Carrie wrestled with her nerves as she drove, her hands fidgeting on the steering wheel. It seemed as though the whole world was out driving that day — to where, goodness only knows — and it worried her even more.

Her radio was turned down low, a quiet voice reading out the news, which probably sounded largely the same as the day before's. Carrie hardly paid it any attention. Turning it up wouldn't distract her, anyway.

Ahead of her, the stoplight turned yellow, and she slowed to a stop as it changed to red. She tried to feel better, and her nerves seemed to lessen, though it felt harder to breathe. The light turned green, and she continued driving the rest of the way to her destination.

She pulled into the parking lot and searched for a parking space, though they were few and far between. As she searched, she didn't notice a car pulling out of a space in front of her and nearly hit it. She noticed just in time and slammed on her breaks, though she cut it close.

The driver of the car looked out at the window at her, yelling at her, though she couldn't hear a word he was saying. Guilty, she mouthed, "I'm sorry," before she realized he couldn't see it. She just hoped her eyes held her apology sufficiently, and watched the man drive away. Her guilt didn't stop her from taking his spot afterwards; he didn't need it anymore.

She reached over to the passenger seat and made herself feel safer, taking her foolproof protection out of her purse. Her phone was off, also within it, her grocery list written on a scrap piece of paper which she pulled out. She hoped she'd be able to find it all.

Taking her purse with her, she locked her car and then headed into the store, eyeing the people around her, giving them all a wide berth, especially when she could see their smiles. Those people didn't look at her, but the others seemed to, if they only just glanced.

Inside, she acquired a cart and wiped off the handle. Her anxiety still ran within her, like an undercurrent, or a slowly flooding river that was usually only ankle-deep. Her hands were close together, and she shrank in on herself, made herself as small as possible without knowing it. She looked down at her grocery list. Eggs, milk, bread, bologna, cookies, shampoo, toothpaste, and Clorox wipes. She went for the shampoo and toothpaste first, and they were out of her usual brand, but anything would do. She had to wait in both cases for people to move before she could go and get what she needed.

After placing both in her cart, she headed for the Clorox wipes, and she passed people on her way there, hearing them talking as she did so. It didn't serve to alleviate her nerves, either.

"They don't have it," a woman said, hardly paying attention as she walked by, talking on her phone. She paused as whoever she was talking to replied, and then she said, "Well, then, you'll just have to go without it. That's all I can tell you."

Another man was within a hopeless aisle, and his voice was simply loud. "Seriously?! This is second week they've been out of toilet paper!"

"That's just the times, I'm afraid," a stranger said to him in a resigned voice, and the man only sighed.

Carrie made it to the aisle where the Clorox wipes were supposed to be, but there were none. Not even any different sort of brands or a disinfectant spray. Nothing. Sighing softly, she moved on to the eggs and milk, and she heard more snatches of conversation.

In the clothing section, a mother was holding up a dress to her daughter. "What about this one?"

Her daughter hardly glanced at it. "I don't care."

"Sweetie, this is for your graduation."

"I don't care," she replied. "Why does it matter? It's not like anyone's gonna see me, anyway."

Her mother's voice was slightly irritated. "Well, I want pictures." Her daughter let out a half-groan, half-sigh.

A married couple were standing in front of the depleted stock of juice, trying to find a specific kind. The man asked, "What time is your Zoom meeting?"

"Two thirty," the wife replied. They were mainly quiet then, mumbling about juice and grams of sugar. Then, the wife asked, "Are you FaceTiming your mom today?"

"Her nurse is supposed to text me later, if she can."

They finally moved away, giving up the futile search, and Carrie hurried over, picking up whatever was closest to what she normally got. She then did the same with the eggs, after briefly checking if they were cracked. The bread and bologna, however, couldn't be got. They were out of anything anybody would want.

She doubted there would be cookies left, but she went to look anyway, and, to her surprise, there was one box left of the kind her roommate preferred. The only problem was, it was in someone's hand.

