She Won the Eating Challenge
It's a waste otherwise. That was the whole rule.
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"It's a waste otherwise."
That was the rule they had invented, in June, on a blanket, with more food than two people order by accident. It was a good rule. It did the work that wanting would otherwise have to do.
"There's four left."
"So there's four left."
"So finish them, or we've wasted them."
She finished them.
The rule got better as the summer went on, which is how you know it was never really a rule.
By July it covered anything already opened. By August it covered anything he had queued for. By September it had quietly extended to anything he had carried, on the grounds that carrying is work and work should not be for nothing.
"That's not — " She stopped, mouth full, and held up one finger, and finished the mouthful before finishing the sentence. "That's not the same thing."
"You're right. Eat it anyway."
She ate it anyway.
The crop top had fit in June. In September it fit the way a lid fits a jar it was not made for. She wore it anyway. There were other people on the grass, and she knew there were.
Pop.
"Was that you or the bag?"
"Don't."
She lay back on her elbows with the whole afternoon in her, and did not cover anything, and let the park have its look.
"There's still the box in the car."
"There's always still the box in the car."
"Is that a no?"
"…Get the box."
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