Secret Life Of Groceries Novels & Stories

"I didn't notice. Just grabbed whatever." "You don't even check what you buy?" "Not really." Maisie sighed. It made sense. An influential lawyer like him, raking in seven-figure fees per case, probably never set foot in the produce aisle. "How much did you spend on all this?" "1,200 dollars" "Excuse me, what?" "I went to Silka Department Store," Seth explained. "They told me these veggies and fruits were air-freighted from the source." Maisie's incredulity left her speechless. "Who in their right mind buys groceries from a luxury department store?"

A small laugh escaped her, like it was joke. It wasn’t, but anything to keep that sweet smile on. I grabbed a cart and made my way through the aisles, humming absently. There was something peaceful about grocery stores. Rows of things you couldn't count. Things you couldn't afford. Labels that lied, and labels that didn't. I’m halfway down the dairy section when it happened. I peeked through the shelf to grab a bottle of milk. I saw him. I recognized that demeanor. I walk towards the window, and there he was.

Yoshiki was happily shopping at the grocery shop, which was actually named the grocery shop. It seemed like the owner was too lazy to come with an actual name for it. Anyway, he was happily shopping and trying to decide between white or yellow cheese; he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew what that meant; it meant that a woman looking for a husband was somewhere near him, and he just becomes the main target, he felt like crying, today really was not his day, quickly looking for a place to hide he quickly found the perfect place, the cooler section.

I got downstairs and opened one if my bags. I brought out a V-neck shirt and a jogger and wore it. I went to the kitchen and stood there like an idiot. Am sure I don't know how to cook. I walked out of the kitchen and tried ordering pizza but sh*t! I don't have a phone. I grabbed a face cap and marched out if the house. I ignored the cars parked outside, if only I knew where I do keep car keys. But I can't remember. My memory loss is one hell of a kind.

We all have secrets. The first real secret I ever had began when I was nine years old. I’m not talking about when someone tells you something and you keep it to yourself—it’s more like when you know something or have seen something that no one else has, and telling someone about it takes away from your pleasure, from your secret. Now, I’m not going to talk about my secret eleven years ago. I’m going to talk about my biggest secret of all time. Back when I was sixteen years old.

I folded his note into a tiny square and stuck it deep in my jeans pocket where no one would ever see it. I grabbed my purse again and left my apartment. I walked three long blocks to the small grocery store on the corner. The morning air outside was freezing cold. I pulled my thin jacket tighter around my body but it did not help much. Inside the warm store I walked slowly through the aisles. I picked up bread and milk and eggs. Normal everyday things. Simple things that made me feel like my life was still normal even though absolutely everything was falling apart around me.

Ylmaz countered, grinning. Deborah gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me?” “Admit it,” he said, glancing at her sideways. “You used to peek at your birthday gifts when we were kids.” She laughed, the memory flooding back. “You caught me one time.” He raised a brow. “One time? Deborah, I had to start hiding your gifts at my uncle’s workshop just to keep you from finding them.” “Okay, fine,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Maybe I was curious. But you were too dramatic about it.”

His voice was closer now and when I glanced over, I realized he’d leaned in to be heard over the music. I craned my neck to look at him properly, forcing a smile even though the alcohol was already making my head feel pleasantly fuzzy. “Promotion.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. I wouldn’t normally share personal information with a stranger at a bar, but the tequila was working faster than it should and my filter had apparently taken the night off. “Let me guess,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he settled more comfortably onto his barstool. “Managing director? Or even better, you bought the company and had your boss kicked out?”

He went back into the garage without acknowledging what had just happened, and I stood there trying to process the strange flatness in his silence, the absence of warmth that had always been as natural to him as breathing. I looked at the bags on the counter and began unpacking them while he made another trip. Canned vegetables and dried pasta and bags of rice and bottled water stacked in heavy plastic packs. I kept pulling items out and lining them up, and with each new can and each new box, the unease prickling at the back of my neck grew sharper and colder. This was not a grocery run for a husband who had noticed the pantry was low. This was stockpiling, the kind of thing people did when

I just hope he can't see my most painful secret. "I'm going to order some pizza. Do you want some?" I'm not sure if he can eat human food, but it doesn't hurt to be polite. "What is pizza?" Dez looked baffled. It was so cute. "I can eat human food." "How do you not know what pizza is, have you been living under a rock? "I guess you can say that. I haven't been very sociable in a very long time. Almost two hundred years." I couldn't believe what I was hearing.