He was blonde, with long-ish hair, just over his ears. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, his mismatch-socked feet snugly in his slip-on shoes. The t-shirt was probably a size lower than he really needed, and it worked in his favor. His hands, Carrie noticed, were bare, and he had dark eyes, seen through glasses with clear, clean lenses. He looked young — as young as Carrie, when the fear didn't seem to age her.

She stayed at the mouth of the half-empty aisle, frozen in place, even as she heard carts passing behind her.

The man simply had a basket, a few things within it. There was flour and sugar, other things Carrie couldn't see. He turned, spotting her standing there, and he stopped, looking at her for a moment. Then, he said, "Are you looking for these?" He held up the cookies.

Carrie smiled a little, instinctively, though it made little difference. "I was, but that's alright. My roommate can go without."

"I'm sorry," he said, getting closer, "I didn't quite hear you." Carrie fought the urge to step back and repeated herself, voice slightly raised.

"Oh, you can have them," he insisted, stepping forward again, something probably instinctual on his part, and that time Carrie did back away. He stopped and realized what he'd done. "Sorry. I didn't..."

"It's alright," Carrie replied after a short pause.

He gestured with the box again. "You can still have these, if you want. My sister's decided to try making cookies, so I was sent to get all the stuff we don't have. These were just for back up — you know, in case her cookies suck."

Carrie laughed lightly, and it felt strange to do, with the anxiety in her chest. He was laughing,  too, his smile bright. The laughter then faded, and Carrie was about accept his offer for the cookies, but she noticed his hand on the box and frowned an unseen frown. "While I'd love to take those cookies from you, you, uh..." She didn't know how to finish the sentence, simply holding up one covered hand, and he understood.

"Oh. Yeah, I get it," he said, putting the cookies in his basket, even as he added, "I promise I'm not sick, though."

"How would you know?" Carrie asked, surprised to hear her voice so light, asking such a question.

"I haven't been out of the house in a month," he replied. "That's why I have grocery duty today, actually. It was my turn, or whatever."

Carrie laughed again. "My roommate and I take turns, too. I..." she sighed "... I hate when it's my turn."

The man nodded in sympathy. "Yeah, I get that. I wasn't too happy about having to come out here today, but... now I'm not so upset about it." He was smiling a her, a softer smile, and her cheeks turned red. Luckily, he couldn't see.

"I'm still upset," she half-joked, and it made him laugh.

"I'm Matt, by the way," he said, holding out his hand.

"Carrie," she replied, pretending to shake it from afar.

"Well, Carrie," he said, "if I can't give you these cookies, can I least give you my number?"

"That was smooth," she teased, in a laughing, sarcastic tone.

"In my defense, I haven't flirted with a girl in a while."

"I'm guessing the last time was long before all this even started?" She didn't even notice her nerves then, though she noticed the release in her shoulders as she was starting to relax.

He laughed. "Okay, that was a good one."

"Thank you," she replied, with a small bow. "But, even though you could've asked better, the answer is yes, you can give me your number."

His eyes shone, and she watched his smile as he told her the number, then gingerly took a pen from her purse to write it down.

After parting with Matt, her nerves hit her again by the time she was paying at self checkout. She then took her groceries, loaded them in the car, discarded what she needed to, then retreated into solitude in the driver's seat. She was relieved to finally take a deep breath and wipe the thin layer of moisture off her upper lip. Driving home, her nerves lessened the closer she got, and the river returned to a normal level when she was inside, wiping off all of her groceries with soap and water, seeing as they had no Clorox wipes.

Her roommate, Miriam, was disappointed to find that she had no cookies, but the story surrounding them interested her, and she teased Carrie about Matt until she finally texted him, 'Hi, it's Carrie.' Then, she decided to add, 'From the store.'

He didn't respond to the text until Carrie and Miriam were already sat on the couch, eating dinner and watching TV. An inspiring, tiresome song was playing in a commercial when Carrie's phone buzzed.

'Hey, Carrie! I hope your roommate wasn't too sad about not getting her cookies. Also, you probably weren't wondering, but just in case you were: my sister's cookies turned out awful.'

