I had to stop to get gas on the way to Safeway because the gauge on my 2002 Chevrolet Malibu was almost on E and I wouldn’t be able to make it there and back without stopping. I thought about going shopping first and filling up gas after, but sometimes I try to change my life in little ways and one of those ways is not putting off tasks until the last minute, so instead of going right to the grocery store I thought I’d get gas. I think that if I do these little things—untying my laces when I take my shoes off, washing dishes right after I use them—that life might finally be as good as I want it to be.
I pulled into a Shell station on the corner across from the Safeway and put in my debit card. I filled up premium gas instead of the normal unleaded for the first time in my life. They had a middle option called “plus” but I decided if I was going to get some high quality gas, I would get the best a man could get. Each type of gas was marked with numbers. 87, 89, and 93. Each number was respective to their alleged quality. I didn’t know what they meant. But seeing the big jump between 89 to 93—a whopping 4 units of something or another—I felt like splurging. I took out the nozzle and put it in the gas tank. With the pull of the trigger, gas started pumping into my car.
Sunset would probably come in two hours. That gave me enough time to buy everything Angie had written down, get back home, and then go with Angie to Art’s apartment.
I returned the nozzle to the holster and got back in the car. I turned the key and saw the needle on the gas gauge go all the way to the right and felt good seeing that. I drove across the street to the Safeway. I cruised up and down four rows of the lot, driving with my premium gas, before I found a decent spot. I avoid parking in spaces with cars on either side but in this case the store was quite busy and I didn’t have any other choice.
Walking across the parking lot towards the entrance, I pulled out the shopping list Angie had written for me and practically stuffed in my pocket. She was at home waiting to take out the carrot cake that was baking in the oven. We still needed some things to bring to Art’s place. I should really say Art and Judy’s place, but Judy had just moved in a month or so before, and this was the first time, as a couple, they were inviting us over. But I knew the apartment as Art’s. I’d been over there a million times, just me and Art, sitting on the balcony and listening to music and looking out over the river and the old hospital on the other bank. And sometimes Art would smoke, but I’d given up smoking a few years before when I started running a few days a week, so I never really smoked with him. But it was nice going to Art’s apartment and having a beer and listening to The Essential Duke Ellington or a Beach House album and sometimes some bossa nova. And a lot of times we’d set up his projector on the wall in the living room and watch something. Art really liked Wim Wenders movies. I didn’t know about him before, but I watched a couple of his movies and liked them.
But now it was Art and Judy’s. Or isis it Art’s and Judy’s? Judy’s and Art’s? In my mind it would always be Art’s.
#
The shopping list was written in Angie’s loose cursive. First on the list was cream cheese – 2 packages. She was making a cream cheese icing for the carrot cake. Next on the list was wine. I wasn’t good at picking out wine, but I guess you can’t really mess up as long as you don’t tell anybody how much you paid for it. Third on the list was butter, which I swore we had plenty of already. Then there were a handful of miscellaneous items.
The automatic doors slid open and I was greeted by a worker in a red vest. I grabbed a hand basket from a stack of them.
It was a big supermarket, with a high ceiling with metal rafters crisscrossing in every direction. The linoleum floor was a dull brown. The supermarket was well lit, and it was somehow completely odorless, save for the bakery and deli sections. You were supposed to go past the deli when you first entered, then pasts the produce section, then through the wine and beer, and then it was a free-for-all in the rest of the aisles. Somehow it was designed so that one naturally veered towards the produce upon entering. They wanted you to follow some natural path.
I went right past all of the neatly stacked peaches, the numerous apples, the not-yet-ripe bananas, the dew-covered heads of lettuce, the wrinkled avocados, the pre-cut watermelon slices wrapped in plastic, the sad bags of carrots, the shiny onions, the smooth red potatoes, the bright lemons and limes. I went right past all of it and went to the wine section. I referred to the shopping list. Wine, it said, nothing else. No note about red or white.
I took out my phone and sent a text to Angie. Red or white?
