CHAPTER 53: SHOPPING

With the cookbook in my bag, my next stop was the grocery store. It was one of those huge ones connected to the mall, the kind with lights so bright they made everything look fake. I felt a little out of place.

My usual food shopping involved a two-minute walk to the convenience store for instant noodles and a soda. This was a whole different level.

I walked through the automatic doors and just stopped for a second. It was massive. Aisles and aisles of stuff. I pulled out my new cookbook, my phone, and my very short shopping list.

’First things first,’ I thought, looking at the first Chapter of the book. ’Stocking Your Kitchen.’ The book said I needed a frying pan, a spatula, and a cutting board. I didn’t own any of those things.

I found the kitchenware aisle. There was an entire wall of pots and pans. All different sizes, different colors, different prices. I had no idea what the difference was between any of them.

I just picked up a medium-sized black one that had "Non-Stick Surface!" written on the label in big, friendly letters. That sounded good. Less stuff for me to burn and scrape off later.

I grabbed a simple wood cutting board and a black spatula, then I was faced with the wall of knives.

’Whoa,’ I thought, looking at the giant butcher knives and fancy-looking ceramic ones. ’This is intense.’ I just needed something to chop an onion with, not perform surgery. I found a simple-looking chef’s knife that wasn’t too big or scary and added it to my cart.

It felt weird, pushing a shopping cart around with actual kitchen equipment in it. I felt like I was pretending to be an adult.

’Alright, now for the actual food.’

I opened the cookbook to the first real recipe: "Simple Scrambled Eggs." The ingredient list was short, which was a relief. Eggs, milk, butter, salt, pepper.

"Alright, I can do this," I muttered to myself.

I found the dairy aisle. I reached for a standard carton of eggs and then I saw the price tag stuck to the shelf. My hand actually stopped mid-air.

’Holy shit,’ I thought. ’Since when were eggs a premium DLC item?’ You’d think they were laid by golden chocobos for this price.

’Thank god for the mission money, I guess,’ I thought, shaking my head. I could actually afford this... this premium poultry subscription. I put the carton in my cart anyway. Then I grabbed a small thing of milk and some butter. The butter seemed cheap by comparison.

Next, I headed for the spice aisle.

And I just stopped and stared.

I knew there were spices, obviously. But I didn’t know there were this many. The aisle was huge, lined on both sides with hundreds of little jars filled with different colored powders and leaves.

"holy crap," I whispered.

I found the salt and pepper pretty quickly. But the book also mentioned other stuff, like garlic powder and paprika for other recipes. I figured I might as well get them now. I grabbed a few jars that looked familiar from food shows I’d seen. I had no idea what most of them were for, but having them made me feel like I knew what I was doing.

My cart was starting to look surprisingly full. I had my pan, my knife, and now a collection of spices that I’d probably never use.

’I should get something for tonight, too,’ I thought, feeling ambitious. I flipped through the cookbook again. "Easy Chicken Stir-fry." The picture looked good. The ingredients were chicken, some vegetables, soy sauce, and rice.

Alright, new mission.

I found the meat section and stared at the packages of chicken. Breasts, thighs, tenders... I just grabbed a package that said "Boneless, Skinless Chicken Breasts" because it sounded the least complicated.

Then I went to the produce section. This was the part I was really not looking forward to. I never bought fresh vegetables. They just went bad in my fridge.

The recipe called for bell peppers, onions, and broccoli. I found the bell peppers easily enough. I grabbed a red one because I remembered telling Nina they were sweet. Then I grabbed an onion. Easy.

The broccoli was where things got weird.

I was staring at the pile of green, tree-looking things when this old lady with a bright pink tracksuit and a visor started talking to me.

"You’re holding it wrong," she said, her voice raspy.

I looked down at the head of broccoli in my hand. "I am?"

"Yes," she said, stepping closer and pointing a wrinkly finger at it. "You got to look at the stalk. See how that one’s a little yellow? That means it’s old. You want one that’s firm and green all the way through. Like this one."

