82. Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Two
Beau Drewitt
Choosing Cleaning Products Is Like Picking Out An Engagement Ring
The grocery store smells like citrus cleaner and overripe bananas.
Mundane in a way that makes my chest ache.
I stand in the paper goods aisle staring at two nearly identical brands of paper towels like the choice might alter the course of my life.
Maybe it will. These will sit on Elowen’s counter.
These will soak up spilled coffee and water rings and whatever small disasters come with living in a house with other people.
I like that. It’s been so long since I’ve lived with anyone.
I like the idea that this is what my forever will look like.
Arguing silently with myself over absorbency and price because I plan to be here long enough for it to matter.
I want to do this for the rest of my life: restock her cabinets, replace what runs out, learn which brands she reaches for, and without thinking, whisk away any more tasks for her to do alone.
Kai has no such reverence. He’s touching everything.
Which includes boxes, bags, and a suspicious amount of produce.
His fingers drag along the shelf like he’s counting inventory for the staff and he narrates every thought that crosses his mind as if silence might kill him.
“Why do paper towels have mascots?” he says, poking a roll. “Like who decided a bear was the authority on spills? Also, are these recycled? Because if they’re not, Elowen will notice. She nearly killed me for not putting a soda can in the recycling bin.” He leans close to me, conspiratorial.
“I don’t know, Kai,” I mutter, still staring at the shelves.
I pick one pack up, then put it back. I imagine Elowen sighing softly while wiping the counter and that’s enough to disqualify it.
I want the version of this where she never has to think about it.
Where her life is stocked with quiet competence and she can just exist. My chest tightens around the thought.
I’d fought monsters and laws and fate itself, and somehow this felt bigger. This feels like the point.
Kai starts walking backward down the aisle, arms spread wide, nearly taking out a pyramid of toilet paper.
“Okay, but hear me out,” he says, still not looking where he is going.
“If we’re basically living there now, we need snacks that imply permanence.
Not emergency snacks. Like intentional snacks.
Do you think buying family size cereal is too forward? ”
“Turn around,” I say flatly.
He doesn’t listen to me. He grins at me instead, eyes bright, a box of something overly sugary now balanced in his hands. “Whatever. I do think it’s kind of romantic,” he dredges on. “You choosing paper towels like you’re choosing a future. I can feel it radiating off you. It’s gross. I love it.”
I finally grab a pack and drop it into the cart with more certainty than I’ve ever had in my life. “Watch where you’re going,” I repeat, softer this time.
Kai hovers too close to the cart, still vibrating with whatever sugar high or internal crisis he’s been carrying since aisle three.
I clock it the way I always do. “So,” I say casually, nudging the cart forward.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on with you and Imani, or are we pretending everything’s normal forever? ”
He shoots me a look sharp enough to cut glass. “If you can read my mind, then why the fuck are you asking?” He grabs a bag of chips and tosses it into the cart. “Maybe I just like the uncertainty. Maybe I like women who scare me. Maybe I like not knowing where I stand.”
“Uh-huh,” I nod. “Yeah, that explains the pacing like a trapped animal.” Kai opens his mouth to fire back and instead takes a hard step sideways when some guy barrels past us, shoulder checking him without even glancing back.
The sound of it snaps something ugly inside my chest. I don’t think before I act.
I turn and growl, low and lethal, the noise crawling up from somewhere ancient.
The guy glances back once, eyes wide, and moves faster past us.
Kai blinks at me, then bursts out laughing.
“Woah, slow down there, big guy.” He holds his hands up like I’m the caged animal now.
“Just because the council’s gone doesn’t mean you get to start vamping out on every dude who can’t steer a grocery cart.
” He leans in, grinning crooked but eyes soft.
“Save that energy for the real monsters. Or at least for when someone disrespects paper towel aisle law.”
I exhale, forcing the tension back down where it belongs, and shoot him a look. “Answer the question.”
He sighs, long and resigned, and nudges the cart forward with his foot. “Yeah,” he says, quietly. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how to do this part without fucking it up.”
“Fair enough. I know what you’re thinking. I just wanted you to say it aloud,” I admit. We head towards the checkout lanes when Kai notices the clearance section and disappears for a moment. “Kai, let's go.” I groan.
“Coming, bestie.” He exclaims from the aisle over.
The checkout lane hums with that particular kind of impatience that makes everyone stare straight ahead and pretend they aren’t judging each other’s purchases.
I unload the cart piece by piece, lining things up without thinking.
Kai leans against the candy rack like he belongs there, tapping his fingers and humming under his breath, eyes flicking between the gum and the cashier like he’s waiting for her to notice him.
The cashier smiles at me instead in a way that’s practiced and pointed.
“Are you doing anything fun tonight?” she asks, dragging the scanner a little slower than necessary.
I look at her, then at the conveyor belt, then back at her, trying to figure out what I missed that would make her ask that.
My expression must say all of it because her smile wobbles.
I don’t say anything. I just blink once, like my brain has stalled out.
Kai bites his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
She clears her throat and taps the screen.
“Okay. Your total is $70.40.” I pull out a bill, handing her a hundred without ceremony.
“Keep the change,” I say, already reaching for the bags.
She brightens again, thinking that means something.
I just don’t want to stand here any longer.
Kai just shrugs and grabs the cart as I load everything in and start pushing toward the exit.
The automatic doors slide open, and the evening air hits my face like a reset.