I stood in the middle of the wine section with the empty basket in my hand waiting for a reply. It took only five seconds before I saw that Angie was typing.
Whatever looks good, she said in one message. Another message followed: Do you know what Judy likes?
I didn’t know much about Judy, , and definitely didn’t know her wine preferences. I’d only met her on a few occasions and we hadn’t talked so much. All I knew is that she worked in a dentist’s office as a receptionist and that she was an interpretive dancer. When we’d talked, we’d only really talked about Art.
Not sure, I wrote back, and that was the end of the conversation.
Angie hadn’t met Judy yet. Tonight would be the first time. Angie didn’t have too many friends that were women, for one reason or another. I got the sense that she wanted to make a good impression, that she wanted things to go as smoothly as possible.
#
I picked out a $12 bottle of wine. It wasn’t from the bottom shelf, nor the top. It was a cabernet sauvignon, with a big gold coin on the label. Innocuous, not too flashy, but not obviously bad either. Not one of those gaudy labels. Angie wouldn’t know if it was good or bad, anyways. I wouldn’t, and neither would Art or Judy.
After the wine I went to the refrigerated dairy section. I opened a couple of the doors and picked out name-brand cream cheese and off-brand butter. I figured that Angie wanted something special for the carrot cake’s icing.
Next I wandered around the aisles for a bit. I went to the coffee aisle and spent a long time there looking at packages of coffee. There were colorful packages of coffee from Costa Rica and Colombia and Nicaragua. There were the big cylindrical tins that when you picked them up, you could hear the beans moving around inside. I picked up a lot of different types of coffee, examining them closely. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I wanted to buy some good coffee. I ended up picking up one of the tins and tossed it into the basket with the cream cheese, the sticks of butter, and the bottle of wine. The four items, together at the bottom of the basket, had a sense of completion about them.
On the way to the register I wandered through the freezer section, past the frozen pizzas and microwave meals and vegetables, and onto the ice cream section. I looked at all of the flavors and brands and had fond thoughts of eating them, of creamy textures and chocolate chunks. It would be nice to bring some ice cream, too, I thought. I took out a quart of strawberry ice cream and placed it carefully into the basket. It looked nice there. Strawberry ice cream would go well with the carrot cake.
As I entered a line at check-out I saw someone who looked a lot like Judy. The woman was just entering the store, pushing a shopping cart that was empty save for a brown leather purse. I got a better look at her. I was about three check-out lines away from her.
The woman didn’t just look like Judy, s; she was Judy. No doubt about it, it was Judy. She had these bangs that were separated in the middle, and she had a nose that protruded quite far from her face, but it wasn’t a bad nose in any way. It was distinguished and elegant. She was an attractive woman, I’d say. She had green eyes that showed a certain clarity in them.
As she pushed her cart into the store, she looked towards where I was standing, and we looked at each other for a split second. Then she faced forward again and kept walking. I stood there for a few moments, wondering about what had just happened, and then I realized I was expected to unload my groceries on the conveyor belt.
#
In the car I was pleased to see the fuel tank still marked full. I drove out of the parking lot and knew I had to head home. But before I went home I went to the gas station across the street again—the same Shell station—and I parked out front and went inside to buy a pack of Pall Malls.
“You want the greens?” the attendant asked.
“Greens are okay,” I said. On the counter was a display of multi-colored Bic’s. “I’ll take one of these too.” I paid and slipped the pack and the lighter into this secret pocket sewn into the interior of my jacket, right at the chest.
#
When I got home, I put the bag of groceries on the kitchen table then opened up and poured myself a beer into a glass.
Angie was there examining what I’d bought and gave me a strange look. “You’re having a beer now?”
I took a sip and gave a silent nod as I swallowed.
“Well you’re driving tonight so just have that one,” she instructed as she unwrapped the cream cheese. “I see you got ice cream. Did you want to bring that to Art and Judy’s?”
“I got that for me,” I said, suddenly deciding that I’d rather keep the ice cream at home, in our freezer. I was standing across from Angie at the kitchen island.
