Two Lists at the Market

Every Saturday, Ren bought six tomatoes, loose tea, and whatever peaches smelled strongest. Every Saturday, Elise stood behind him and said the peaches were bruised. He would offer her one. She would refuse, then buy the firm green ones from the next stall.

Their acquaintance lasted an entire summer without advancing beyond fruit. They knew each other's shopping lists better than their names. Once, when Ren forgot the tea, Elise called him back from the gate. Once, he found the small white beans her stallholder had sold out of and left a bag beside her basket.

In September, the peach seller told them that next week would be his last market. His wife needed help at home. Ren bought two extra bags. Elise bought none.

“You'll have enough bruises to last until winter,” she said.

“They're for my father. He can't manage hard fruit.”

She looked at her own list. It was folded into a narrow rectangle and worn thin at the creases. “The green ones are for my daughter. She takes them to college. I buy them before she comes home.”

“Does she come every week?”

“No,” Elise said. “But she might.”

At the following market, Ren asked whether Elise wanted coffee. She glanced at her watch. Her daughter was expected at noon. He said another time, and she said yes so quickly that both pretended to study a display of onions.

Then his father fell, and Ren missed three Saturdays. At the hospital he found the little bag of tea Elise had left with the downstairs neighbor. On it she had written her name and telephone number, followed by a line that made him smile: No fruit advice unless requested.

He called from the hospital garden. They talked about his father's stubbornness, her daughter's new flat, and the sound of rain on the market awnings. Before hanging up, he asked again about coffee.

“This Saturday,” Elise said. “Even if someone comes home.”

They met at ten. Ren carried no shopping list. Elise had brought hers, but she left it folded inside her pocket. Over coffee, she admitted that she disliked peaches in any condition. Ren admitted he knew almost nothing about tea; his father wrote the name on every list.

They laughed at the people they had invented for each other. Then they walked through the market, buying bread, two apples, and flowers neither of them had been asked to bring.