Carrie chuckled and began to reply.

__—__—__—__—__

"How's your new job going?" Matt asked, his smile half on his face as he ate.

"Really well, actually," Carrie replied, doing the same. "My coworkers are really nice, as far as I can tell, and training wasn't as hard as I'd thought it'd be."

"That's really great," Matt said sincerely.

"Speaking of new jobs, how's Amber's business coming along?" Carrie asked. Amber was Matt's sister, and, after she'd been dating Matt for so long, one of Carrie's friends.

"Decently well. She's gotten a few orders, and she's been able to keep up with them so far. She's already ordered all the ingredients in bulk, so she better sell a bunch to use all of it."

Carrie laughed. "Well, if she doesn't, there'll be more cookies left for you."

"Very true," Matt replied, "though I'll be sure to send you a few."

"Only a few?" Carrie teased. After some practice, Amber had gotten really good at making cookies — as well as other baked goods — and Carrie (and Miriam) loved eating them whenever Amber would be so kind as to send some.

"Maybe a dozen," Matt replied, "but that's pushing it."

Carrie rolled her eyes as she laughed. "You're so stingy."

"Hey, that box of cookies I offered you would beg to differ."

Carrie smiled at the memory of that first meeting, four years ago. It was hard to believe she'd been with Matt for four whole years, and she told him so. He smiled softly at that, and went to reply, but the moment was ruined by Miriam.

"Hi, Matt!" she called, practically pushing Carrie to the side, knocking her out of the frame. Miriam's face soon completely filled the screen, and Matt laughed.

"Hi, Miriam," he replied.

"We're kind of on a date here," Carrie said, and Miriam waved it off.

"Oh, it's not like it's your first one."

"Date nights are still an important, serious thing to have within a marriage, Miriam."

"Yeah, yeah. Quote your relationship books and all that. I know when I'm not wanted," Miriam said, though her voice was amused.

"I want you here, Miriam," Matt joked, and Carrie glared at him, fighting off laughter. Matt did no such thing and laughed freely.

"Thank you, Matt," Miriam said, even as she left. "It's nice to know somebody appreciates me."

"Yeah, yeah," Carrie replied, waving her friend out. When she was gone, Carrie turned back to her computer. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe you were telling me how hot you thought I was on the day we met."

"Seriously?" Carrie replied with more laughter.

"Well, I thought you were hot, too. I mean, I could barely see your face, but I was particularly struck by your pretty eyes."

"And you're still as smooth as you were four years ago."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment instead of the insult it was intended to be."

They both laughed, and a short silence signaled a change in subject, which Carrie provided when she recollected something he'd told her the other day. "Did that mask you ordered come in yet?"

"It's coming in tomorrow, I think..."

Their date lasted for about another hour, and then Amber asked Matt for help with making cookies, as there were many to make. He went reluctantly, telling Carrie he'd text her later.

Carrie moved to the living room after cleaning her dishes from dinner, and Miriam was there, watching the news.

"The second virtual Olympics are being held this year, and the few kinks we saw in the first one have reportedly been worked out..."

Carrie tuned out the rest of the story, being largely unconcerned with the Olympics. She got on her phone instead, putting in their weekly grocery order.

"Did you mail in our ballots earlier today?" Miriam asked. They'd voted in the primary that day, and Miriam just gave her finished ballot to Carrie to put in the mailbox, as she had a meeting for work that she was late for, having lost track of time. Carrie had laughed at her as she ran upstairs to her computer.

"Yeah, I took care of it," Carrie replied. The mailbox was, of course, outside, and she'd walked out, wary of any of the neighbors leaving their houses at the same time, as far apart as their yards were. Luckily, it had been only her.

Miriam made no response, and the news anchor's voice slipped back into Carrie's notice.

"There's a new company on the rise that is working to bring us even closer to the day where leaving the house will be virtually unnecessary..."

Carrie listened half-heartedly until a text from Matt captured her full attention.