So We Can Glow - Stories - Leesa Cross-Smith Page 0,58

night and happily typed Henry into the search bar. She scrolled through a lot of Henrys and didn’t see a picture of Cabbage Henry. Her obsessiveness nipped at her heels before finally sinking its teeth in. Drawing blood. The next night she cranked Lana Del Rey, put on extra eyeliner, and went to the grocery store just in case. No Henry. But the Lana Del Rey and the extra eyeliner made her feel sexy and powerful. Cool. As cool as the wind on her face as she drove home with the windows down. She was crying her eyeliner off and that was okay because the smudginess made her feel even sexier and more powerful. She mouthed the words after she finished brushing her teeth before bed. Sexy and powerful. She let her teeth smooth and catch for too long on her bottom lip. She drifted to sleep imagining herself and Henry out of the grocery store, in the California desert instead. Henry, bearded and Jim Morrison–mysterious, feeding her grapes. The poetry of their tongues. Their mouths—two cherries under a lavender moon.

* * *

The following Wednesday, after ballet class and drinks with friends, Astrid put on extra eyeliner again and went to the grocery store. Saw Henry in the produce section. She wondered if Henry were a ghost, haunting it. Only on Wednesdays. Like, every Wednesday, no matter what, he would be there in the produce section, waiting for her. Was he even real on the other days? She recognized his back easily now. He was skinny and almost-tall. He was standing there in an expensive-looking navy-blue polo shirt. She touched his shoulder to make sure she couldn’t put her hand right through him.

“Astrid the Zoodler!” he said, smiling.

“Henry! I keep finding you here! Here in your supermarket,” she said.

“You’re a supermarket dream,” he said, winking.

“You…are,” Astrid managed to get out.

“Well, the zoodles were fantastic. Did you think I’d really make them?” he asked.

“Yes. I trusted you.”

“What’s for dinner this week?”

“How about dessert? Strawberries?” she asked, lifting a big plastic box of organic ones into the air with both hands. She held it over her head, looked at him.

“I love strawberries.”

“With…chocolate and a light fluffy cake and some whipped cream. Some dark coffee, afterward,” she said.

Henry pulled out his phone, started typing.

“I’m writing this down,” he said and laughed like he couldn’t help it. A cough, really.

“Good boy,” she said. She heard the young man two aisles over turn on the noisy machine and begin waxing the floor. “Sailing” by Christopher Cross was piping from the speakers and the produce sprinklers hushed on. Astrid held her pale palm underneath the water.

“Supermarkets and yacht rock seem to go hand in hand,” Henry said, looking up.

She nodded. “I came from ballet,” she added, liking how it made her seem interesting.

“Do you do ballet to yacht rock?”

“No, I don’t,” she said, laughing.

“Maybe you should.”

“Have a good week, Henry,” Astrid said, steering her cart away.

“Hey!” he said behind her.

She turned around.

“You too,” he said.

* * *

The days in between were becoming painful for Astrid. She wished every day were Wednesday. She found herself checking her phone for texts from him, then remembering he didn’t have her number. She didn’t even know his last name. She Googled the name Henry to see what came up and fell down a rabbit hole of Henry Cavill fan sites, pictures of him in his Superman costume, YouTube clips of his interviews. She found him cloyingly handsome. Saccharine. His jawline, and those perfectly white teeth in a neat row like some kind of fence. He didn’t seem real. Not as real as Cabbage Henry. She went to bed thinking about him. Woke up wondering if he was thinking about her. Spent Thursday trying to convince herself she wasn’t crazy. Spent Friday convincing herself she was.

* * *

The next Wednesday night, Henry was in a white T-shirt and jeans and so was Astrid.

“This is embarrassing,” Henry said, pointing to himself, then to her.

“You have good taste,” she said, smiling.

“What do you have for me this week?” Henry asked. Astrid was sad. This was all they’d ever be. He’d only ask her for recipes, never invite her to eat. He’d never ask her to get a coffee in the little grocery store café or ask for her phone number. Did love feel like this too? Like an empty cup?

“Sweet or savory?” she asked.

“How about this…would you like to get a coffee? Over here?” He pointed. “And maybe help me with cheese? I