2006
"Here's your half of the list." She handed him a sheet of paper with about a dozen items written in her small, precise penmanship. "I made sure everything on it was on the opposite side of the store from the Juniors' department."
"Ha ha." He nodded at her tiny smirk. "You been saving that one?"
"I'm just trying to help you stay out of trouble."
"How long are you going to rag on me about that?"
"Just a little longer." She glanced at her watch. "Meet at the Starbucks in forty-five minutes?"
He looked at the list. "I can knock this out in twenty."
"I have to stop and pick up some photos, I don't know how long it'll take. I finally got my pictures developed from the wedding." She smiled broadly with anticipation.
"Oh. Neat."
She raised her perfect eyebrows at him. "'Neat'?"
"Yeah, can't wait to see 'em. Have you, uh, thought about dinner tonight? I was thinking lasagna..."
"Sounds good."
It only took him fifteen minutes to pick up everything on his list--dryer sheets, coffee filters, sandwich bags, and other idiot-proof items--and he killed the other thirty just wandering around the store, filling his basket with random odds and ends. A few t-shirts; her favorite cereal; some disposable razors; a pack of those gel pens she liked to use; four cds for himself, and one of a new band he kind of hated, but thought she might enjoy.
She wasn't there yet when he made his way to the Starbucks counter, so he ordered a tea and a grande white chocolate mocha, flirted perfunctorily with the barista, and grabbed a table to settle in and wait.
When she showed up, she was carrying at least six bags. It looked like one of them might be filled entirely with flip-flops.
"Get everything you needed?"
"Think so." She dropped her bags to the floor. "Is that mine?" she asked as she sat down, not waiting for an answer before she picked up her mocha and took a long sip.
"Get your pictures?"
"Mm hmm," she replied, excited, and reached into her purse for the envelope. "Want to see? I've got the digital copies to send to Michael, of course, but I thought I might as well get some prints."
It was stupid, but sometimes he actually forgot she was married. It had been such a crazy--well, okay, he didn't want to say 'crazy.' It had been surprising. Not that it was any of his business anyway. But here was the proof. There was Chuny and Haleh. There was Abby, giving a toast. There was Pratt with his arm around a grinning, spit-polished Gallant.
And there was the bride, his pain in the ass roomie, radiant in her white sari, beaming into the camera.
Oh, and there was his left arm in the background. At least, he thought that was his arm.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
He looked up. "What?"
"You sighed."
"I--? What? No I didn't." Did he? "Just breathing." He handed the stack of pictures back to her. "You look really…happy."
"Thank you."
He stood, picked up his bags and a few of hers, and started toward the exit. She threw away their cups and followed.
"So. Lasagna, right?"