“Okay,” said Angie. “Ice cream for you, carrot cake for Art and Judy. That’ll be fine. That’ll be just fine.” Then she started humming some tune.
I moved to a chair in the living room. I drank my beer and Judy began with the icing, taking out a silver mixing bowl and a rubber spatula.
“The cake’s cooled long enough, so once the icing’s done I can spread it on right away,” Angie said from the kitchen.
I was still wearing my jacket. I wouldn’t change before going to Art’s, but I thought that Angie would probably put on something different. I felt with my right hand where there was the pack of Pall Malls. I could feel the tightness, I knew the box was still completely full, not a single missing cigarette, and that it was all wrapped up in a thin plastic sleeve. And there was the Bic, too. That was full, not used a single time. I liked knowing I had a full pack and lighter on me, right up against my chest.
“So the store was okay,” Angie said. Before I could confirm it she said, “Thanks for going, really. I know you don’t like errands so much.” She looked up from the mixing bowl where she was making the icing and smiled at me.
“No problem,” I said.
“Does your chest hurt or something?”
I realized I still had my hand over where the Pall Mall’s were. I lowered my arm and put my hand on my lap. “No, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” Angie said, a bit suspicious.
Angie finished with the icing in the time it took me to drink my one beer. I stood and watched her ice it. She spread the icing over the top with the rubber spatula. It was white and fluffy and went on thick. I stuck my finger in the mixing bowl and tasted it. It was sweet and creamy.
“All right,” she said, returning the spatula to the empty mixing bowl. “I just need ten minutes to get ready, then we can leave.”
Angie was ready ten minutes later. We went out of the house, Angie carrying her carrot cake as if it were a baby, me carrying the bottle of wine like a walking stick. We got in the Malibu, and I turned the keys and the car turned on. I looked at the gas gauge again and saw it was full. Music started playing. It was some bossa nova.
“You got gas right?” Angie said as we pulled out of the driveway. She was looking out the window.
“Yep,” I said.
I looked in the rearview mirror, then back ahead. After one beer I was feeling good but probably when I got to Art’s I would suggest opening the wine right away. But I wouldn’t drink so much that I couldn’t drive home, no way. Just enough to feel good and talk to Art.
The drive wasn’t more than ten minutes, and most of that time was waiting at red lights that went down boulevards. We stopped at a red light.
“Oh,” I said, bringing my hands together at the bottom of the steering wheel. “I forgot to tell you. I saw Judy at Safeway.”
Angie looked away from the window and towards me. “That’s funny. Did you tell her you were getting things for the carrot cake?”
“No.”
The light turned green, and the car ahead of me hesitated to start moving. Finally it did.
“So you just said hi, then?”
“I didn’t say anything to her,” I said. “She was walking in while I was at the check-out.”
“But you waved, or smiled at her, or something,” Angie said.
I thought about it. “No, I didn’t wave or do anything.”
“So she didn’t see you.”
“No, she saw me. She saw me and I saw her.” I checked my side view and rearview mirrors and switched into the left lane. “We saw each other but didn’t do anything.”
Angie didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She fidgeted in her seat, and the aluminum foil covering the carrot cake crinkled. “Maybe she didn’t recognize you.”
“She recognized me all right.” I passed a car and returned to the right lane. We were almost there. “Even though she was a little ways away I could see that she recognized me.”
Angie inhaled slowly, then let out all the air in one breath. “I don’t get it, Neil. You see Judy at Safeway an hour before you’re going over to her apartment and you don’t say hi. And you didn’t even wave.” Angie took her phone out of her pocket and typed out a message, her thumbs darting around on the screen, then she put her phone away again. “And she didn’t do anything either. I’m about to meet this girl and this is practically all I know about her. That you two saw each other an hour ago and didn’t say hi. Now I’m gonna be sitting there thinking about that the whole time.”
