A while back my lover and I, we'd hit some rocks. "Let's go to Target," he said, and I don't remember the colour of his shirt but I know the design, since he'd bought six of them and just swapped out. A friend printed them: jaybirds. Outside, snow. "Don't worry about the gray, the ice," my lover told me. "In spring people shed clothes and lift hoods and talk to each other again. It's that much more wonderful." Hmmmm okay, I said, believing in the end.
It was right after Christmas so endcaps were chocked with cheap shit: glitterglobes, nut mix, Santa hand towels and marshmallow snowmen. The floor was covered in white squares, squares grime-edged and ice melting in their grooves. Secretly I guess I wanted to look at tops and pants, but I hate being that girlfriend. "Let's pretend like we're normal," my lover said, and I said okay so we looked at washing machines: the hoses, the front loaders. The lights. Forty-five minutes, just washing machines and rebates and washing machine lingo. Then home.
- Mairead Case