Hope(less)

Chapter 11

Chapter 11 

The next morning, I tiredly went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. My deep thoughts had kept me awake longer than I'd intended, and I felt like Sam looked most mornings. Instead of coffee, I wanted my OJ. 

I squinted against the harsh light and scanned the sparse contents of my designated shelf for the orange liquid of life. No orange juice. Shuffling the contents around didn't change the answer. Nope, not there. Straightening, I surveyed the kitchen and spotted its remains in the recycling. 

The shower turned on in the bathroom, and I remembered Peter had stayed over. I looked down at Clay, who silently accompanied me, as usual. 

"Great. Another non-coffee person," I complained to him. 

Since I drank the last of the milk yesterday, I went for a glass of water instead. The faucet handle jiggled loosely in my hand, and only a trickle came out. 

"Seriously?" I mumbled as Rachel glided into the kitchen. 

"Looks like I'll have to call the hottie plumber back." 

"No, thanks. And no big guy showing two inches of crack, either." I settled for a third of a glass of water and turned off the faucet. 

Rachel might have thought the plumber hot, but he'd been bigheaded about it. I knew I wouldn't be able to get rid of him so easily a second time. Having narrowly avoided one potential stalker, there was no way I would invite another one in. 

"I was going to go pick up Clay later, anyway," I lied. "I'll have him look at it." I smiled at Rachel as Clay's head whipped up at me. I'd beg him again if I had to. 

"Really? No-talk, leave-early, Clay?" 

"Yeah, that one. Not the dog." 

"I believe you said you didn't think he'd be around much." She smirked at me while she measured the coffee. I stuck my tongue out at her, but she just laughed. 

"Don't remind me. I'm probably going to need to beg." 

"Does he know much about plumbing?" Rachel asked as she moved to the sink to fill the coffee pot. 

"Don't know...we don't talk much." I laughed while she groaned. 

* * * * 

With nothing to drink, I dressed to go shopping. Clay waited for me just outside my door. 

"Wanna come shopping with me or stay here?" I knew he'd want to go even if he did have to stay in the car. He moved to stand by the back door. 

We drove to one of those discount supercenters. I left Clay in the car with the windows cracked-it was more for show than actual airflow. If he got hot, he'd just let himself out. 

It worried me a bit that I needed to shop several days sooner than planned. In order to feed Clay and myself, I had already made compromises in my original budget. Yet, at this rate, I would surpass even my revised spending allowance for groceries. That meant I needed to change my shopping habits, not just to save money but to fill the pantry with more food. I didn't mind eating light, but looking back, since Clay didn't eat his dog food-not that I blamed him-he ate light, too. A little too light when I recalled how much Sam could consume. 

The orange juice I liked cost more than a five-pound bag of potatoes. I put the potatoes in the cart and walked past the fresh juice. Maybe I could buy a decent concentrate. I went to the freezer section, found some cheap veggies, and ignored the speculative look from a man a few yards away. 

Everyone found shopping a pain at some point. I found it a pain all the time. 

In the next case, I studied the meat options. The flash-frozen chicken breasts were cheaper than the steaks per pound so I went with those. The man moved from the veggies to the meats as I eyed the cart and tried to envision our meals. Meat, potato, and veggie.