I turned right onto Art’s street. There were cars parked on both the right and left side and most of the buildings were standard four-story apartment buildings made of brick or concrete. Art’s building, the tallest on the block, was at the far end of the street, where it ended in a cul-de-sac by the river. It was called Sunset Gardens, but it didn’t really exude any peaceful sentiments of sunset nor gardens. But it was right by the river, which was nice enough.
I found a place out front and turned off the engine. The music stopped and we sat in silence.
“If you want I could say something when we get inside,” I said. “I could tell Judy that I think I saw her at Safeway but wasn’t sure if it was her or not so I didn’t wave or say hi.”
Angie closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, no. You’d better just not mention it. Unless she says anything. Just don’t say anything about it. Forget it ever happened.” Angie put her hand on the door handle and started to pull it. It popped and the door opened about an inch. “Now I’m nervous.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. We’ll open the wine first thing.”
“Why did you tell me that on the way here, anyways?” she asked. She was really on edge. “Whatever. Just don’t say anything.”
She opened the car door the rest of the way and got out, holding the cake parallel to the ground the whole time. I got out on my side with the bottle of wine.
At the entrance I pushed the button for 4E and Art’s voice came through the speaker.
“Neil?” his voice crackled.
“Neil and Angie,” I said.
“Hi Art,” Angie said, leaning towards the microphone.
“Come on in guys,” said his voice, then it cut. Then came a buzz and I opened the door.
#
At the door Judy let us in. She just sort of opened the door, said hi, and motioned us in. Angie came in behind me with the cake.
“Hello,” Judy said to me, and we kissed on the cheek.
“Hi Judy,” I said.
“I’m Angie,” Angie said, keeping the cake balanced in her left arm while she shook hands with Judy. “So nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” said Judy, and she smiled so much that her eyes turned to slits. Judy was on the tall side. She was a thin thing, but not fragile looking. At Safeway I hadn’t noticed how thin she was, but up close it was clear to me. She was in a purple sweater with sleeves that ended halfway down her forearms, and her hair was tied back. I’d forgotten what she’d been wearing before, but I was sure that she had changed when she got home.
Art appeared from the bedroom. He was a big guy, his paunch snugly contained by the closed buttons of a brown cardigan. Over the past couple years he’d gotten bigger, although he had always been a big guy. He wasn’t a clumsy sort, though. When he walked it was like he was floating everywhere. For some months he’d been growing his hair out all over. He had quite a mustache and a beard. And his hair curled down around his ears.
“Art,” I said to him. “What’s up?”
“I see you brought wine,” he said, lifting his eyebrows. “And cake. Did you make it, Angie?”
“I did, I did,” Angie said, smiling and nodding. She put the cake down on the kitchen counter. “Neil’s dad’s recipe, actually. It’s carrot cake.”
“All right,” he said with a smile.
“Are we hungry?” Judy asked. She patted her hands on her thighs. “I made chicken pot pie and mashed potatoes. And green beans. You aren’t vegetarian, are you Angie?”
Angie shook her head.
“Well good,” Judy said. “I’ll just set the table.”
“I’ll open the wine,” I said.
“I’ll get you an opener,” said Art.
“I’ll get glasses,” said Angie.
We all had our tasks.
#
When we sat down with our wine, Art and I started talking about his work. He was at the community college teaching environmental science courses. Meanwhile Angie and Judy got to know each other. I heard them talking about where they’d grown up. They found out that they both had family living in the same suburb of Chicago. They pulled out their phones and showed each other photos. They started following each other on Instagram, even.
Judy started telling a story about when she’d seen Paul Simon in concert, how she’d got a free ticket to the show, and Angie and Art were just looking at her listening and smiling and nodding at all the appropriate times.
“We got there early enough to get a spot in the front row, maybe two hours early. There were a bunch of people waiting there already, most of them old folks that had brought their own folding chairs. But there was some guy in a banana suit,” she was saying.
I was looking at her and sipping my wine. Then I looked at Angie, who had both her hands laid over each other at the base of her wine glass. Then I looked at Art. He had one arm around the back of her chair and had his glass of wine in the other hand. He was looking at Judy with a smile, with great fascination.
