The spongy padding of the stroller's handle feels awkwardly foreign in my hands. A girl wearing a green sweater and a long ponytail smiles gently at me while I handle a few tangerines across the aisle from her. I can read the underlying traces of friendliness in her smile, but I avert my eyes with a feeling of alienation. I do not belong in this world of strollers and cheery toddlers. My brother and his wife had asked me if I could handle Evey for a few minutes on my own, and without a second thought I had lavished them with my assuring response.
I bow in front of the stroller in order to talk a bit with Evey as her parents walk off. She smiles silently in return. I'm glad that we're both confident in my skills. Standing back up, I begin to think about the fact that I've never so much as babysat, let alone tended a child in public. Not to say that I can't handle a few minutes with a three year old, but I feel oddly as if I'm treading onto our rival's football field back during a high school game. I know that I've been invited, but I still don't feel at home.
Having finished with the tangerine, I push the stroller along the aisle. I love big cities and their big open-air markets. Well, at least open-air in name. This market stretches out across the entire bottom story of this skyscraper. It's much cleaner than a similar one that I wandered into last year in Los Angeles with my younger brother. The right wheel of the stroller scrapes smoothly along the wooden crates containing vast quantities of fruit. Its axel somehow manages to avoid getting jammed in any gaps. The signs attached to the crates advertise some remarkably good prices. Mandarin oranges, ten for a dollar? I consider grabbing a few handfuls, but the distance between myself and the plastic sacks on the far wall is enough to dissuade me.
Approaching the end of the aisle, a round-faced Latino man sees me coming and sidesteps in order to give me room to pass. I take a lot of pleasure in this sense of empowerment. I've assumed a new identity, and now I command a new respect. I begin walking down on the opposite side of the aisle, inspecting the same fruit but from a different angle.
Having discovered for myself that these fruit are still not interesting, even from another side, I start skating along the ice-cold concrete toward the pastry and candy section with stroller still in hand. These prices are much less reasonable; although the fudge is still particularly tantalizing.
"Ah, she's adorable," says an elderly woman who catches me in one spot still eying the fudge.
Caught off guard, all I manage to utter is, "Oh, thanks," while thinking, "Yeah, damn right she is."
The old woman is still grinning at Evey as her husband drags her off toward the baker. I suddenly remember that Evey and I will be difficult to find unless we return to the fruit section, so I hang up my imaginary skates and push the stroller responsibly back to my spot near the tangerines just as Jenny arrives.
"No problems?"
"Nope, none at all."
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