The sweetest secret

CW: References to sexual content

My arm feels heavy when I push it towards the next aisle. Pasta and Sauces promises the sign over my head while I fight the urge to kick the right wheel of the shopping cart. The throbbing of my big toe is a reminder that there is now way I would win against the metal monster I have to maneuver through the narrow rows. Usually, I don’t have to deal with the shopping carts. The red plastic baskets, hanging as a light weight in the crook of my arm, are my usual companions.

But today my only option is the cart. With every push I want to abandon it. By now, I’m convinced that the cart has it out for me. But a look in the cart and then on the long list my mother has given me, just confirm that I have no choice.

“Shit!”

I miscalculated. The cart suddenly moves faster. I throw my body into the other direction. The cart starts to wobble. My pinky toe hits the corner of the shelf. A painful push towards the other side of the aisle. My almost collision makes the packets sway in the shelf.

“No! No! No!”

I stare at the packets. I hold my breath. The shelf-domino-movie scene doesn’t happen. But the cart continues on its path of independence. I jerk forward. My stomach is being pushed into the red handle. There’s a metal clang, followed by a shriek. I turn my head, but it takes a moment to catch my breath.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Honey! Honey!”

For a second, I’m worried I hit a child but on second glace it’s a young woman, maybe in her early twenties. She doesn’t look in my direction. Between the high-pitched cries for her partner, she pouts like a child. I hobble around the cart, to stop in my tracks. She is rubbing her obvious baby bump and my heart speeds up.

“Did I hurt you? Do you need a doctor?”

She is still ignoring me completely, but stares at the man who appears around the corner of the aisle. He is an imposing figure. Broad shoulders and a big mustache. His grey hair doesn’t match the dark facial hair. He is carrying a big watermelon.

“What is it booboo? What happened?”

The deep voice sounds strangely familiar and I look more closely.

“She hit me. With her cart. And now my tummy hurts.”

The man’s attention shifts to me. I look up. The flushed cheeks immediately turn pale. The hastened steps stop in their tracks. In slow motion, I can see the grip around the melon loosen. I sprint forward. I dive. I save the watermelon.

The grey eyes below the bushy eyebrows look down on me. We stare at each other. Then he offers me a hand and helps me up. Additionally, to my feet, now my knee hurts too.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

He whispers into my ear while he takes the melon out of my hands. I dust off my trousers and smirk. I look at him, then at the young woman, who has forgotten about her belly but stares daggers at me. I smile sweetly in her direction, before turning toward my uncle.

“I don’t know if I can do that. Aunty will be …”

“I’ll pay you. Just … I need to figure this out first. Don’t tell Margret.”

I pull a face and scratch my head. My uncle starts to fidget, while he ignores the “Honeys” coming from the young woman.

“I’ll let you know. But my first condition …”

I pause, feeling like a movie hero or villain before the big reveal. My uncle snaps into attention. This is what power feels like. My grin deepens.

“Don’t be late for dinner later. Mum is stressed out as it is.”

With a curse I finally get rid of the shopping cart of doom. I feel beaten up but I know complaining at home will only get me snarky remarks.

I turn the ignition and pull out of the car park. My uncle’s facial expression pops up in my mind again. I chuckle as I turn at the next junction. A quick glance at the clock tells me I was faster than expected. Then I see the sign of the waving ice cream cone. My lips curve even more. I signal to take the right at the next junction.

The air is warm and there is a smell of vanilla and fried cinnamon dough in the air. The parking lot is quite empty. Unfortunately for Mr. Donato but fortunately for me. I can’t afford to wait in a queue. My mother’s groceries are waiting in the trunk.

I’m greeted with a blast of cold air when I step into the café. As usual, my shoes make weird smacking sounds when I approach the counter. No matter how often you mop the floor, they always stay sticky.

The two youths behind the counter are absorbed holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes and don’t hear me approach. I observe them a bit longer. The tall girl twirling her hair around her finger, giggling while the shorter girl holds her other hand. On tiptoes she whispers something in her ear and the giggle intensifies.

I stare at the short girl. One half of her hair is dyed black while the other is just bleached. There is a faint green hue to it. I clear my throat. The tall girl looks up, while the short one whips around.

The change of emotions reminds me of my encounter in the supermarket. My smile turns into a grin. The short girl’s face has turned from white to red. Just like when I’m embarrassed it is blotchy and makes her look like she has a skin condition.

“I would like to have strawberry and chocolate. In a cone, please.”

