The Phantom Nut Butter

She walks into the co-op on Tuesday, January 12. Today’s list: frozen edamame, nut butter, bread. It doesn’t matter what nut butter; she likes all kinds.

She finds what she needs in less than ten minutes and enters the checkout line along with 25 other people. Despite the crowd, the line moves fast. She reaches the cashier without feeling the need to tap her foot in annoyance. The cashier rings up her items. “Your total is $33.68.”

She stops and takes a hard look at the screen. Her face blanches and her pupils shrink. The nut butter was $20.99. She had read the price on the shelf as $4.99.

There were now 30 people in the checkout line. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. She was trapped. She would not allow these people to believe that she could not afford her groceries; that she was unable to make responsible shopping choices. She silently scorns herself for canceling that last eye doctor appointment in favor of an impromptu brunch with a guy who ended up ghosting her. Knees weak, palms sweaty, she reaches into her wallet and pulls out her Chase card. The $20 bill she had planned to use would, evidently, not suffice. The transaction is completed without further complications. She exits the co-op and lets out a sob. Or several. She was stuck with it now, this luxury nut butter.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, and on the pantry shelf it sits. Should she save it for a special occasion like New Year’s Eve or President’s Day? Should she have a teaspoon once a week on her Sunday morning toast and make it last? Should she keep it as a reminder to always pay close attention to the price of items in the supermarket? Should she place it in a glass case like the rose from Beauty and the Beast? She feels it glaring at her, convinced it has the ability to see through walls. Its presence is heavy, casting a shadow over the highly desirable third-floor walk-up that is hers and hers alone. She cannot bring herself to eat it. It was simply too expensive.

She begins to suspect that the nut butter is not of this world.

On Tuesday, June 7, she has a dream. As she plummets downward from an Abu Dhabi skyscraper, the nut butter appears her left and whispers, “الجميع يموت وحده.” Centimeters before hitting the ground, she wakes. This, she decides, will be the day she makes peace with the nut butter.

She looks in the pantry to find that the nut butter is no longer on the shelf. She scours the apartment. No one else lives here. No dog could have eaten it. She decides to leave the disappearance a mystery, relieved at the fact she will never have to look at it again.

Later that day, she walks to pick up groceries. As she rounds the block, she discovers that the co-op has burned to the ground. Smoke rises from its charred remains; the scent of melted steel beams and roasted vegetables permeates the air. She looks across the street and sees the nut butter sitting on the curb. A city bus passes. The nut butter is gone.