We walk in the direction of the West Village, toward the fruit cart Ma likes. After having tried dozens of fruit carts throughout the city, she claims that this one has the best fruit and the best prices in all of Manhattan—not to mention that she always likes to linger for a nice long chat with Lety, the woman who works at the stand.

When Lety asks how Ma is doing, I mumble, “She’s good,” and look away. I’m not ready to tell people about Ma and Pa yet.

We get some apples, bananas, and even a pack of strawberries, just because they’re Sophie’s favorite. With arms carrying heavy bags of fruit, we run back to the laundromat and get there with several minutes to spare.

Sophie and I watch anxiously as the washing machines slow down and come to a full stop, and then we transfer all the wet clothes to a dryer. We now have a full hour before the timer goes off, so we go to the supermarket on Fourteenth Street.

There are some things that we just never get from the bodega—things like meat, and veggies, and eggs. We pick up enough food to last us for a couple of days, and once we have everything we need, we head to the bodega.

Nelly is working today, as she does every morning. Even though she’s been helping us out for a couple of years now, she’s always been a little shy. She’s older than Erika and me—in her late twenties, maybe—so she probably just cares a little less about socializing at work. All I know is that she has a young son and she lives in Queens.

The second Sophie and I walk into the bodega, she turns toward us, and her expression falls. “Mateo,” she says under her breath. “I thought you weren’t coming in until two.”

“I’m not here for my shift. Just here to grab something.”

I push Sophie gently toward the back of the bodega and start listing out the things we need, while she picks them up from the shelves.

“What kind of dish soap?” she asks me, pointing at all the different ones.

“Uh… the blue one.”

Once we have everything we need, Sophie follows me into the office in the back. I take out Pa’s heavy book from the top drawer on the desk and list out every single item we took. I guess we’ll figure out what happens with the things that get written on this list at the end of the month. Or maybe I’ll ask Jorge. He might know.