——
Reese likes to play an imaginary game using the sixteen squares above the produce section.
The grocery store ceiling bears a resemblance to a checkerboard, its tiles creating a stringent pattern with alternating colors of fluorescent white lights and grainy brown drywall. The juxtaposing design is an eyesore, and she has to play on a smaller scale compared to the standard board, but she makes it work. The challenge is a perfect distraction.
Moving her dark piece diagonally to the upper right, she ends up being captured by her pretend opponent. Two squares kitty-corner from the ploy, a light flickers...
Rewind.
There's a piece tucked in the bottom left corner that illuminates from the flash. It can be moved without being overthrown, so she plays her turn again. No consequences occur this time. That's much better.
Alas, a bleached retina will do Reese no good if she stays in a trance of staring at the ultraviolet beams, so she tears her eyes away and instead focuses on the array of freshly-misted vegetables directly in front of her.
Rutabaga. What the hell does a rutabaga look like?
The paper list in her pocket feels like an anchor weighing her down. She prefers not to go shopping alone, but her detrimental procrastination and social anxiety problems have led her to the place she currently stands at a quarter past midnight. No one else is around except for the zombie-like employees that roam the vacant aisles and robotically stock shelves, which is the exact reason why she decided to venture out at the odd time.
Reese roughly swallows down the apprehension that crawls up her parched throat and sidetracks herself by counting the heads of iceberg lettuce. Two, four, six, eight...
Rewind.
Her single mission is to find rutabaga, so she mouths the ill-sounding syllables and scans the rows of cruciferous vegetables, attempting to find one that might look unfamiliar. There's kale, cauliflower, and radishes, but nothing that appears as a godforsaken rutabaga. It's the last item she needs on her list, and with her pathetic luck, it happens to be an impossible hunt.
Reese just wants to go home. It's late, the rain is pouring outside, and her eyes burn from either insomnia or her long game of ceiling checkers. The skin of her cuticles has been picked raw, and her cheeks are starting to become prickled with heat because she's getting frustrated. She could ask for help, but that would be a crippling recipe for disaster considering her social skills amount to zero. There's also no need to be a burden, especially to minimum wage workers who also want to go home.
Taking out her phone from her sherbet orange puffer coat that she bought because it looked like a Creamsicle, Reese slides down on the cracked screen to open the search bar. She types out a few incorrect spellings of the unknown vegetable — rootabega, rootabayga, rutabayga? Thankfully, spell check comes to her aid.
A muted gasp escapes her mouth when the first picture loads. It's possibly the most horrendous-looking food she's ever seen. It almost doesn't look edible with its skin that looks like mold.
According to WebMD, it's a turnip that's not quite a turnip, therefore making everything more confusing to her. Sighing under her breath, Reese begins foraging again now that she sort of knows what to search for. The reason she needs it is because it's required for her Halmoni's infamous rutabaga and parsnip soup. She's disabled, so it would have been cruel to ask her to come to the grocery store at an ungodly hour, but she desperately wishes she were here right now to assist her. Speaking of her grandmother, she should probably...
Rewind.
Reese reels back the tangled film of her brain. If she could just focus for one second, then she could get home quicker. Just find the rutabaga!
"Broccoli!"
A voice that's not her own comes from her right, making her jolt a little. It's scratchy and it seems to be directed towards someone younger since it goes a pitch higher than what she's usually used to hearing from a man. She was too lost in her head to realize someone was in the same aisle as her, evidently looking for broccoli and, lucky for them, successfully finding it.
Reese's phone is still in her hands, so she opens her empty messages and pretends to text a nonexistent person so she can peek over at the honey-voiced enigma. Shifting her gaze to the side, she instantly locks eyes with a bundled baby in the seat of a shopping cart. They're already staring at her, green irises and a button nose emerging from the hood of a coat that engulfs their tiny body. Their legs kick in the seat, and their hands hold a squeezable pouch of applesauce, the mushy substance dripping onto the mittens that they wear.
Reese's cheeks color with a rubescent flush when they point their hand and begin making gurgling noises of nonsense. Regret instantly seeps into her nervous system.
The mysterious voice playfully gasps and says, "Yeah? Tell me more."
Stuffing her phone in her pocket, Reese wanders further away from the potentially awkward position she might put herself in. She doesn't dare to look at the man as she hastily turns her back to them and heads over to the display of vibrant fruits that are opposite to the vegetables. Bright lemons with leathery peels distract her eyes, but her ears are still tuned into the two people who have also decided to go on a late-night grocery store run. She assumes it's a dad with his baby, or perhaps a babysitter. Maybe someone with their niece or nephew. Either way, she doesn't want to disrupt them.
Rewind.
Dammit, she just needs to find the rutabaga and go home.
"Excuse me, ma'am, do you work here?"
Her heart plummets and her hands become clammy with anxiety. She feels as if she's in a horror movie, the moment when the main character turns around and is confronted with their worst nightmare. In this case, Reese's worst nightmare is socializing.
