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The shock of her words hooks into me and yanks my attention back from whatever dark hole I was spiralling into. That was not what I was expecting.
“Um…” I shift the basket in front of my stomach. I’m not showing yet, and I’m not some super skinny, ripped girl, either. I have always had a soft thickness to my body, and I’m suddenly terrified she’ll figure it out.
I’m stuck on her wordsbroke his heart. We had sex on a desk five minutes after meeting each other. That’s hardly heartbreak territory.
“Oh, don’t feel bad. We’re all actually super happy that you broke him. He’s so much more tolerable now. He’s my favourite human in the entire world, but between you and me, he’s kind of a jackass.” She laughs and hands me an avocado. “This one is perfect for eating now.”
“Thanks.” I put the soft green fruit into my basket. It is perfect. This girl knows food.
She also seems completely unphased talking about her brother’s romantic life, which strikes me as odd. There’s no way my sister or brother would talk about me that way. I’m close with my sister, but she’s nine years older than me and acts more like a parent than a sibling sometimes. Regardless, my family does not share things like this.
“Does he know you’re in town?” Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and I’m wondering if she’s one of thoseeverything happens for a reasonkind of girls. Fate is not something I’ve given a lot of thought to, and if all this was fate…
Fate can go fuck itself.
I have no idea how to answer her without admitting why I’m here, so I switch to red-carpet mode: a polite smile and soft tone. “I ran into him, yeah. And his girlfriend.”
“Oh, yeah. Jess. I have no idea why he’s with her. She’s nice, but they are all wrong for each other. Both of them are trying to prove something, and it’s going to end in disaster.”
Swallowing, I shift my gaze to the stack of green leaf lettuce. I have a feeling I’m the disaster.
Tabitha keeps chatting like there’s no off switch on her. Words just tumble out.
“Zeke needs someone with a bit more backbone. A wilder streak to her. The wildest Jess ever gets is I think she painted her fingernails dark purple once. Actually, that’s not true. The wildest thing she ever did was agree to date my playboy brother.”
This girl has no filter, but I’m involuntarily following her around and eating it up. Man, I must have been seriously craving girl time. I’m also getting more information on this guy who is now a permanent fixture in my life.
Jackass.Playboy.Broken.
If this is what his sister says about him, what kind of guy is he?
“I don’t have a wild streak.” I laugh, thinking about how structured, scheduled, and rigid my life has been between private schools, extracurriculars, college applications, and doctors’ visits. Then, my vigorous filming schedule once my YouTube channel became the go-to for all things health and wellness. Not to mention the constant good behaviour necessary when your mother is one of the most powerful women in country music.
Once, there was a rumour that I was dating country star Q Thompson—all because I hugged him outside a coffee shop. Mama all but locked me in the basement and lectured me for weeks about image and actions.
Tabitha purses her lips at me like I’m lying. “You had sex with my brother in his office. A complete stranger, I might add.”
My cheeks burn and my jaw tightens, keeping words trapped inside. I glance around out of habit to ensure no one is around to hear. Tabitha stops abruptly, her features turning sheepish.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That was way out of line. I talk too much sometimes. My therapist calls it floodlighting, and I’m working on it.”
Deep inside my thoughts, I spiral into doubt about this conversation, feeling the urge to either deflect or defend. What stops me is the genuine look of apology in Tabitha’s eyes. She’s easy to read—one of those authentic humans who can’t help but wear their emotions shamelessly. I want to trust her.
This realization comes with a jolt of sadness. Trust is foreign. Openness is a weakness. Honesty is an invitation for criticism.
A smile and a small, bubbling laugh escape my throat. A sense of kindred spirit flows between us.
“I’m sort of the opposite.Mytherapist calls it emotional constipation.” I grin at her to turn the conversation back to lighthearted.
“Tabitha,” a man snaps, sticking his balding head through the staff-only door. His frown forces his glasses to the tip of his nose, and his mustache goes wonky over his pursed lips. “Less yakking, more stacking.”
“Oh my God, Terry!” Tabitha snaps back with straight attitude laced with humour. A privilege of small-town workers. The whole exchange reminds me of Dad and life in Alabama where everyone knows everyone and their business. The ache of missing him pounces, but I’m able to dodge it easily.
Tabitha and I make eye contact, and immediately, we break down in a fit of giggles. She grabs her cart filled with food to be shelved and shrugs.
“I have to get back to work. But it was nice meeting you, Nova.” She taps the handle of the cart in an uneven rhythm.
“You too, Tabitha,” I say, my feet planted in the aisle.
