Chapter 4

"The usual, sweetie. A block of fresh artisan cheese."

The vendor smiled, wrapped it up, and handed it over.

"Hey Chloe, what's your man having tonight? Beef stew or chicken noodle soup?"

The question came from the vegetable vendor next door.

Chloe was holding the canvas bag with the cat print. She wore a cozy, bohemian linen dress with her hair loosely tied back.

She smiled and said, "Let's go with beef stew. He’s been working late, needs some extra energy."

"Alright, I'll pick out some good potatoes and carrots for you. Ethan is a lucky guy, having someone cook for him every day."

"Oh, stop it," Chloe laughed, waving her hand.

*Your man.*

Those two words felt like a needle driving into my skull.

I stood twenty yards away behind a fruit stand, my hat pulled down to my eyebrows and a mask covering half my face.

I had left the hotel at 6:30 AM. Shortly after seven, she appeared at the entrance of the market. She walked with a light, familiar step, greeting the coffee vendor and joking with the egg seller.

Every vendor knew her.

She wasn't a casual shopper; she was a familiar face who showed up every day.

She walked past the cheese stand, the vegetable stand, the butcher shop, and finally stopped at the spice stall.

"Do you have that organic rosemary? The one I bought last time?"

"Yes, indeed. Half a pound again?"

"Yeah, he only likes this brand for his stew."

*He.*

No last name, no first name. Just one pronoun was enough.

Only people who lived together spoke with such casual shorthand.

I squeezed an apple from the stand, my nails nearly cutting into the skin.

Chloe walked back with a heavy bag of groceries. When she passed by me, she was less than three feet away.

I smelled her laundry detergent.

It was the lavender scent I had mailed to Ethan. I always used that brand, loved the smell, and sent him several bottles.

She carried that scent on her.

It wasn't a passing whiff. She was wearing clothes washed in his machine, sleeping on sheets washed in that detergent, and after a night, the scent had seeped into her hair and collar.

The detergent I bought for Ethan was washing her clothes.

She walked right past me. She didn't recognize me.

After a few steps, she pulled out her phone, smiled at the screen, and typed.

My phone buzzed almost instantly.

A Snapchat from Chloe: "Good morning, Clara! The weather is beautiful today. Make sure you eat a good breakfast!"

I looked at her retreating back, then at the message on my screen.

She had just bought groceries for my boyfriend, walked past me, and turned around to send me a "Good morning."

"Hey, miss, do you want that apple?" the vendor asked.

I looked down at the bruised apple in my hand.

"No, thank you."

I put the apple down and walked out of the market.

The morning sun filtered through the stalls, hitting my face. It was warm, but my spine was freezing.

On the way back to the hotel, I passed the side gate of the apartment complex. A little boy on a tricycle almost bumped into me. His mom ran out yelling, "Slow down, buddy!"

A normal, bustling, lively routine.

But in this neighborhood's routine, I didn't even qualify as a passerby.

As I stepped into the hotel elevator, my phone buzzed again.

A message from Ethan: "Sorry I couldn't FaceTime last night. Worked way too late. Are you free this afternoon?"

*Worked way too late.*

Which home did you go back to? Who was waiting for you?

I replied: "We'll see."

The elevator doors closed. Sixth floor, long hallway, card key tap.

Standing by the window, I saw Chloe walking into the apartment gate with her groceries. The doorman nodded to her.

They knew her. Everyone knew her.

The doorman knew her, the vendors knew her, the neighbors knew her, the whole building knew her.

The only person they didn't know was me—the one who actually belonged there.

I pulled the curtains shut.

"No, thank you."

I repeated the words to myself. They felt like an answer to much more than just the fruit vendor.