Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Before I know it, we’re getting in the car and driving to the grocery store. It’s a place I’ve never been to, but I notice right away that this is much fancier than the discount food store I’m used to. All the fruits and vegetables look so fresh, my mouth waters. I want to pile everything into the cart, but I remind myself that I’m not the person with the money.
“Um, so how much money do you want me to spend on like one meal? I can get these potatoes and make enough for a side dish that lasts us three days, at least.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Myles asks like he genuinely doesn’t understand.
“You know, like a budget?”
“Hazel, I don’t give a fuck how much you spend on food. It’s food. We need it.”
Sometimes I forget that Myles doesn’t know what it feels like to go without. He must have always had money. He has no idea how to cut coupons and turn a pack of ramen noodles into a gourmet meal.
“Never mind.” I smile at him. “I’ll get enough to make us a meal every day of the week.”
“That sounds good to me.”
We walk through the entire grocery store, and for the first time in my life, I put food into the cart without worrying if I have the money to pay for it. It’s almost like a dream, a perfect, wonderful dream. That is, until we get to the register.
A young guy was already putting his items on the conveyor belt, but when he sees us coming, he quickly grabs his stuff and scurries away. “You can have this one,” he murmurs without making eye contact.
Well, that was odd.
It only gets weirder when we add our stuff to the conveyor belt, and the cashier scans our groceries with shaking hands. Why is everyone acting like we are here to rob the place? I think back on the time we went to that diner when I noticed the waitress acting the same.
I glance over to Myles, who is standing at the end of the register with his arms crossed over his puffed out chest, scowling at everyone who comes in a ten feet radius of us. His eyes flicker to me, and the coldness in them gives me a chill. He never looks at me like this, and I don’t understand why he acts so differently in public.
“The total comes to $256.69,” the cashier says quietly.
Myles moves next to me and pays before grabbing the cart and heading out. A part of me wants to ask him why he is a different person when he is around people he doesn’t know. But the other, more cautious part of me knows I’m not ready for that answer.
* * *
“Wow, you weren’t joking. You are a great cook,” Myles tells me between huge bites. He is on his third helping of lasagna, and he doesn’t look like he’ll be done eating anytime soon.
“A while back, I stayed with a foster family whose nana was from Italy. She used to cook for the entire family, and I would help her. She taught me everything I know.”
“Why didn’t you stay with them? The foster family, I mean.”
I shrug. “I never understood how the system works either. Sometimes I would stay with a family for months, sometimes a few days.” Sometimes I wanted to stay, and other times, I wanted to get away, but it never seemed that anyone cared about what I wanted. “I can’t count how many times I was told this is it. They are going to adopt you, or you’ll stay here for a while, and then boom, they’d move me again.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine not having a family.”
“It gets lonely sometimes,” I confess before I can bite my tongue. I don’t know why I keep telling him such personal stuff about me. I normally keep all of that shit to myself, but something about him draws all my secrets out.
“You don’t have to be lonely anymore…” His words hang in the air, and all I want to do is believe him. I want to stay here with him and not feel lonely every night I go to sleep.
We eat the rest of the meal in silence, but what he said never leaves my mind. After dinner, we clean up together. I do the dishes while Myles puts the leftovers away and cleans off the table.
Together, we walk up the stairs, and I head to my room when Myles stops me. “Sleep with me.” It’s not a question, but not quite a demand either.
“I’m…” Still sore, but I don’t want to bring it up.
“Just sleep,” he tells me as if he can read my mind. “I know your pussy needs another day of rest, but I just want you to sleep in my bed.”