Shopping Day
By Nadja Maril
Listen to a reading of this piece by Nadja:
It’s Saturday at the supermarket, the week before Thanksgiving. First, my son Chris wants to push the shopping cart. Then, he wants to ride inside.
Whatever he wants, I think, whatever would make him happy, restore a sense of normality to his life, I’m willing to oblige. But I don’t need to choose, because my boyfriend Peter (should I call him my boyfriend?) lifts him up and sets him down into the cart’s seat and starts pushing.
I see a lady, wide bangles clanking on her wrists, filling a plastic bag with onions. In her cart is a twenty-pound turkey and I’m envious. I imagine her kitchen filled with good smells, stuffing made with melted butter, garlic and sage, a large bird roasting in the oven.
I don’t have a reason to buy a turkey. We’re going to my mother’s house. She’ll give us plenty of leftovers.
Peter, my first steady boyfriend since my husband’s death, won’t be joining us. He’s visiting his mother that weekend. Around the table will be his sisters and their husbands, and his nephew. He didn’t invite me. Didn’t invite us. Just announced his plans before I could ask him, “Would you like to come to our Thanksgiving?”
I am scared he is running away, but he’s here this morning. We’re cooking dinner together tonight. He’s barbecuing chicken on the grill.
At the checkout line, he lets Chris from inside the cart, help with the groceries. He encourages him to place the lighter ones on the conveyer belt. Then Peter moves to the other end of the check-out counter and begins bagging the lettuce, tomatoes, chips, barbecue sauce, and rice we bought.
The cashier’s nametag says “Darlene” and I notice dark puffy circles under her eyes. Chris hands her the last bag of chips to ring up. She thanks him, smiles and points to Peter. “Your Daddy is a good bagger,” she says. “A helper just like you.”
Chris looks at Peter and then looks back at Darlene. He shakes his head. “He’s not my daddy,” he says. “My Daddy is lo-ong gone.”
Darlene claps her hand over her mouth. I don’t know what I can or should say to take away her sense of embarrassment. This woman who works so hard and is trying to be nice, thinks the father of my child must have abandoned me.
Inside my head I see my late husband, unable to speak or move, lying in his hospital bed. It’s better he is gone, I think, no one should endure such suffering.
When she hands me the receipt, I want to tell her, it’s not what you think.
Outside the store, I turn towards Peter. Ours eyes meet. We both start laughing. “Oh, that poor woman,” he says.
He takes my hand, gives it a squeeze, and I know he’s not running away.
He really does care, I think to myself, about me, my kids and the check-out lady. He’s just cautious.
And in this moment, I’m not worrying about my children’s future, my love life or the holidays. In this moment, everything is okay.
And although for each hour of feeling normal I will endure two hours of feeling hopeless and lost, one year in the future I will be back at this very same supermarket shopping. Peter and Chris will be with me and I’ll be looking for the largest fresh turkey I can find.
Nadja Maril’s prose and poetry has been published in literary magazines that include, Lunch Ticket, Spry Literary Review and Across the Margin. Her chapbook of poems and memoir, Recipes from My Garden, was published by Old Scratch Press in September (2024). A former journalist and editor, Nadja has an MFA from Stonecoast at the University of Southern Maine. To read more of her work and follow her weekly blog posts, visit Nadjamaril.com