“They’re where they always are,” I answer, not bothering to yell. Jordan hears everything. Not an exaggeration.
“Checked. Shelf’s empty.”
“I restocked them yesterday.”
“Then they disappeared overnight, because there’s nothing there now.”
I come out, planning to prove Jordan wrong. I fully expect to point at the copper flashing rolls so I can savor the look Jordan gets the rare times they lose an argument.
The shelf is empty.
I just blink at it, startled. Jordan leans against the endcap, arms folded, eyebrows raised in a smirk they’re trying not to show.
“They were here yesterday,” I insist.
“Mmhmm.”
“I put them there.”
“I believe you,” Jordan says, with just enough tilt in their voice to suggest they only believe that I believe me. Jordan and Drew were joined at the hip from toddlerhood, so when I married Drew, Jordan and I became something like family. This kind of bickering is just…how we are.
I squint at them. “Where did you look?”
“Right there.”
Three steps to the left, I reach behind stacked aluminum vent pipe and dig out a roll of copper flashing. I hold it up.
“There,” I say, loud and gleeful.
Jordan’s face does something complicated, a smirk tangled with actual amusement. “Not the right spot.”
“No, but it’s where it is, which is what matters.”
“Semantics.”
“Survival.” I toss the roll over; Jordan catches it one-handed and doesn’t even look. They always do stuff like that…and act like it’s no big deal.
Melvin watches this play out, unimpressed, and rings up the screws.
Jordan hangs out a minute longer, more than usual. They lean on the counter as I ring up the rest of their order, close enough I catch the scent of woodsmoke and something earthy, like rain on dirt. Their forearm rests on the counter, tattoosvisible: lines and mountains, though I’ve never asked the story, and they haven’t told.
My jaw’s tight and I’ve been straightening the receipts for a minute, even though they’re already lined up. I am now arranging them into some theoretical, impossible straightness, which is obviously a distraction.
Jordan notices. Jordan always notices.
“You good?” they ask.
“Yep.” It comes out quick, too bright. “Just busy. You know.”
I slide the bag across. Our fingers don’t even come close; I make sure of it. Not sure why. Maybe today is just extra raw.
Jordan’s eyes hold mine for a moment that’s just a shade too long, soft but not pitying. The kind of look you give when you know someone’s hurting and you know talking about it won’t help. Jordan’s good at reading the room.
They take the bag, adjust the strap, and say, “See you later,” easy and open, like an invitation.
The bell rings as they go, and then the quiet settles back in. Fans, floorboards, Melvin’s usual muttering.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Melvin says.