Taking a shallow breath, she slowly twists her head around. She might as well just press play. The nightmare, it turns out, is a handsome man who now holds the baby who was staring at her in his arms. Sat on his hip, the baby, who Reese guesses to be around the age of one, gnaws on a yellow teething ring that's clipped to the man's wrist. They're mesmerized by the stalk of raw broccoli that he holds in his other hand.
"Hi, do you work here by any chance?" he asks quietly.
Reese believes his face could make Jesus weep, surely. It can only be described as kind from first impression. Flawless skin decorated with a few beauty marks makes him seem put together, physically and mentally. He has a nose that fits perfectly on his face, sloped and dotted with faint freckles. Further down, his lips which look as soft as pink dunes curve up into a bashful smile. He also has compelling green eyes that identically match the child's, confirming to her that it must be his daughter. The V-neck striped sweater he wears with earth tones of autumn orange, creamy white, and sangria purple goes well with his slightly tanned skin. His hair is an attractive length with soft, brown strands curling up at the ends. The rings on his fingers glow under the fluorescent lights, every scratch and bit of rust on the metal visible. It's devastating how pretty he is.
He doesn't look much older than she is, maybe mid-twenties based on pure estimate. If her guess is true, then the fact that he already has a kid makes her feel incredibly behind in life, but she shouldn't assume his family or relationship situation.
The man suddenly brings his pointer finger to touch his ear and then brings it down to his mouth, his lips forming the question: Are you deaf?
Good lord. How long has she been ogling him in silence?
"No," Reese finally manages to say, her voice sticking in her throat. "No, I can hear. And no, I don't work here."
He nods with an apologetic yet friendly smile. "My mistake. Sorry to bother you."
She forces herself to keep the conversation going. If she ends up stuttering and making a fool of herself, at least she knows she'll never have to see him again.
"It's okay," she says, doing a terrible job at trying to maintain eye contact. "Hey, um, do you know where the rutabaga is? I know you don't work here either, but I can't seem to find it anywhere."
That's good, right? She's doing well. She's honestly glad she didn't come across one of those sketchy old guys who slowly lurk by her in the aisles and tell her that she should smile more.
His eyebrows raise as he asks, "Is it that ugly-looking vegetable?"
"That's the one," she replies awkwardly while shifting her feet.
He jerks his head to the side. "I think I saw some over there. Here, I can show you."
He begins leading the way while hiking the baby up on his hip, their head lazily bouncing with each step. They look back at Reese and smile with tired, blinking eyes.
"I'm a pediatrician, so I have to know a decent amount about vegetables since my daughter is starting to eat solids," he says, stopping in his tracks and examining the display of organics. "Surprisingly," — he holds his pointer finger up and beams innocently at her— "rutabaga is a good place to start."
Reese doesn't know how to respond, so she just nods and tucks a braided strand of hair behind her flushed ear.
"I'm Harry, by the way," he adds as he picks up a discolored bulb. He then points to his daughter who is drifting off. "This is Marlowe. She had trouble falling asleep tonight, so we decided to go on a little adventure. It seems to be working."
"I'm Reese," she mumbles shyly. "She's your daughter, right? She's very cute."
Harry looks at her with a steady, hypnotizing gaze. "She is. Thank you, Reese." His eyes drop down for a brief second before he says, "I love your style."
Reese looks down at her outfit. It's casual, but she prides herself on the way she's able to coordinate unique vintage pieces. "Oh, uh... thanks. I like your sweater."
He hands her the rutabaga and then rolls his sleeves up, revealing inked skin. "I got it at a thrift store near Sister Bay. Are you from around here?"
"I'm from here, yes. I've been to that thrift store a couple of times."
"Strange that I haven't run into you at one." He grabs a bundle of carrots and inspects them. "It's beautiful this time of year, isn't it? All the trees are changing colors. And the early sunsets."
Maybe he hasn't run into her because she rarely leaves the house, and her only friend is her grandmother. It's probably why she's single, but that's beside the point.
"I love northern Midwest skies," she replies, watching his daughter slowly close her eyes and rest her head against his shoulder. "I think the aurora borealis was supposed to be tonight, but I'm pretty sure the rain ruined it."
Harry points his thumb behind his back. "I saw it on my way in! No joke."
Reese supposes she's been in the store for way longer than originally planned. Or maybe it's her mind playing tricks on her. She doesn't even want to know what time it is.
"Really?" she asks, trying to catch a peek out of the store windows over the tall shelves.
"Yeah, it's gorgeous. It's raining pretty hard, so the lights are a bit faint, but..." he trails off.
"Shit, it'll go away soon." She immediately slaps her hands over her mouth. "Sorry! I didn't mean to swear in front of your kid."
He grins, deep dimples indenting his cheeks. "No worries. You should be able to see the lights if you just look north where Lake Michigan is."
