Mitch stashed his debit card back into his wallet after Jodie had loudly declared “your money’s no good here!” in the checkout line at the grocery store.

“I’m his sugar daddy,” she said matter-of-factly to the cashier, who laughed in response.

“Don’t humor her,” Mitch warily advised as he gathered up as many plastic bags as he could with his good arm. They were only supposed to get a few remaining items for a party Jodie was throwing later, but unsurprisingly, the shopping trip had gotten out of hand. Realistically, the extra streamers and variety of noise makers were a bit much, even if Jodie’s dad tended to be on the eccentric side; but it was his birthday, and Jodie was determined to celebrate in a way that was appropriate.

“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” she chastised while they walked past the automatic doors and into the parking lot.

“I can manage a few bags.” Mitch lifted them to show that he wasn’t experiencing any discomfort. Once they got to Jodie’s car, she opened the trunk and took them away from him. “I’m not a sickly Victorian child that won’t survive the winter, Jo. Lemme help.”

Jodie tilted her head and tsk’d, saying “You kind of are, though,” then deposited the rest of the bags and headed to the driver’s side. Shaking his head, Mitch closed the trunk and then took his seat at shotgun. As he buckled up, she continued with a much more sincere tone. “Look, you’ve been through a lot over the past few days…”

“Sure, but I’m not helpless. I can, y’know, pitch in for groceries or whatever,” he huffed a laugh. “You’re providing a roof over my head right now.”

“It’s not out of altruism, I’ve been trying to get you to move back up here for years now. So, thanks Calvin, I guess.”

“I’m sleeping in your bed because there’s no room at the inn. Let me do something. Anything.”

“Mitchell-” Jodie had started to speak as she backed out of the parking spot, but was cut off by a car that rushed past. She slammed on the brakes and shouted obscenities while the other driver repeatedly honked their horn. A minute of grumbling passed before she turned her attention back to Mitch. “ANYWAY,” she bellowed, obviously still fuming, then her voice lowered. “I dunno. What were we talking about? How useless you are?”

“Something like that,” he grinned.

“If you’re dealing with a complex, be my errand boy for a bit.”

“Uh huh. Sure,” he deadpanned, already drowning out her non-answer since he already was the de facto errand boy for her. Instead, he revisited recent texts from Calvin that were for sure passive aggressive complaints about Mitch’s belongings still being at the loft, despite the whole ‘not being able to drive for several weeks’ thing. Unsurprisingly, his ex couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that most people in their age group didn’t have a trust fund to fall back on, which meant that they couldn’t just afford to simply hire movers on a whim.

“Stop reading texts from him,” Jodie spoke up, and Mitch went wide eyed in disbelief.

“How could you tell?” he asked incredulously, pulling his phone closer to his body.

“You have this look on your face like you’re about to cry and shit all at once,” she waved a hand about like it was the most obvious thing.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” grumbled Mitch as he checked his face in the side mirror.