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“Nick,” I huff. “What is this list???”
His stupid, beautiful face scrunches up in confusion. You try being aggravated with the human embodiment of a cute puppy. “What do you mean?” he asks innocently.
I place the shopping list he provided down on his counter and point at it in accusation. “There is no rhyme or reason to this list! You have baking items mixed with produce mixed with dairy. Listen!” I take a deep dramatic breath. “Apples, milk, flour, cucumber, lemon seltzer, dark brown sugar, sour cream."
He lifts an eye at me. “It’s a list, Char. I write things down as they come to me.”
“That’s not how any of this works!” I grunt in exasperation, hands waving deliriously in the air.
Nick, the hot bastard, bites his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh at me. “And how does a list work, Char? Explain it to me.” A cheeky challenge colors his voice.
I sigh and reach for a fresh piece of paper and gesture at him to watch me. “Okay, first, produce goes here in the TOP LEFT corner, because it’s the first section of the store.”
“Which store?”
“Which store??!! The grocery store!” I write down apples and cucumbers in the correct place on the sheet of paper. “Top right is where you do the aisles, and I like to kind of clump them by where they are in the store. Granola bars aren’t next to the spaghetti, you know.”
“Again, which store?”
“Nick!” I am getting fed up.
“I mean, which grocery store?”
“You don’t know which grocery store you’re going to before you write a list?!”
“No?” He looks very confused.
“But the layout at Trader Joe’s is completely different from the layout of Stop & Shop. How can you write a list without knowing which store you’re going to?”
“Char,” he breaks in. “I think you’re putting too much thought into this.”
I grunt again. “Just watch me, okay?” I continue filling out the paper with similar items grouped together in a rough approximation of where in the store they are. Dairy is bottom right, meat and meat-substitutes are bottom left, specialty items are center.
Nick starts laughing. “Charlie, you plan grocery shopping more seriously than my college coach devised hockey plays.”
“Nicholas!” I take a deep breath in and release it slowly to calm down. “This is grocery shopping a week before Christmas for a party. This is more serious than the Frozen Four!”
He kisses me on the cheek. “Okay, Char.”
This feels condescending. Does he think I’m overreacting?
“Honestly,” he continues, “I’m surprised you don’t have a spreadsheet.”
“Uh, I do.” I admit sheepishly as I grab some tote bags. “This is Shopping List Making 101. When you pass, you can take the intermediate class.”
He huffs a laugh and kisses me on the cheek.
As we put on our coats he whispers, “P.S. We’re going to Market Basket.”
I fume. “Market Basket! That’s an entirely different game plan! Jesus Christ, Nick, you can’t play fast and loose with MARKET BASKET!”
He just laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me out of his apartment.
I grumble the whole bus ride there, trying to remember how the Somerville Market Basket is laid out, while my oblivious boyfriend holds my hand and talks about how excited he is.
Oh, right, we’ve been together since August, and we’re hosting our first party for our joint friend groups—just a fun holiday get together. He’s not-to-secretly worried about his friends, Darcy and Tara, both being there, but it can’t be any more awkward than when they ran into each other at The Dinner Party at Elle’s (™)... that’s another story.
We cross Somerville Ave, and he gets a dopey grin on his face. We may have met at this very store. As we enter, I grab a cart and pull us over to the side of a display of oranges to discuss strategy. “Okay, game plan! Why don’t you go to the baking aisle and get all the stuff you need for cookies since your list just said ‘baking stuff,’ and I’ll get all the produce? We can meet back at the specialty cheese department.”
“Char,” he starts. He has that look in his eyes. He gently takes my hand and pulls me toward the limes. “Char,” he repeats. “It’s the limes.” His voice is all soft.
“Nick?”
“This is where we met!” His eyes are glassy and so, so soft, the little crinkles at the side all… crinkly. He’s so damn pretty. I take a second to appreciate my sappy boyfriend (even if he sucks at grocery shopping).
“It is,” I reply.
He wraps his big hands around my wrists and looks into my eyes. “I was standing here, talking to Sam, and all of a sudden a whir of energy arrived, yelling at Isaac.”
I blush. I can be a bit much. But it’s grocery shopping! There are rules. “Yeah, I remember. He handed me bananas and pushed me towards you.”
“Yeah, what a great day!” Nick pulls me against him and gives me a big hug. In the middle of the fucking nightmare that is Market Basket. A teenager sweeps up sawdust to our right.
“It was a great day, Nick.” He smiles dopily and releases my wrists.
“OK, Captain Char! Off to the baking aisle. Meet you at the cheese section at oh-eight-hundred hours!” Now he’s making fun of me. I give him a flat look and start picking out the items for our party.
We survive Market Basket on a weekend before a holiday, and Nick only wandered off four times to get items that weren’t on The List. We check out and gather our bags back onto the bus. When we return to Nick’s apartment, we start putting stuff away.
“Char, why’d you get potatoes?” he asks, wagging one in the air questioningly.
“They were on your list?” I reply, with the slight edge to my voice.
He crinkles his brows and grabs his original list, still sitting on his kitchen island. “I didn’t write potato!” He scans it and holds it out for me.
I look it over and point. “There!”
Nick laughs and his cheeks tinge red. “Oh, that’s French. Préservatifs.”
“You buy preservatives at the super market?” I ask, confused.
“No, um, that means condoms.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh. Fuck.” I hear the whine enter my voice.
“It’s fine. I have to go to Stop & Shop for something, and I can get them there.”
“Wait, you’re going to another grocery store???!”
He just shrugs and looks amused. “Yeah?”
“Just before Christmas?”
“Yup!” He pops the p.
“How do you live like this?” I ask.
He laughs again. “Do you not want me to get condoms?”
“No no no no, it’s fine!” I backtrack. I have plans.
“Okay, Char. I’m going to get started on the dough for the first batch of cookies and leave you in charge of getting them into the oven while I go out for the yogurt and préservatifs.”
“You couldn’t get yogurt at Market Basket?” I ask, confused.
“Well, you like the store brand at Stop & Shop the best,” he replies simply as he mixes melted butter in with brown sugar, his biceps flexing at the motion.
“Oh.” I pause. “You’re so thoughtful.” I feel a bit stricken about how I’m such a drama queen and he’s… lovely.
He colors a bit at the praise, and a splash of vanilla spills out of the measuring spoon he’s using. “Well, I love you. And I want you to feel at home at my place.”
“I do!” I interject. “If I didn’t, would I let you see my militant shopper side?” I roll my eyes at myself, and he laughs. “Seriously, I don’t know why you put up with me!”
“How would I know the right way to grocery shop without you, Char?” He mixes in some chocolate chips, focusing intently on his task.
I glare at him and his innocent smile cracks into a wicked smirk. I wrap my arms around his sturdy middle and let my fingers squish into his croissant-like love handles. Mmm. “Okay, Tiger, go out and get those condoms!”
“Aye aye, captain!” He salutes me and grabs his jacket on his way out the door.