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Max pursed her lips, staring at the label as if the math would just solve itself through sheer force of will. 600mL shampoo for $3.50, 800mL for $4.68. Which was the better deal? It was like a question she’d have to do in math class, except in math she had a calculator, or at least paper and pencil. Also, she was currently sitting at 63% in math, so. She inhaled, exhaled, tried to divide by 6—except 350 wasn’t divisible by 6. Fuck. Giving up, she just grabbed the smaller one and tossed it in her grocery basket. The apple flavoured shampoo smelled better anyways, and if her mom didn’t like it she could do the shopping herself.
She glanced at her list again, crossed off shampoo before shoving the folded paper into her pocket, along with a few gum wrappers and coins and whatnot. Next… well, the toothbrushes were in the next aisle over, and the bristles on Max’s had gone frayed and tattered. So, toothbrush. Max couldn’t really say she was the biggest fan of grocery shopping (who was?) but at least it got her out of the trailer, with its thin walls and her mom on the couch, cans littering the ground. But the annoying part of going out in public… other people are there too.
As if on cue, the shrill sound of a child’s too-loud voice hit her ears, and she huffed out a breath, putting on her headphones, rewinding her tape to the beginning with a whir. Despite that, it was still all too audible as the kid whined and complained—”you aren’t listening, she’s super mean to me all the time!”---Max turned up the volume on her Walkman as Hounds of Love started to play in her ears.
Then, “Maybe she’s mean because you’re annoying,” spoke a familiar voice. God. Really, right now? This is not what she wanted when she went to the grocery store. For a second, she just shut her eyes, standing still and frozen in the middle of the aisle as if he wouldn’t see her if she didn’t see him. Just keep walking, just keep walking— and they did. Max let out a breath of relief as the voices of Mike Wheeler and his little sister (probably? That’s the only child that it would make sense for him to be walking with.) passed by, still bickering back and forth.
Wow, she was kind of pathetic, being this scared of seeing Mike Wheeler. With an exhale, she walked out of the aisle, headed towards the canned foods. Soup. Okay, she could do soup. Two cans of tomato (on sale), one of chicken noodle—the small can, of course. After all, there were only two people in her family, ever since everything with Billy and Neil… God, she needed to get a grip. Max unclenched her hand from where she’d been gripping the grocery list until it crumpled. Crossed soup off the list. Moved on.
Apples, bread, Tylenol. She made her way through the store, Kate Bush ringing in her ears as she went, the basket quickly filling up. Hopefully the money her mom had given her would be enough for this. Her cassette was all the way to And Dream of Sheep, now—she’d definitely been here long enough. As she turned the corner into the dairy section, intent on grabbing a carton of milk—the last item on her list—a child crashed straight into her, headon collision.
“Shit,” she hissed, as the kid bounced off her chest and fell to the ground with a painfully loud thud. “I mean—I mean shoot, are you—”
The little girl blinked up at her, big wide eyes. Blonde pigtails, pristine blue sundress. Oddly familiar… Before Max could say anything, like apologising again, or asking why the girl had been sprinting through the store like that, she was interrupted by the very voice she did not want to hear.
“Holly! You can’t just run in the store,” scolded Mike, emerging around the corner and pulling his sister to her feet. He let go of the handle of the shopping cart (his mom must have made him do the grocery shopping too) in order to smooth back her hair. His voice was tight and annoyed as he ordered, “Say sorry.”
“Sorry,” Holly said to Max, looking only very slightly chastised. She rocked from heel to toe in her small purple sneakers, smoothed her skirt down with both pale hands.
Max cleared her throat. “Uh… it’s fine,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly. Her voice was tight as she watched Mike grab Holly’s hand, saw him glance the girl over again, scanning for injury, all his focus on his sister even through his annoyance. It took him nearly ten seconds to even notice Max standing there.
“Oh.” There was a pause. “Hi, Max.”
She tore her eyes from the siblings’ joined hands. “Hey,” she replied flatly, felt the crumpled paper edges of the grocery list for two. There were a few more moments of awkward silence, hanging tightly strung between them—quickly broken by a high piping voice.
“Mikey, can we get ice cream?” Holly tugged at Mike’s hand, leaning back and putting all her weight on his arm. Max snorted as Mike’s cheeks flushed red and embarrassed, and he scowled down at his sister.
“I told you to stop calling me that,” he hissed. Holly just grinned at him, so pleased with her own role in annoying her brother that her eyes squeezed shut in the corners.
“Mikey Mikey Mikey Mikey Mikey Mikey—”
“Christ, shut up,” he finally groaned, batting his hand against her forehead. His annoyance, though, seemed only half genuine, a hint of a smile visible through it. “We can get ice cream if you don’t tell mom.” He said, voice quieted dramatically.
Holly cheered, everything about the girl exuberant, innocent, excited. “I won’t tell, I promise!” She exclaimed, hopping back and forth.
Max felt a sort of ache, tight in her chest. She tried to imagine Billy holding her hand in that tight protective way, keeping her from running off, making sure she was okay, buying her ice cream—couldn’t. He was more likely to grab her wrist and curse her out. Her feet felt glued to the ground where she stood, eyes stinging slightly as they were all too often lately, and she blinked harshly. Had to do it again as Mike released Holly’s hand, the girl darting behind him to stand on the end of the cart, wiggling excitedly.
And when Mike glanced back at Max absentmindedly for a goodbye, she didn’t look away fast enough. His face twisted in confusion—and she hated how fucking expressive he was, how his concern seeped through in the space between his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching downwards. “Uh,” he said awkwardly, and she flipped him off on instinct, trying to push the mood back to the bitching and teasing they usually shared.
“I was literally just going to ask if you were good,” he said, annoyed. But annoyance was better than pity. It was better that he crossed his arms and scowled than he looked at her with that sad sort of stare.
“I’m fine,” Max returned sharply. Behind them, Holly knocked a box of cereal off the shelf—picked it back up with a quiet ‘oops’. Mike didn’t look back at his sister, though, instead keeping his careful eyes trained on Max, just looking, looking. She exhaled shakily, twisted the cord of her headphones around her pinky, looping it until her fingertip purpled from cut-off circulation.
“You’re a good brother, Mike,” she said finally, every word a fight to speak. Her gaze stayed firmly trained on her shoes, examining the scuffed toes of her sneakers rather than looking up and seeing what was clearly displayed across Mike’s face.
“Oh,” he said softly, less of a word and more of an instinctual vocalisation. His breath shuddered as he inhaled, exhaled. Then, “Thanks, Max,” he said, quiet. “I—”
“Mikey! Ice cream, come on!” Holly cut in, grabbing Mike’s wrist and tugging at him fruitlessly, attempting to drag him back to the cart. He looked at her and it was—amused, yeah, a bit irritated, but… soft, underneath. (Billy never looked at her like that.)
Mike huffed out a laugh. “I gotta go,” and as he turned away Max dared to lift her eyes, watch him wiggle the cart back and forth as Holly shrieked with giggles on the end of it.
And Max stood alone with groceries for two.