She reached past me, grabbed a different head of broccoli, and shoved it into my hands.

"There," she said, nodding with satisfaction. "That’s a good one. You’re making a stir-fry, aren’t you?"

I just blinked at her. "Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

"Everyone your age is always making a stir-fry," she said with a wave of her hand. "It’s the first thing you learn when you move out of your mom’s house. Don’t forget the soy sauce. And get the low-sodium kind. It’s better for your blood pressure."

And with that, she just pushed her cart away and disappeared down the aisle, leaving me holding the "good" broccoli and feeling completely bewildered.

I followed her advice and got the low-sodium soy sauce. I also grabbed a bag of rice. My cart was ridiculous now. I had a whole new kitchen’s worth of stuff.

When I got to the checkout, the cashier was this guy about my age with a bored expression and a piercing in his eyebrow. He didn’t say a word, just started scanning my stuff.

The guy’s scanning was methodical, just a series of beeps that felt way too final. Beep. The pan. Beep. The spatula. Beep. The knife. He picked up the eggs with a bit more care, which I appreciated. Beep. Then the milk, the butter, the bag of rice.

He got to the spices and had to scan each little jar individually. Paprika. Garlic Powder. Salt. Pepper. His bored expression didn’t change, but I saw his eyebrow twitch just a little, like he was adding it all up in his head.

My cart was looking emptier and emptier. It felt weird watching him scan all my stuff. A week ago, my entire grocery list would have been two items. Now I had a cart full of things I didn’t even know how to use yet.

He finished with the chicken and the vegetables, tossing everything into the bags with a practiced, tired motion. Then he just looked at me, his head tilted.

"Starting a new life or something?" he asked, his voice completely flat.

I was so caught off guard I just blinked at him. "Uh, something like that," I mumbled.

He just shrugged, like my answer was exactly as boring as he expected it to be, and hit a button on his screen. "That’ll be 5,340 NAD."

I just stared at the number on the little screen.

’Five thousand, three hundred and forty...’ My brain stopped working. That was more money than I usually spent in a month. For food. For one trip to the grocery store. My first thought was just pure panic. I couldn’t afford this. I’d have to put it all back.

Then I remembered. The mission money.

My whole body relaxed so fast I probably looked like a deflating balloon. I could actually pay for this. I wasn’t going to have to do the walk of shame and tell the guy with the eyebrow piercing that I couldn’t afford my non-stick pan and my fancy-person broccoli.

"No problem," I said, trying to sound like this was a totally normal amount of money for me to spend on groceries. I pulled my wallet out, fumbling with my debit card.

"You look a little young to be buying your own knives."

I froze, my card halfway out of my wallet. I knew that raspy voice. I turned my head slowly, and there she was. The broccoli lady, standing right behind me in line, her pink tracksuit and visor just as bright as before. She had a single bottle of prune juice in her cart.

"Uh," was all I could manage.

She peered into my bags, her eyes sharp. "Good. You got the low-sodium soy sauce. And a nice little pan. Good for you. You seem like a good boy, trying to learn."

The cashier was just watching this whole exchange, a tiny flicker of amusement finally breaking through his bored expression.

The old lady pointed a wrinkly finger at me. "But you be careful with that knife, you hear me? They’re sharper than you think. Curl your fingers under when you’re chopping. Don’t want to lose a nail."

"I... okay," I said, completely bewildered.

"Good," she said, nodding with satisfaction, as if she’d just finished a very important lecture. She went back to ignoring me, focusing on her prune juice.

I just turned back to the cashier, my face probably bright red. He was smirking now, a full-on smirk.

"Listen to your grandma," he said, and I just wanted to die.

I finally managed to pay, swiping my card and praying it wouldn’t get declined. It went through. I grabbed the bags, which were surprisingly heavy, and practically ran out of the store.

Walking home with six bags of groceries was a whole different kind of weird, but...

but...

but...

The weight is making my body fucking hurt. It’s so painful I just want to drop these here and lie down.