Of course, I pay, and I don’t mind in the least. With Timmy, life feels like a celebration—he’s taking me on a whirlwind tour of Sunset Cay, and I’m loving every second of it. He’s already helped me out so much, from lending me mattresses to driving me around. Buying a few bougie pastries seems like the least I could do for him.
As we dig into the pastries, I find myself involuntarily moaning at the taste—totally out of character for me, and usually a bit of an ick when other people do it—but somehow, around him, I’m comfortable letting myself enjoy things so openly.
He notices and bursts out laughing, playfully mocking my reaction with a dramatic “Mmm!” and adding, with a wink, “Bet youdidn’t think I’d have you moaning so soon, did you?”, drawing a blush to my cheeks and making me laugh. For someone so full of quirks, he’s remarkably carefree, leaning into the absurdity of life in a way I feel myself oddly charmed by.
When we take his truck to the local secondhand store, I’m a little surprised. It’s not a place where I’d usually think to shop. But he takes me by the hand, leading me in, and walks straight up to the shelves, pulling down the oddest-looking kitchen decor and holding it up with a delighted grin. He’s a scavenger with a taste for the eccentric, and somehow, he has an eye for the best among the clutter, finding high-quality knives and practical cookware buried in bins I would have avoided. Before I know it, I’m laughing with him over some creepy ceramic teddy bear he’s pretending is our future dinner companion.
He’s showing me how fun it is to treasure-hunt in unexpected places, and I realize that I’ve been such a snob, in ways I hadn’t even noticed.
As we get in line to pay for the items, Timmy tries on a few pairs of sunglasses from the display, posing in front of the mirror. “Don’t I look cute in these?”
I laugh. “You sure do.”
As we get back to the truck after paying for my items, I spot him still wearing the sunglasses he tried on for fun, on top of his head, and he’s holding an extra Hydro Flask he’d picked out. “Um, Timmy,” I raise an eyebrow. “Why do you have those?”
“Oh!” he says with a little jump, wide-eyed, as if he just realized. “Guess I forgot I was still wearing these, and totally forgot about the Hydro Flask.” He lets out a little laugh, unbothered, and I can’t help but see the harmless innocence in it, like the time I witnessed an elderly woman accidentally shoplift a bag of lettuce at the grocery store because it was wedged in her cart, unseen.
After the second-hand store, we go to Walmart, and my chest blooms with warmth as we walk, hand-in-hand, through the aisles. He bumps into someone he knows, a guy pushing his own cart along. “Hey man!” he says as the guys fist-bump. “This is my girlfriend, Margaux.”
“Nice to meet you,” says his friend.
He seems to know people everywhere we go, like he’s a well-known figure in the Cay, and it feels reassuring, like he must be a good guy who might help me to build my own community here, too.
Shopping with him is a whirl of laughter and silly poses as he pops out from behind shelves or pretends to spy on me, peering through the most random of objects. It reminds me of shopping trips with my dad when I was young, where he’d chase me down the aisles making animal noises and I’d run gleefully away—joyful and unexpected—and I realize I haven’t laughed this much in ages.
We pick up bedding—a nice duvet set with matching pillowcases. He insists on getting the soft lilac print, his favorite color. And soft lilac towels and washcloths and a bath mat. It’s not my top color choice, personally, but he’s so persuasive and it brings him so much obvious joy, the more soft lilac items that are placed in the cart. He’s so excited, so in love with every choice, that I can’t imagine taking that away from him. I realize his style might not be what I’d naturally choose, but watching him light up with each item he picks out is something else.
At one point, he finds a large stuffed Baby Shark toy. “Baby shaaaaaaaaaark!” he says with the excitement of a two-year-old who’s just enjoyed way too much sugar, his muscular, tattooed arms clinging to the oversized toy like his life depends on it.
I quirk a brow. “You really want this toy?”
“Yessss! Baby shaaaaaaark!” He giggles.
“Fine, add it to the cart,” I laugh, rolling my eyes.
“Really?” His eyes grow big. “Baby Shaaaaaaaark for Timmy?!”
“Bruh, are you speaking about yourself in the third person?” I laugh and shake my head. This guy.
We find chopping boards, basic groceries and cleaning supplies, as well as a little table and chair set that can serve as a computer desk.
“We’ve done well! I think we’re all set!” I say, surveying the contents of the overstuffed cart.
“Let’s get a TV, too!” he suddenly says. “We—you’re going to need one.”
“Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. “I wasn’t planning on getting a TV here. I want to focus on writing, and can always watch things on my computer.”
“Okay,” he says, frowning, jutting his lower lip out just a little.
We’re distracted from the conversation as we reach the checkout.
It’s so helpful having him here to help hoist the heavy items into the truck, and having the truck that can fit all the items, too. He makes a task that would otherwise seem daunting feel effortless and even enjoyable.
We park right in front of my building. Having a strong man to help me load things onto a cart and then get them up to my apartment makes a big difference, and it’s also pretty hot watching him lug things around with ease.
It would have taken me a lot of Ubers, and more expense, to get things ready by myself. And I would have been hesitant to get some of the items he assured me I’d need.
He’s making it fun, and he seems to genuinely enjoy helping me.