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“So smart. I miss grocery shopping with you. And going through the flyers,” I admit. We did it every Thursday when the new ones arrived in the weekly paper.
“We were the price-matching queens. We should have had T-shirts made.” Essie smiles.
I return it, but talking about this makes me miss having her close. If she wasn’t halfway across the country, I’d probably be on my way to her house right now. “Our system was unparalleled.”
“What else is going on? You and Dickhead still hate-fucking each other?”
“Yeah. I think I might not hate him as much as I should.”
“He’s softening you up with the D, huh?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Sometimes he can be almost…sweet.” Like earlier when he wouldn’t let me walk away. Or when he’s not busy saying filthy things and turning me into a sex pretzel. “I need to find an apartment, but I can’t secure anything before October first.” And maybe that’s okay because moving out means the sex with Tristan ends.
“The offer stands. You can always move in with me. I have a king bed. We could make it work.”
“Unless this new guy turns into your boyfriend. Then it would just be awkward.”
“True. And despite my best efforts, I’ll probably have us married by date four. It’s sort of my thing.”
“It kind of is.”
“What if I come visit you? We’ll time it when the guys are away. We’ll go to a bar, get drunk, and dance on tables. Flirt with dirtbags. It’ll be like old times.”
“You mean like last year’s old times?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
“That would be awesome.” A visit from Essie is exactly what I need.
“I’ll look at their schedule and check flights. I’m between events, and I need a reason to get out of Vancouver for a few days, so I don’t fall for this guy too fast.”
“This is perfect. I need some bestie time.”
The condo door swings open, and Tristan appears, laden with grocery bags.
“My roommate just got home,” I whisper.
“The one you’re fucking?”
“Yeah.”
“Love you. Play safe. Bye!”
She hangs up before I can tell her I love her back.
“I’m coming up whether you’re decent or not, Bea!” Tristan pulls the ladder down, and his head appears a few seconds later, followed by the rest of his body. He sets several bags on the floor, then pulls himself the rest of the way up.
“What’s this?”
“Stuff.” He grabs the grocery bags and one brown paper bag with handles and sets it all on the coffee table. He crosses his arms. Then uncrosses them and runs a hand through his hair. “For you.”
“For me?” I echo.
“Yeah. I went to that bakery. I hope I got the right one. I think it is. I ate three different kinds of cake to make sure.” He pulls out a full-sized version of the mini cake he ate.
“That’s four times the size.” And a fifty-dollar cake.
“Seemed like a small price to pay if I can make up for being an asshole.” He pulls out three more boxes. “These are the slices I bought. I ate half of each of them. They can be yours too, if you want them.”
“You didn’t need to do this.” My heart is at risk of pooling at my feet.
“Yeah, I did. I made you cry. Twice. So I’m making up for it. Plus, I got you this other stuff.” He motions to the grocery bags, then shoves his hand in his jeans pocket.
I peek in the first bag. “How did you find Thrills gum?”
“There’s a vintage-candy section in a grocery store about twenty minutes from here. It’s on the way back from the bakery. I’ll take you sometime, and we can get whatever you want.”
I riffle through the contents. It’s literally all my favorite treats. “How did you know I like all this stuff?” I’m at risk of getting emotional again. Part of me wants to squirrel it all away and eat it one piece at a time.
“I remembered from when we were kids, I guess. It’s all the crap your parents got you for your birthday one year. Or am I not remembering that right?” He rubs the back of his neck. “One year you had a mountain of freaking candy.”
I stare at him. “You remember that?”
He lifts one shoulder. “It was a lot of candy.”
My bottom lip trembles. Yeah. My feels are extra big tonight.
Tristan frowns. “Are you going to cry again?”
I cover my eyes with my hands, press my lips together, and shake my head.
His fingers circle my wrists and, despite my best efforts to keep my hands in front of my eyes, he’s way stronger than I am. But he’s gentle as he moves them away.
“Hey, hey.” He kisses my cheek. “This was supposed to make you feel better, not make you cry again.”
“My parents didn’t buy all that candy. I did,” I whisper.