“So we asked him—I was there with my sister and her boyfriend—what was with the banana suit. Who wears a banana suit to see Paul Simon?”
The way she was moving her hands and cocking her head forward made me wonder about all of the times she’d told the story before. At least ten times, I guessed. Probably twenty times, each time more theatrical than the last.
“He said he’d been following him all around the country since the beginning of his tour, wearing the same suit each time,” Judy said. “It was August when we saw him, and the tour started in May.”
“Who has that kind of time and money?” Angie scoffed.
“I know, right?” Judy said. “Someone without a job and a lot of money. Look, I’ve actually got a few pictures with him.” She took out her phone and started scrolling with her thumb.
“So what did the guy want?” I asked Judy.
Judy kept looking at her phone, and frowned. “What did he want?”
“Why was he wearing the suit, I mean.”
She didn’t look up at me and continued scrolling. “To be recognized. For Paul Simon to see him,” she said, as though it were the obvious reason.
“He told you that? Did he tell you that?” I asked.
“Well, no,” she said.
Angie slapped her knuckles against my leg underneath the table. “Let her tell the story,” she said.
Judy found the picture and showed it, but she didn’t tilt the screen towards me so I didn’t get a good look. “Here he is,” she said. “We took this once we got inside the venue. And the concert was amazing, really amazing.” Judy held her phone over the table and she and Angie went flipping through photos and videos.
“I bet,” Angie said. “Paul Simon. So cool.”
Judy played a video of him playing ‘Cecilia.’ The crowd was singing along and the audio was grainy and buzzing.
“Did he play ‘Scarborough Fair’?” I asked.
Judy and Angie were absorbed in the video and didn’t respond. Art was leaning over and looking at the screen even though he couldn’t have been getting a good look at it. I tried to lean over and see it, just because everyone else was, and I swear Judy tilted the screen away from me.
#
We started eating. We ate a salad with slices of strawberry and walnuts. Angie said it was delicious, and I agreed. After the salad Judy cut the pot pie open, and steam rose out from inside. She served us all big pieces and we all helped ourselves to mashed potatoes and green beans. We finished our first glass of wine, then we drank another.
“Neil, don’t forget you’re driving,” Angie said to me.
I went on talking to Art. He was asking me about how many years I thought we had left on the Earth, and how long it would take for us to colonize Mars.
After the second glass of wine I asked Art if we could open a second bottle, and Art got up and opened one. Angie and Judy glanced at me sideways. Judy seemed offended that I’d asked. When Art opened the bottle I was the only one to pour myself more.
“Anyone else want another glass?” I asked, offering to pour.
Judy and Angie paused their conversation and shook their heads.
We ate and ate until the pie was gone. There was a bit of mashed potatoes left, and about half the green beans.
“Now I’m full and sleepy,” Art said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve got enough room for cake, though.”
“Oh yes,” Judy said with a smile, rubbing her hands together. “I’ll clear the table if someone gets the cake and plates.”
“Neil,” Angie said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Someone’s got to get the cake and the plates.”
“Oh,” I said. “Sure.”
I got up and went to the kitchen. It was just off to the side of the dining room, without any doorway separating it. “Do we need forks? Who wants a new fork?” I said from the kitchen.
Judy walked towards me with the empty pie pan and mashed potatoes. “I think we can do with the ones we used,” she said in a sort of whisper.
I didn’t say anything. I just went to the cabinet for the plates.
“But you can get plates from that cabinet there,” Judy said as she put the dishes down on the counter, gesturing towards the cabinet I was already reaching towards.
“Okay,” I said. I wanted to say that I knew where the plates were, that I probably had a better idea about where everything was in the apartment, that I’d probably spent more time in Art’s place than she had. I wanted to tell her, “Don’t worry, I know Art’s place,” but I just took the plates out. I brought the cake and the plates to the table. Judy followed me out of the kitchen.
