Our Thursday afternoon grocery trip is a weekly tradition. It had started out of necessity when my son proved to be a colicky baby. Now she comes to play I Spy with Max while I price frozen vegetables.
I had met Amie at her tiny, waterfront bistro when I came in asking for a job. She took one look at Max, who was only nine months old, and hired me on the spot. We’d soon learned —after a number of embarrassing incidents with trays–that I worked better behind the scenes. Anyone else would have fired my clumsy ass, but she moved me to the desk to run numbers and order supplies. It worked out better than we expected, and she became the first person to help make Port Townsend a home. Now she was a permanent addition to my family.
Max points to a tub of ice cream and his eyes widen into his angelic take-pity-on-me face. It might move me if we weren’t on a set income. I make enough working for Amie, but even with the tiny dispersal I get from the state each month, ice cream is clearly a luxury item.
He turns his charm on Amie. She shoots me a rueful look and opens the freezer door.
“I told him no,” I say softly. Not that it matters since my back is turned.
“It’s for me.” She winks at him through the frosty, glass door and plucks his favorite from the shelf: chocolate peanut butter. “Maybe I’ll share.”
“You spoil him. “It’s no use. Amie actually balances her desire to indulge Max with a healthy dose of reality. When Aunt Amie is around, his bed is made and his toys are off the floor. She runs a tight ship. But she’s also able to give the little extras that I can’t.
“It’s ice cream. Not a pony.” She rolls her eyes and I reach out and pull her cap down to her nose.
She’s right, but it’s ice cream I can’t give him without putting the extra gallon of milk back. Ice cream can’t be breakfast or a quick tummy-filler before bed.
“Stop,” she orders me, pushing her hat back up.
“Stop what?”
“Over-thinking.” She begins to sign so that Max understands the arrangement: Can we share?
His wide grin hits infectious levels. No wonder she can’t deny his whims. If I had the capability, I’d give him the moon. Not that he will ever ask for it. Max doesn’t ask for much actually, just little things like ice cream. Normal stuff. I want to believe he’s too happy to want for anything, but part of me worries that I’ve trained him. I know the danger of wanting and how it lures you to the forbidden fruit.
I turn so that only Amie can see my face. “I’ll get it. I don’t want to teach him that we’re poor.”
“You aren’t.” Her mouth presses into a thin line. I’ve seen this face before. Usually she wears it when she’s reprimanding a server. “You are teaching him to be smart. Frugal. That boy has a warm bed and food and a helluva lot of love. Love is all anyone need to be rich in life. More than that is just glitter.”
“That sounds like a motivational poster. You’ve been doing affirmations again, haven’t you?” I wish I believed that I could fix all my problems simply by being positive like she did.
“Hell, yes.” She grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around. “You know, I have an awesome new affirmation that opens you to love.”
“I’m rich enough,” I say flatly. I adore my best friend, often because she’s my exact opposite. When it comes to issues of love, we are on different planets. I accepted years ago that there was no such thing as true love or better halves. But I don’t tell her that. If anyone can still attract a better half, it’s her.
“Don’t you want to meet a man?” she lowers her voice so that the woman walking by doesn’t hear. “Get some?”
My thoughts immediately flash back to the man from this week’s meeting. Jude. He’d left an impression and I found him playing lead role in more than one fantasy this week. I planned to massage him out of my system.
“Whoa.” Amie grabs the cart handle like she’s throwing on the emergency brake. “What was that?”
I glance around, looking at everything but her. Frozen pizza has never been more mesmerizing. “Nothing.”
“Spill! Where did you meet him?” She practically chirps with excitement.
I pull my phone from my purse and hand it to Max. He navigates it better than I do and in a moment he’s brought up a game.
“My NA meeting.” I really don’t need to say more than that.
“So?”
“So?” I repeat. “Have we met? That is not an option.”
“You have less options than a Prix Fixe menu. Sooner or later you’re going to have to add a few more choices to the menu—or at least some tasty side dishes.”
“Maybe,” I grant her the vague agreement begrudgingly. “But not this guy. He’s got tattoos and an attitude.”
She rests her chin on her hand. “Tell me more.”
“Isn’t that enough?” I swear she forgets I have a kid sometimes.
“You’re a mom, but you aren’t dead. Stop acting like it. I mean, you have a kick-ass babysitter available.”
“He’s in NA.” Obviously she missed that tidbit.
“So are you. Look that’s a good thing. You meet some guy on the street or at a bar—”
I glare at her.