“There were five. Now there are two.”
She shrugged.
“You probably ate them and forgot. You do that.”
I stared at her.
“I do what?”
“Forget things.”
She said it so casually that, for a second, I actually tried to remember whether I’d eaten one without thinking.
But no.
I portion my lunches on Sunday for a reason.
“I didn’t eat them.”
Kayla sighed.
“Okay, Marga.”
That somehow made it worse.
Our other roommate, Mara, was sitting at the table drinking coffee.
She looked between us but didn’t say anything.
I understood why.
From the outside, it probably sounded ridiculous.
Three missing yogurts were hardly a household emergency.
A few days later, Mara opened the refrigerator.
“Didn’t I have two sodas left?”
Kayla looked up immediately.
“Oh, I grabbed one. Sorry. I’ll replace it.”
And she did.
The next day, there was a new soda in the refrigerator.
I remember noticing that.
I didn’t understand why it bothered me until later.
The second time my food disappeared, I came home at 11:40 P.M.
I was exhausted.
I’d spent half my shift thinking about the yogurt and fruit waiting for me at home.
I opened the refrigerator.
My shelf had a jar of pickles on it and nothing else.
