Chapter 45
No, I take it back. He was bad news. Definitely bad news.
The drive to the supermarket was supposed to be my victory. After weeks of following her from a distance, after nights of watching her walk to the subway alone, she was finally in my car. She was sitting two feet away from me. We were going somewhere together.
Except she wasn't sitting two feet away from me.
She was in the backseat, with Sam on her lap, because the five-year-old had taken one look at the front passenger seat and declared that he wanted to sit with the pretty lady.
And Elera, softhearted as always, had said okay and climbed into the back with him.
I was driving. Like a chauffeur. A chauffeur named Capsicum.
I stole glances at her through the rearview mirror. She was smiling, really smiling, her arms wrapped around the boy to keep him steady, her chin resting on top of his curly head. She looked peaceful, soft, nothing like the woman who had snapped at me last night about not eating sweets anymore.
And that brat knew exactly what he was doing. He was leaning into her, pointing at things outside the window, asking questions that made her laugh, acting purposely adorable because he had figured out that she melted for it.
Elera was answering him with patience I didn't know she had, her voice soft, her hand resting on his shoulder to keep him steady. She looked happy. Not the hollow, exhausted version of herself that had been walking through life for the past few weeks, but something softer. Something real.
I told myself that was why I didn't argue. Not because I was a pushover. Because she was happy.
The supermarket was busy, full of families and couples and people who looked like they had their lives together.
Sam hopped out of the car the moment I parked, his little hand slipping into Elera's without a moment of hesitation.
She let him hold it. She smiled down at him.
And I walked behind them, pushing a cart I hadn't asked for, feeling like the third wheel in my own pursuit.
The automatic doors slid open, and we stepped into the fluorescent brightness of the supermarket. Elera grabbed a cart, and Sam immediately climbed into the child seat, his legs dangling, his hands gripping the handle. He looked at me with something like triumph.
"I'm driving!" he announced.
I said nothing.
Elera pushed the cart down the first aisle, and I followed, my hands in my pockets, my eyes moving from her to the shelves to the people around us. It was instinct now. I couldn't turn it off. But somewhere between the produce section and the dairy aisle, I was transported back.
To the old apartment. To the small kitchen with the trinket curtains.
To the Tuesdays when we used to shop together, back when she thought I was poor and unemployed and desperately in need of saving.
I remembered the way she used to slap my hand if I placed 'unnecessary' items in the cart, the way she would glare at me when I tried to sneak things past her at the checkout, the way she would huff and roll her eyes and then kiss me when we got home.
I had been happy then. Really happy. And I had thrown it all away.
"Mister?"
I blinked. A woman was standing in front of me, somewhere in her forties, wearing a bright apron and holding a tray of small brownie samples. She had a warm smile and the kind of eyes that had seen everything and still chose to be friendly.
"Would you like to try a brownie?" she asked. "Your wife and child seem to like them."
She had called Elera my wife.
I looked past the woman to where Elera was standing. She had a small piece of brownie in her hand, nibbling at the edge, her ears bright red. Sam was beside her, both hands gripping a second sample, chocolate smeared across his cheeks. He looked like he had found the meaning of life.
I looked back at the saleswoman and felt something shift in my chest. Pride, maybe. Possessiveness. A quiet, burning satisfaction that this stranger had looked at us and seen a family.
"I'm not much fond of sweets," I said, and my voice came out steadier than I felt. "But since my wife likes them, I'll buy some."
The saleswoman's smile widened. "You're such a sweet husband! You look so good together. A match made in heaven." She tilted her head, studying us. "You both look so young. When did you marry?"
I glanced at Elera. Her face was the color of a ripe tomato. She was staring at the floor, clearly hoping it would swallow her whole.
"Not much long," I said. "Less than a year."
The saleswoman's brow furrowed. "Then the child?"
I looked at Sam, who was now licking chocolate off his fingers with intense concentration. "We found him in a dumpster."
"Hey!" Sam's head snapped up, his eyes wide with indignation. "I was not in a dumpster!"
The saleswoman laughed. "What a lovely family." She gestured to the display. "Which flavour would you like, sir?"
My eyes drifted to Elera. She was still blushing, still refusing to look at me, still nibbling on that brownie like it was her last meal. The saleswoman kept listing flavours, salted caramel, walnut, orange, chocolate, but I didn't hear any of them.
"Whichever my wife likes more," I said.
Elera looked like she was about to combust.
"Great!" The saleswoman was already packing boxes. "And how many would you like?"
"Five."
Elera's head snapped toward me. Five boxes. The woman was talking about boxes, not small packs. I could see the calculation happening behind her eyes, the part of her that still clipped coupons and worried about budgets screaming in protest.
I took the bag from the saleswoman before Elera could say anything.
The checkout line was long, and Sam was using the conveyor belt as a personal slide until Elera pulled him back. She looked exhausted, frazzled, and slightly murderous. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in weeks.
The cashier scanned our items. Brownies, milk, bread, the expensive olive oil that Elera used to scold me for buying. A few vegetables. Some fruit. The total appeared on the screen, and I reached into my wallet.
Elera's hand shot out, her card already between her fingers. "I can pay for myself. I don't need you to pay for anything."
"Just let me pay."
"No." Her voice was firm. "I will pay. It's my stuff."
I sighed. She was stubborn. She had always been stubborn. It was one of the things I loved about her. "Just think of it as me paying you back for all the times you had to buy everything for me. When I was pretending to be poor."
Her grip on her card wavered. Just slightly. Her eyes flickered with something like nostalgia, or pain, or both.
I nodded at the cashier. He swiped my card before she could argue further.
I gathered the bags, the brownies heavy on top, and turned to leave. Elera was standing by the conveyor belt, her card still in her hand, her expression caught somewhere between annoyance and something softer.
"Capsicum," Sam said, tugging my sleeve. "Can I have another brownie?"
"No."
"You're mean."
"I am," I said. "So?"
He pouted and stomped toward the exit, his small legs carrying him as fast as they could. Elera laughed, a quiet sound that she probably didn't mean to let out, and followed him.
I walked behind them, the bags cutting into my fingers, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, I was winning.
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