The tall girl moves while the short one stabs the screen in front of her with her finger.

“Careful, Muffin. Mr. Donato will deduct it from your pay, if you break his equipment.”

“Shut up!”

“Uh, that’s not exactly how you should be treating me, shouldn’t it.”

I smile at the tall girl, receiving my cone. She was quite generous with the scoops and I quickly lick the dripping strawberry. Then I wiggle my eyebrows at the girl. She stares at me for a second, then she giggles. I make eye contact with the short girl.

“I guess, you won’t be bringing her over today.”

The tall girl looks at my younger sister. My sister reaches for her hand. I nod my approval.

“Not today. I don’t think the … setting is right. So, don’t tell anyone.”

I stare at her. Licking. Waiting. She rolls her eyes, but I see her hand clasping her girlfriend’s tighter. I raise an eyebrow.

“Please. Pretty please?!”

“That’s my Muffin! See you later. Don’t be late!”

I pat my sister’s head. Then I stack some coins on the counter and leave the café. Fueled by sugar and glee, I head to the car.

“Make sure to check on grandma. We’re going to eat in thirty minutes.”

“Sure, sure. I do.”

It’s our usual shouting match. I close the door of the downstairs fridge slowly. I keep my eyes on my mother’s priced dessert. The fancy cake with its pink cream tufts is the last thing I see before the chrome exterior shows my distorted reflection. I stick out my tongue. There is a weird taste in my mouth, and I wish I could have another scoop of ice cream or a slice of watermelon.

The doorbell makes me jump into action. My mother will be furious if her mother doesn’t sit in her designated armchair by the time all guests have arrived. So, I follow down the short corridor and knock at the door. My grandmother’s secret realm, hidden in our basement. I step closer to the door. The plastic pretending to be wood warms under my ear. I sigh. Then, I square my shoulders.

“Grannie! Naptime’s over. Time to …”

The door bangs against the wall. My hand has dropped. I stare at a laptop screen. I see two men. They are both wearing strap on furry tails. They’re naked. One giving fellatio to the other. With a loud bang, the scene disappears. My grandmother’s hand rests on the white laptop case. I look at her. The white blouse is partly unbuttoned. Her cheeks are flushed. She is breathing as if she had to climb the stairs to the ground floor.

“Melanie! Out!”

But I don’t move. I can’t move. I blink. Then a familiar musky smell hits me. I shiver and feel heat creeping up my neck. With flurried movements my grandmother buttons up her blouse and stuffs it back into her skirt. I try not to see the disarray there. Her cheeks are slightly puffed, and I can’t fight the grin, stretching my lips. It wins over the awkwardness of the situation.

“So, naptime …”

“Melanie. This is no way to enter someone’s room.”

“Well, you weren’t answering. Mom asked me to check on you. I didn’t know you were … hm … busy. Maybe you need a sign.”

“If you’re interested in inheriting anything at all, you better don’t tell anyone.”

Her voice is higher pitched than usual, and I can’t hold back the snort. The ring of the doorbell makes both of us look up. I step closer and pat her on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. But mom wants you to be up asap.”

A groan – not a moan – escapes my grandmother’s lips. I can tell she wants to roll her eyes but holds back. Too many walls have crumbled within seconds between us.

“You’re a good girl, my Melodrama. Come help an old lady up.”

I look at her hand. I hesitate. Then I offer her my arm. With one swift movement, she is on her feet. She lets go off my arm and I head to the door.

“I’ll wait at the stairlift. Make sure to wash your fingers.”

The music reaches me even down in the basement. I hear my mother’s voice but this time I can’t make out the words. I don’t need any orders anyway as I am here on a mission. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I open the fridge door. Like the hidden treasure in any adventure movie the light surrounds the cake in front of me. I know it’s strawberry cream cake. The frosting is perfectly whipped, piped as delicate flower arrangements.

I lift my plastic fork. My train leaves in thirty minutes. The cake will be cut in two hours. Without hesitation, I push down the fork. It sinks into the soft sponge like an airplane cuts through a cloud. Fork after fork enters my mouth until I can feel tears at the corner of my eyes.

“What’cha doing there, aunt Mel?”

I snap around. A piece of cake still stuck to my fork. I force down my last bite. It feels like forcing down a solid bar of soap. There is a wet splat on the floor. I follow my niece’s gaze. Then I quickly wipe my mouth with my sleeve. My forkless hand lands heavily on the tiny shoulder.

“Cindy. Look at me. Don’t tell anyone.”