Page 31 of I Can’t Even Think Straight

Sunday: Fear of Missing Out—Mum’s Market Stall

I’m confused as I see Vass, Jenny, and Obi

walking toward me.

“?λα, Βασιλι? μου!” says Mum,

before I have a chance to speak.

“?λα,” Mum says again,

darting to the front of the trestle table.

“Μ?να μου! It’s so good to see you!”

She squeezes Vass.

“Καλησπ?ρα, Θε?α Ιρ?να,” says Vass, breathless.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

Jenny and Obi watch,

as if this is the cutest thing they’ve ever seen.

Mum releases Vass and acknowledges them:

“Jenny and Obi, isn’t it?”

“Well remembered, Irína,” says Obi.

I laugh and ask Obi: “Have you three

been hanging out without me?”

“We met up at the station,” says Obi,

“and came straight here to see you.”

“You know I’m working today,” I say

as I make my way round to the front of the table.

“I can spare you for an hour or two,” says Mum.

“As long as you come back to help me pack up.”

I wanna spend as much time

with Vass as possible

and today there’s the added

incentive of Obi,

but Sunday on Mum’s market stall is as sacred to me

as going to church is sacred to Matt.

I feel FOMO creeping in

at the thought of saying no to them

and staying with Mum.

I feel annoyed with all three of them

for putting me in this position,

to have to choose between them and Mum.

“We’ll all help to pack up,” says Obi,

grinning at me, pleased with himself,

like he’s single-handedly solved world peace.

I’m amused and no longer annoyed.

Obi’s innocent charm disarms me,

like he’s some sort of Disney prince.

Vass and Jenny nod in agreement.

“That’s sorted, then.”

Mum shoos us away.

“Have a nice time.”

“Righto. Cheerio,” Obi says to Mum.

Her eyes widen in disbelief.

“Cheerio,” Mum repeats. “Actually, hold on, kids!”

She pulls two tens from her money belt.

She hands one to me and another to Vass.

Then two more: one to Jenny and another to Obi.

“Okay, then.” Mum smiles at me mischievously.

“Off you go.”

I’m slow to do the math.

As I walk away with Vass, Jenny, and Obi,

I realize the four of us are sharing the forty pounds

Mum usually gives me for my work every Sunday.

I laugh to myself.

I turn and wave at Mum,

who waves back

and sticks out her tongue.

Maybe Mum will give me

another thirty pounds later,

but even if she doesn’t,

three-quarters of my pocket money

is a small price to pay

for more time with Vass,

for more time with Obi.