“Hey,” I said. “You’re our last customer. Lucky you.”
“Lucky is not the word I’d use. But we made it.”
She started unloading her cart. It didn’t take long. Bread. Eggs. A half gallon of milk. One big can of baby formula. No snacks. No extras. Just basics. I scanned everything and hit total.
“That’ll be $32.47.”
She opened her wallet and pulled out a thin stack of bills.
I watched her count, lips moving. Her forehead creased. She checked another pocket. Then her little zipper pouch. Then, the back of her wallet, like money might appear if she believed hard enough.
Her shoulders sagged. “Oh no.”
“How much are you short?” I asked, trying to keep my voice soft.
“Six dollars. I’m really sorry. Can you cancel the formula? I’ll just take the rest.”
Her eyes stayed glued to the formula, like she couldn’t bear to look at me. The baby shifted, made a tiny sound, and relaxed again.
