I love this sweatshirt. It is aggressively pink and incredibly comfortable. Yet, I gave it away in my timeline because Stuart said it reminded him of Pepto-Bismol.
Well, fuck you, Stuart. I slip it on with a smile, grab my phone, and google nearby grocery stores.
In my old life, I mostly shopped at the market downtown, held every Saturday in Jackson Square. Or had my groceries delivered, as my high-paying job came with demanding hours that allowed little time for browsing the aisles. Occasionally, I would shop at Giovanni’s No Frills over on Main—until two years ago, when Dax and I had a minor incident in aisle five, resulting in a lifetime ban.
We had come from one of our curling games. There had been a few more postgame pitchers than usual. I’ll admit we were a little bit tipsy, at that happy level of drunk where everything made us giggle.
We needed ketchup, chips, and white milk （which may sound gross in theory but will change your life）。 Our cart was empty otherwise, so I told Dax to get in （or maybe he got in on his own）。 Either way, it ended with me attempting to push him down the aisle at full speed.
All I remember is Dax yelling, Beware of rogue bananas. And then seeing an abandoned, half-eaten one on the aisle floor. I didn’t slip on it （that would have been far too cliché）， but in my attempt to avoid stepping on it, I took a sharp turn, causing Dax and the cart to crash into the paper towel display. It toppled everywhere. The assistant store manager, Manny Paletta, came running. Dax named it a top-five moment in his life. We were told to never, ever step foot inside No Frills again. In all fairness, it was a fitting punishment.
I haven’t thought about setting foot inside since.
Until now.
Because it occurs to me, as I head out into the late-July evening, that in this life, Dax and Gemma—dynamic duo—does not yet exist. Therefore, neither does the ban.
A fortuitous loophole.
My rule-loving heart still palpitates as I walk through the automatic front doors. It keeps its off-tempo rhythm until I reach aisle five and the rows of no-name potato chips and off-brand pop.
The aisle is empty, save for a stack of President’s Choice diet colas in its center.
I breathe a soft sigh of relief.
“Is there anything I can help you with, miss?” I recognize the male voice behind me immediately.
Manny Paletta.
Supposedly he’s the nephew of Giovanni Paletta. As in the Giovanni of Giovanni’s No Frills. Although it’s possible Dax made that fact up to fuck with me.
He looks the same as in my timeline. Gangly body. Full mop of dark curly hair. A fresh face that makes it look like he’s still a year away from high school graduation. Eyes that indicate he’s seen a lot more life.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Manny asks again.
“No?” I answer, assessing him assessing me. I’m curious if our enmity transcends space and time.
It appears it does not, yet I’m tempted to test the waters.
“Where do you keep the paper towels?” I ask him.
He points to a display a whole five feet away. “See that pyramid of paper towels?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where we keep the paper towels.”
He turns and leaves me completely unattended. I know I’m in the clear.
A small ache blooms in my chest as I stare at the perfectly piled stack of knockoff Bounty. Another tiny memory that makes me miss Dax more.
“You ever get the urge to dive straight into that thing?”
At first, I think he’s a hallucination brought on by multiverse travel and hunger.
But he’s real. Dax in the flesh. Standing with his arms crossed. Staring at the scene of one of our best friendship moments.
“I can tell you, on good authority, it’s not a good idea if you plan on shopping here in the future.”
Then it occurs to me. Dax is a bit of a health nut. He insists on shopping at this overpriced organic store over on Locke. “What are you doing here? You don’t shop here.”
Dax looks around the store. “I don’t?”
Shit. I need to stop letting words come out of my mouth before I’ve had the chance to filter them. “What I meant is that I’ve never seen you shopping here before.”
Dax gives me a curious stare. “Well, I can say on good authority that I have been shopping here pretty regularly for the last few years. I am almost on a first-name basis with the assistant store manager.”
Manny walks by, eyeing Dax and me and the paper towel display as if he can sense we’re talking about him.
“Ah, right. Manny,” I tell Dax. “Giovanni’s nephew.”