“My dad’s carrot cake,” I said as I set it down. “Made by Angie.”
“Looks great,” said Art.
“Hope it tastes great,” Angie said.
I started cutting pieces and serving them. I gave one to Art, then one to Angie, then one on Judy’s plate.
“Oh that’s too big,” she said. “I only need half of that.”
I put aside the piece I’d cut for me and cut her a smaller one.
“Much better,” she said.
I poured myself another glass of wine, and this time Art had one with me. Then we began with the cake. We ate the cake slowly. Everyone was vocal about how good it was.
“What recipe did you use for this?” Judy asked Angie. “It’s amazing, really.”
I found it odd that Judy didn’t seem to want to acknowledge me. I had said it was my dad’s recipe twice now, and for some reason Judy had refused to hear it.
“It was my dad’s recipe,” I said, loud enough to cause Angie to look over at me. I took a bite. “Neil Sr.’s carrot cake. His name was Neil, too. It’s the only recipe my mom’s kept in the drawer in her kitchen. Nothing else.”
“Well you’ve got to give it to me,” Judy said to Angie. “I think I’m gonna have another piece.”
I watched her cut another piece. Delicately. She cut herself more than I was going to cut for her originally. I realized in that moment that I really hated the woman, more than anyone I’d ever hated in my life. Probably I’d never truly hated anyone before that moment. I felt myself fill up with anger. I wanted badly to tell her that she couldn’t have another piece, that she couldn’t have the recipe. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut and tapped my fork on my plate. The cake tasted sour to me.
“Did I see you at Safeway?”
The question just slipped out of my mouth. I looked at Judy and leaned forward. I watched her face flush with color. She stopped chewing for a second and then said, “At Safeway?”
I didn’t look away from Judy, but I could tell Angie didn’t know what to do. She was quiet and had stopped eating.
“Maybe two hours before we came,” I said. “I think I saw you come in while I was in the check-out line.”
“Judy did go to Safeway,” Art said.
“So it was you,” I said. “I thought I saw you there.”
“Oh really?” Judy said. “You should have said hi.”
“I was already in line for the check-out. Did you see me?”
“If I saw you, I would’ve said hi.”
“I thought you saw me. It seemed like you looked right at me,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” Judy said with a slight frown. She looked back down at her piece of cake and moved it around in short little movements with her fork.
“I’m sure you were looking right at me,” I said. “I can’t think of a reason why you’d deny it.”
“Neil! If she says she didn’t see you, she didn’t see you,” said Angie. “Just drop it.”
I looked across the table at poor old Art. He was just looking down at the table quietly. I had finished my cake, so I got up and brought my plate to the kitchen. I got my jacket and made for the door.
“Where are you going?” Angie asked. I opened the door. “Neil!”
I left. I didn’t bother waiting for the elevator and took the stairs down. I went down the first flight, counter-clockwise, down to the fifth floor, then down to the fourth, third, second, and finally first. I left the building.
It was dark out already, almost nine o’clock. I went left down the street, towards where it ended at the river, with the hospital on the other shore. I reached the river and stood looking at the dark water flowing all at once. I thought about how there was almost an entire cake made from my dad’s recipe up in Art’s place. Then I remembered that I’d bought cigarettes earlier. I carefully opened the plastic, took one out, put it between my lips, and lit it.
This could be one of those small things to change my life. The best thing for me to do was to go back and apologize and clear things up. A small, little thing. If I did enough of them, I would be happy. Or at least a bit closer to it. Like subtly diverting the flow of a river. I really felt that. I could build my life up bit by bit. It seemed simple to me, actually.
The first small thing would be to put out my cigarette and throw out the rest of the pack. Then I could tell Judy I’m sorry and apologize to everyone for drinking too much. For ruining a perfectly pleasant night. Art was my friend, Angie was my partner. I wanted to keep them around.
I knew I had to go back to Art’s place eventually. But I stayed there smoking a while, listening to the wind blow between leafless trees. I still had some time for myself.