"Thank you so much, Harry," she tells him, teetering on the heels of her feet. "Um, I'm going to go look for them. Thanks for helping me find the rutabaga."
He just politely nods and waves, then continues shopping. After Reese checks out, she grabs the two brown paper bags full of her groceries and heads through the automatic doors. The rain is coming down hard, pelting the pavement. The parking lot is empty except for about five vehicles spaciously sat getting a free car wash from nature. Her sneakers squelch with each step as she veers left to try and catch a glimpse of the lights. Raindrops cascade off her coat, and her mom jeans are splattered with dots of wetness. Her sleek black hair sticks to her face, but she oddly loves the feeling.
Eventually, she stops walking and looks up, goosebumps immediately spreading from her neck down her spine when she sees the polar captivation. The faint neon green and violet streaks painted over the starlit horizon are mesmeric. Her eyes don't want to break away from the atmospheric phenomenon. It's dreamlike, yet surreal. She feels as if the earth is putting on a show just for her, the brilliant curtain of colors dancing across the sky.
She stays frozen in place for several minutes, admiring the flickers. It's much more interesting than the grocery store ceiling. This is real life, not some mythical game she created to escape her mind.
This is the perfect distraction.
Reese suddenly hears footsteps from behind, splashing noises from the puddles echoing around the empty lot. She turns around to see Harry walking towards her, a long, plaid coat thrown over his sweater now. One hand carries his daughter and the other holds a clear umbrella over his head, along with three heavy grocery bags. He's lifting them with incredible ease.
"I told you it was beautiful!" he calls out.
Reese purses her lips and squints up at the sky. "It really is."
He strides over and holds his umbrella over both of their heads. "Worth getting soaked for?"
He's close. So close to the point where she notices a small silver earring in his left ear that reflects off the streetlights in the parking lot. Her gaze then falls upon Marlowe as she's fast asleep in his arms, her face squashed on his shoulder and her lips pouted.
"So worth it."
"Hopefully she stays asleep," Harry murmurs, adjusting his grip on the grocery bags.
"Does going to the store usually help?"
"Anywhere but home seems to help. Being a pediatrician means I sometimes work the night shift, so I take her to the hospital with me. That's probably why her sleep schedule is a mess. I don't have any other choice, though."
She doesn't want to pry, so she simply responds with, "That sounds rough."
He sighs and says, "You could say I'm in desperate need of a babysitter. It's such a small town, so it's difficult to find one that's not already booked. My family doesn't live here either, which means they're not able to watch her."
Reese's brain fast-forwards before she can stop the tape. It reels past every logical outcome, pausing at an accidental place.
"I can babysit," she blurts. "I mean, I'm not a professional or licensed by any means, but I have a little brother who I watch all the time and I'm sure babies can't be too hard."
Harry blinks once. "You're serious?"
She can back out. She can preserve her social battery. She can say goodnight and never run into such a gorgeous specimen again.
"No, yeah. I'm super serious."
Rewind, rewind, rewind.
No! Press play!
Reese is going to do this for her grandmother. She can't sit around being unemployed anymore and expect money to grow on the tamarack trees. She needs to start pushing past her trepidation and get a kickstart on something that reaps benefits. What she really needs to do is start letting life happen naturally and in real time. If working for a hot dad can pay next month's rent, she should snatch that opportunity immediately.
"Wonderful," Harry says enthusiastically. "I'll want to do an interview and run a background check if that's okay. I just met you, so I hope you understand my being a bit wary."
Reese nods quickly. "Of course. That's not a problem."
"Awesome." He kisses the side of his daughter's head. "Can I get your email or phone number so we can set up a date and time?"
She takes her crinkled grocery list out from her pocket as well as her lucky pen she brought along that she clicks whenever she gets anxious.
"Also," Harry says, clearing his throat, "Marlowe is deaf. I really should have prefaced that. It's why I asked in the store if you were deaf because... I don't know why, actually. I guess it's just a habit for me now."
"I understand," Reese assures while writing down her number. "That's not a hindrance to me at all. My grandmother is partially blind and in a wheelchair, and I know it's not quite the same as deafness, but I have experience dealing with—"
"You'd be helping me immensely, Reese," he softly interrupts. He then smirks and narrows his eyes. "If you get the job, that is."
She laughs, breaking eye contact because goddamn, he's scarily easy to talk to. "Well, I'll be expecting a call."
He clicks his tongue and takes the paper from her. "Absolutely. Have a good night, yeah?"
"You too."
Harry looks at his daughter who has now woken up. She's already studying him as he bends his fingers down to touch his palm twice. "Say bye-bye, Mar."
She smiles and looks at Reese, imitating his gesture with her tiny hand. She awkwardly returns the gesture, then waves one more time to Harry before making her way to her car.
On the way there, her rutabaga falls through the soaked paper grocery bag and rolls past her sneakers, stopping at the back tire of her car. She probably should have wrapped it in a reusable produce bag.
Don't rewind, she tells herself. What's meant to be, will be.
——