“Relax, man, there’s a bag of chips somewhere.” He frantically dumps out all the reusable bags sitting on the small kitchen island, and a few apples fall to the tiled floor. Realizing there are, in fact, no chips, we stand there for a few seconds staring at the pile of non-party food and alcohol.
“Shit, man, I thought I had some chips here. They must’ve gotten left at the store or something. But I have a date in a couple of hours that I have to get ready for, so I can’t go back.” Jessie rubs his forehead, a nervous tic he’s had since we were kids.
Matt, trying to find a solution, says, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll go get the chips from the store while you?—”
“Yeah fucking right. There’s no way in hell you’re driving my car again after you wrecked it the last time,” Jessie explains, shaking his head at Matt. He turns to me. “Theo, can you go?” Reaching into his pocket, he grabs his keys and holds them out to me.
“Yeah, that’s fine, but I’m not making the Jell-O shots.” I grab the keys from him.
“For sure. Matt will do it.” He motions his thumb to Matt standing beside him.
“The fuck? I get one tiny scratch on your car, and I somehow end up having to make all the Jell-O shots?” Matt exclaims.
Jessie responds, but I don’t hear it as I’m already heading out the door. Better to leave now before I get roped into their fight of the day.
I would’ve taken my car, but since I don’t have tags yet, I’d rather not get a ticket. Pulling out of the driveway, I can’t help but think about Sienna. Part of me hopes I’ll run into her again. If for nothing but closure, at least, so I can move on with my life.
I’ve just finished loading up the cart with every variety of chip in the chip aisle when I remembered I also didn’t see any chasers when unloading the bags with Jessie. With my extensive experience in attending and throwing college parties these last four years, I’ve found there to be three types of drinkers: the type who want chasers, the type who don’t want them, and the type who only drink chasers. Without soda, we’ll disappoint over half of the party population.
Rounding the corner to the soda aisle, I pull out my phone to text the group chat.
Theo
Any requests? I’m not making a second trip.
Matt
No thx.
Maybe you’ll run into your “girlfriend” while you’re there.
I’m looking at the three dots on my phone screen, waiting for Jessie to reply, when I accidentally ram my cart right into one of the shelves in front of me.
“Ow, son of a bitch.” Wait, not a shelf. A person. Shit, did I just hit a person with my cart?
Looking up from my phone, I confirm my suspicions.
Such an asshole move, Theo.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.” I throw my phone in the pocket of my hoodie as I move to the front of the cart to check on my victim and…it’s her.
Her face, the one I haven’t been able to get off my mind for weeks, is twisted up into an expression of pain as she holds her ankle. My feelings are at war with themselves. On the one hand, I feel awful that I’ve just attacked the one woman I haven’t stopped thinking about with my cart. On the other hand, I’m just happy Sienna is actually standing in front of me.
I thought seeing her again would provide me with some closure to finally get her off my mind. But I fear it will do the opposite. Her curly dark hair is thrown up into a bun. The sweatshirt she’s swimming in makes her look tiny, but I can tell from her leggings that she’s fairly toned, and the exposed light brown skin on her neck is complemented by the tiny gold chain that disappears beneath the sweatshirt.
I spend way too much time looking at that particularspot on her neck. Thoughts of what it would be like to kiss her there, to taste her, to touch her…
I shake my head, trying to free those thoughts from my mind. Matt was definitely right. I need to get laid.
Before I can apologize again, I’m hit on my right arm with a cereal box. By someone half my height and who I think I recognize.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”Slap. “You just hit my friend!”Slap.“You need to watch where you’re fucking going.”Slap.Are those Froot Loops?
Officially placing a name to the face I recognize, I confront the cereal abuser. “Beth? I think we had a marketing class together last semester. You go to Portland State, right?” I point at myself, still hoping I can save this interaction. “Theo.”
“Oh, hey Theo. I didn’t recognize you. You look different in class than when you’re trying to run my friend over with your cart.” She punctuates her sentence with a sarcastic smile. It hurts, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t deserving.
Looking toward the woman who has been plaguing my mind for weeks, I say, “Sienna, right? Theo, from the diner a few weeks back. Is your ankle okay?” I look down at her ankle and let out a relieved sigh when I realize she’s standing on it. At least it’s not broken.
