"What kind of syrup did she need?" asked Owen. "Aunt Jeremiah?"
"Kayro," I said. I leaned over the shopping cart. We found the only grocery store between Degrassi and Bardell that stayed open late. It was empty except for us, and an old black lady with a sour, wrinkled face.
"Light or dark?"
"Take a wild guess" I replied tartly. I didn't like to go grocery shopping. I didn't like to cook either, although it was an artistic outlet, and I should probably exercise my pallet. Food always tastes better when other people cook it.
"Dark it is," said Owen as he tossed it at me. I stepped backwards and it fell neatly in the cart.
"Wrong!" I said with a smile.
Owen scowled at me as he plucked the bottle from the cart and switched them out. "What's next?" he said with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
"Brown sugar."
"And then?"
"That's it," I said, looking down at the half-filled cart. Mom really was planning on whipping-up a home cooked meal, even though it was late. Darcy got what Darcy wanted. And Clare got what Darcy wanted. The world revolved around Darcy, and I was just an asteroid who wanted to smash into her stupid face.
I shouldn't be so hard on my sister. It wasn't her fault that she was better than me at anything and everything. It wasn't her fault that Mom and Dad loved her more. Oh, wait, it was her fault. If she weren't such a hag, she wouldn't hog all of the attention in a five mile radius of her big head.
After we found the brown sugar and checked out, Owen made me put the groceries in the back seat by myself. He did take the cart back, though, which was nice. I guess.
"I didn't ask because I thought it might be personal, but why do you have to go home?" he asked. We started back down the highway towards Degrassi.
"My sister's in for a visit," I said.
"You don't sound very excited," said Owen.
"I'm not. My sister is a terror," I muttered unhappily.
"A terror?" asked Owen. "Didn't she go overseas to do mission work? Terrible people don't do mission work."
"Terrible Christian people do. Besides, her attitude is awful. If I were a heathen, I wouldn't want her to save me from anything," I said.
"I don't remember your sister. She was just a bit before my time," said Owen. "But I've heard she was an uptight bitch, just like you."
"I am not uptight," I said. I don't know why I took more offence to 'uptight' than I did to 'bitch.'
"Shut up. You are so," he said. He jerked his steering wheel a little too much when he changed lanes, just to jar me around. A sadistic smile curled around his face. I huffed angrily. I got used to the way Eli drove his Morty- smoothly. I suppose dead people don't like to be jerked around. "When was the last time you saw her?" Owen asked.
"Oh, last week," I said. "I saw her eating a sandwich at The Dot."
"Then, why is her visit a big deal?"
"Because I didn't talk to her," I said. I didn't like the look on her face while she was talking to that Jane girl. Her nose was too high in the air. "And she hasn't called Mom in a year."
"Ouch," said Owen.
"Yeah, ouch."
Owen didn't reply. He held his hand out over the middle seat. Reluctantly, I reached over and took it in mine. I needed someone to hold my hand, even if it was Owen. He wasn't a complete idiot, just a sadistic prick.
Darcy would be the death of me. She already had me holding hands with someone who should have been one of my mortal enemies, but, Owen's hand did felt warm and solid against my soft cold fingertips.
"You have statue hands," said Owen.
"Statue hands?" I asked.
"White and cool," he said. "Like a pretty Roman statue." I had never gotten a compliment on my hands before, and I wasn't sure what to say. I just smiled at Owen. His cheeks turned red. Before tonight, I thought he only blushed when he was sweating away at a football game in the raw summer heat.