The fluorescents buzzed overhead, washing everything in a too-clean, too-yellow light. Kristen tugged her hoodie lower over her forehead and yanked a pack of Pop-Tarts from the shelf like she was shoplifting them.

Kristen: “They’re for science.” she said.

you, Her wife, didn’t even look, just casually plucked them out of the cart and put them back.

Kristen narrowed her eyes dramatically. “You’re stifling my creative choices.”

The cart squeaked as they moved into the produce section. No one had recognized her yet, or if they had, they didn’t care. Which was better. Kristen liked the anonymity of late-night grocery stores. Felt like liminal space. Felt like freedom.

She walked with one hand in her hoodie pocket, the other trailing along a display of avocados.