart.
It’s a pretty sweet gig.
We’re those awful, lane-crowding, indecisive people at the store who thought we could make it through in no time, even without a list.
But I wouldn’t trade it for a night at the bar, because even grocery shopping is fun with Lainie. I’ve basically moved in to her place at this point and meal prep is just one of the many side benefits of cohabitation with Elaine. Also, I snagged whipped cream and stuck it in the cart, so we can make sundaes when we get home.
Or, you know, I could eat it off her nipples.
It’s a win either way.
On task as always, Elaine says,“So, tonight’s done, and I grabbed a roast to stick in the crockpot for Monday. We still need to stop by the deli, though. What do you want tomorrow? We could order pizza, which I usually do on weekends, but we’re actually at the grocery store now, so that seems counterintuitive.”
She’s right. And I’m thinking I could just make tacos again—they are really about the only thing I can actually cook—but then I remember that tomorrow is Sunday, and it’s Addison’s party. At my parents’ house. With my whole family. The party I totally forgot to tell Elaine about.
“Simon?” She waves because I’ve sort of zombied out. “Tomorrow? I can make lasagna, if that sounds good?”
“Uh, yeah...I mean, no. I mean, yeah, I’m sure your lasagna is amazing, but no, you shouldn’t make it.” God, I sound like an idiot even to my own ears.
“Okay.. You want to make tacos? Or, I could just put some soup together…”
“No, I mean, we don’t need to cook. I forgot. I meant to tell you, but, yeah. There’s a party at my parents’ house tomorrow afternoon for my oldest sister’s step-daughter. She’s turning eleven. Anyway, there will be tons of food, so we won’t need dinner.”
Based on the look on her face, there’s a strong chance that my girlfriend might faint in the international aisle in the grocery store.
“Don’t panic. I already bought her gifts. Even had them gift-wrapped. And I ordered crab dip from Trick’s, so we don’t have to make anything. We’ll pick it up at three and head to my parents’ house. Ok?”
“We’re going to a party at your parents’ house?” She says this as though it’s the equivalent to launching into space. And this could be problematic because my family tends to have a lot of get-togethers and parties and dinners. Meeting up once a week for dinner is pretty typical. Truthfully, I’ve had a one-track mind these past few weeks and have really only made time for Lainie outside of work.
She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, so I forge ahead with the invitation I should have issued days ago. “Yeah. I mean, unless you have something else going on? But I really want you there. I want you to meet everyone. They’re going to love you. And I’m sorry I forgot to mention it, but it’s not a huge deal, right? I mean, it’s just a birthday party. You don’t need a prom dress or anything.”
She’s giving me one of those looks that clearly conveys that I have no idea what I’m talking about.
“Of course I’m not going to wear a prom dress. Boots and jeans and a pretty sweater and scarf. That’s standard mid-day party attire. But that means laundry tonight, so shake a leg, mister.”
Whew. Crisis averted. I really thought she’d freak a little, being a planner and all. But I’ve no time to dwell on how well that went. I have to hustle and get in line at the deli.
I’LL ADMIT IT.I’m a bit of a control freak. And it probably comes from living alone for the last few years or maybe it stems from the fact that my parents aren’t nurturers, so I had to rely on myself a lot. Or whatever. Anyway, I fully own up to liking things the way I like them. I hate surprises, and I love order. I alphabetize my spices. So sue me.
Last night at the grocery store, I was more than a little thrown by Simon’s invitation to his family’s party, even though I know I’m being ridiculous. We’re dating, and he’s basically moved in, so it makes sense to meet his parents and sisters, but still. I expected more than twenty-four hours’ notice. I know a little bit about each of them, and I can’t help but be curious as to what he’s told them about me.
I just hate being caught off guard. I need a little more time to plan, you know?
But what would I even plan? My hair still looks good, though I’ll need a trim soon. And my favorite jeans are fresh from the dryer. I pair them with knee-high boots and a purple sweater and then I add the grey scarf Ev gave me for my birthday last year. There. Perfect. Well, let’s not get carried away.
Simon’s still in the shower, and we have time before we need to leave, so I tidy up around the living room and kitchen. I load the few dishes from our late breakfast into the dishwasher and wipe down the counter before turning to the pile of mail that’s been sitting on my desk all week.
I really had no idea that another person could take up so much of my time. It certainly wasn’t this way with Logan. But I must admit, I love it. I love that I have to squeeze in time to sort through the mail while he’s in the shower and I love that nighttime isn’t only for sleeping. And I love that sometimes we just talk for hours about nothing and everything.
Ah, but here I am, waxing romantic, when I should use this time to get a few more things done. I take three bills out of the stack of mail and set them aside to be paid. I pin a coupon for carpet cleaning to my bulletin board and then recycle an ad for a discounted gym membership, fully wondering if my mother is now tampering with the mail all in the name of getting a slimmer me in the new year. I wouldn’t put it past her.
The only thing left from my pile is a thick 5x7 card, the kind you get at Christmas. I peel it open to see a birth announcement from Lauren Phipps-Kingsley, a woman I went to college with. Logan and I went to her wedding several years ago, and I remember she had a baby a year or two after that. Well, now she had twins. Two baby boys are wearing green stocking caps and are tucked into what appears to be a felted peapod. It’s adorable. The note on the back tells friends and family that little Lana loves her baby brothers and that all is well with the whole Kingsley clan.
It’s a lovely card, really. And it was kind of her to send it along. We’ve not talked in ages, but I still send a card each holiday season. I’m dutiful like that. I make a note to buy a gift and have it sent over, but I just can’t tear my eyes away from the picture on the front. Gah. My biological clock is pretty loud most days, but it’s blaring right now.
