I paw through my fridge and frown when I see that I have everything I need for chicken stir-fry except for the chicken. How did that happen? I’m usually so meticulous with my grocery list. Ah. My sister, Vera, came over earlier this week, and instead of making chicken quesadillas for one, I made them for two.

I grab my house keys and make the jog down to the grocery store around the corner.

“Hey, Eliot.”

I smile at Dawn, my usual checkout person, and look back at my phone, checking for messages from JD. Then I do a double-take. Dawn is about twenty-five, pretty cute, always swimming in her store-issued employee vest. Have I ever taken her number? I can’t remember. I replay her voice in my head. Is that JD’s voice? I only realize I’m staring when Dawn starts blushing. She’s glancing up at me from under her bangs and fumbling to get the package of chicken breasts to scan. I have to hear her voice again to be sure.

“How’s your day been?” I ask her.

“Good!” she squeaks, blushing even more.

This doesn’t sound like JD’s voice from last night. But I can’t quite tell. Why is she squeaking? Is it because she’s embarrassed to have spent last night unexpectedly talking to me for an hour, or is it because . . .

Oh. I catch sight of my face on the CCTV screen behind the cashier’s stand and realize immediately that Dawn is probably blushing because I’m staring at her like I’m about to dissect her with a microscope and tweezers. I look like a lunatic.

“Have a good night!” I wave gently and try to look non-threatening as I leave the grocery store.

I mentally cross Dawn off the list on the jog back to my apartment.

I’m back, standing in my kitchen, frowning at the just-bought packet of chicken, when I realize that I don’t want chicken stir-fry for dinner. I want Thai food. Frustrated with myself, I tug at my hair a little, debating what to do. Usually, I completely shut down these kinds of impulsive urges. Impulsivity is something I’ve grappled with my whole life and up until I finally paid it off three years ago, I had the credit card debt to prove it. I live life according to a very strict plan, all the way down to my menu for the week, or else I end up spending five hundred dollars on takeout in a single month.

I put the chicken in the fridge and check my bank balance. Next, I look at the whiteboard on the wall that has my menu for the week planned out. Lastly, I check my debit transactions to see when the last time I ordered takeout was.