Following the worker to the register, I try to keep my hands steady as I pull the hundred-dollar bill out of my wallet and pass it across the counter.
It feels like some sort of giant secret, as if someone like me shouldn’t have this sort of cash on them. And usually, I wouldn’t. Honestly, it’s been causing me anxiety all week. Like someone might spot it through my purse and just know that it came into my possession through nefarious means.
Even though the cost of the body wash plus the lotion is insanely expensive, I’m happy to put the twenty-seven dollars and change back into my wallet. It’s still technically his money, but it’s a much more reasonable amount to justify.
With the bag in my hands, I check the time on my phone and decide I can treat myself to the food court before catchi
