Love Delivered: A Quarantine Love Story

       I didn’t set out to fall in love with my Shipt shopper. I only ever sent him that flirty text message, because I thought it might make him work harder to get me toilet paper. I certainly wasn’t expecting him to be my shopper again the following week.

             Ryan S. That was the name listed on his Shipt profile. There was a small picture too, but you couldn’t zoom in on it. Not that I would have-that would’ve been creepy. Still, I thought he looked pretty cute in his dime-sized picture.

             When he texted to tell me the store was out of the requested product: always ultra-thin regular pads and would I like him to substitute the kotex brand instead, well, let’s just say I deeply regretted my decision to broadcast my menstrual cycle via my Shipt shopping cart. Can you blame me for sending a follow-up text asking him what the weirdest thing he’d ever had to buy for someone was? I was trying to distract him from the fact that he was buying me feminine products. When you’re 18, you don’t want a cute boy picking out substitutes for your out of stock sanitary napkins, asking if you’d prefer the ones with wings or without. Um, awkward!

             His answer was so funny though. He said he one time had a guy make a special request for him to buy him a goldfish. Like from the aquarium section at Meijer. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the type of goldfish the guy had asked for, so Ryan S. asked if he wanted him to sub a different fish. The guy said, “Sure, go ahead and grab me a bag of the regular cheddar.”

             That wasn’t even the funniest part though. He’d also ordered a fish tank, so Ryan S. asked if he still wanted that, given that he wasn’t getting a fish, and the guy said, “Yes, of course.” To this day Ryan S. says he wonders if the guy put those goldfish crackers in the tank.

             That was the first of our non-grocery related text threads. When he was my shopper again the next week, I wondered if he was picking up my orders on purpose. Why would he though? It wasn’t as if he knew anything about me other than my name-Gia. And okay, I guess Gia does sound like a young name. He probably didn’t think he was texting an 80-year-old woman, but still.

             Ironically, I do live with an 80-year-old woman. My grandma. My dad and I moved in with her to help take care of her during the pandemic.  We’ve been pretty isolated here thanks to lockdown. It’s a bit like we’re Miranda and Prospero, alone on an island with only my grandma’s crotchety but lovable spirit as company.

             We decided to start using Shipt because my grandma has like five of the risk factors for COVID, so we figured there was no need for me to go grocery shopping if someone could do it for us. My dad is always pretty busy with work, so he put me in charge of the whole online grocery shopping thing.  

             Now it’s the end of June, and although the governor has lifted lockdown, my dad is still busy working from home, and my grandma is still eighty with health conditions, so we’re still getting our groceries delivered, most of the time by Ryan S.  

             Every Tuesday night I place our order, and every Wednesday morning I check the app to see if he’s picked up our order again. It’s pathetic I know, to like someone you’ve never met, someone you’re paying to do a service for you. What can I say? Quarantine life is pretty lonely. Anyways, if you ask me, the whole thing has a sort of Shakespearean flavor to it. The two of us, falling in love over a series of letters…well texts, but same difference these days.

             On this particular Wednesday, I’ve been staring at my phone waiting for someone to claim my order. So far, no luck. Where is Ryan S? It’s fifteen minutes to five, and my order is supposed to be delivered between five and six. At this rate it’s going to be delayed.

             A noise outside my window draws my attention and I look out to see a group of guys in my neighbors’ backyard throwing a football. My eyes zoom in on one in particular. I don’t think I’ve seen him before. He’s tall with shaggy blonde hair. Actually, now that I think about it, his shaggy blonde hair looks familiar.

             Okay, this is the part of the story where I admit something. I may have spied on Ryan S. while he delivered our groceries. I know that sounds bad, but whatever, I just wanted to see what he looked like, even if he was wearing a mask that covered most of his face. It’s not stalking when the person is on your property.

             Anyways, Ryan S. couldn’t possibly be the guy in my neighbor’s backyard. My neighbor, Dylan Kent, he’s kind of a big deal at our school. Captain of the football team, next year’s senior class president, the usual stuff that marks you as Mr. Popular. I don’t know anyone at school named Ryan S. and if you’re cool enough to hang out with Dylan Kent, then I’d know your name.

             Still, the fact remains, that not only do this guy, whoever he is, and my Ryan S. have the same hair, but my Ryan S. is also conspicuously absent from my Shipt app.

             My phone dings with a message from Shipt headquarters. As I suspected, my order has been delayed. My heart sinks. No Ryan S. text messages today. I have got to get a life.

             My order arrives during the next time slot, delivered by some woman named Moira P. None of her texts are funny. I end up texting my best friend Renni instead. I haven’t told her about Ryan S. It’s too embarrassing. So, we just text back and forth about what’s happening on this season of Riverdale.

             The next Wednesday I’m relieved to see Ryan S.’s name pop up as the person who’s claimed my order. I wonder if he’ll say anything about missing the week before, but he doesn’t. Just texts about my order. All business. What’s going on? I want to text. Why aren’t you being your usual self. This though, would be crossing the invisible boundary we’ve set up.

             Yes, we exchange silly, flirty texts every week about my grocery needs, but we never acknowledge the fact that I’m a repeat customer. Never discuss how, in a weird way, we’ve sort of been getting to know each other.

             When he drops off my order, I don’t look out the window. I just submit his tip on the app as usual, then unpack the groceries.

             When Renni texts me that night, I end up breaking down and telling her about my Shipt romance. She thinks it’s hilarious, and, in a very Frenchy and Rizzo way, demands I tell her more, tell her more.

             Renni is my best friend, but she’s also friends with Dylan Kent. Me, not so much. I’m too artsy for him. I act in plays, he runs football plays. He’s not mean to me or anything, but we’re not friends. I want to ask her if she’s heard anything about a new guy in Dylan’s crew, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

             Renni suggests that next Wednesday I accidentally end up outside when Ryan S. comes to deliver the groceries. That way he’ll get a glimpse of me and fall in love. She instructs me not to wear one of my weirdo outfits though. By this she means the retro clothes I like. Fifties dresses are really cute, but most of my peers just wear jeans.

             The rest of the week, I play around with Renni’s idea in my head. Because of my grandma, I’ve had to be extra careful. A lot of my friends are seeing each other, but my dad doesn’t want me bringing germs home, so when I see friends it’s always from six feet away. If I were to, as Renni put it, accidentally end up outside, I’d have to awkwardly make sure I was six feet away from him. That’s the stuff of romance right there. Oh, let me air kiss you, and imagine the sound of your heart beating against mine!

              Wednesday arrives. I have knots in my stomach all day. I stand in front of my mirror and try on various outfits, eventually putting on my only pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. I don’t want him to think I’ve gone to any extra effort. I do at least blow out my hair, but that’s it. Fine, I put a light layer of make-up on too. If Moira P. claims my order I am so going to switch to Instacart.

             As I anxiously wait for someone to claim my order, I tell myself that I’m not insane. Eighteen-year-olds are meant to have crushes. For decades girls my age have ordered pizzas just to giggle and gawk at the pizza delivery boys. What I’m doing is basically the same thing, just quarantine style.

             I’m pacing my room when I see his name pop up on my screen. Ryan S. has claimed my order! Now I just have to act normal via text, then find something to do outside. I’m not much of an outdoors person, but I could probably, err, water something.

             His “I’m about to begin shopping your order” text arrives, but I don’t respond. I’m too keyed up. Plus, he was so formal last time. If he wants to be cute and flirty again, he’ll have to initiate it, because my flirty nature is currently out of stock.

             “The store is out of the requested product: beano tablets, would you like me to substitute with beanassist?”

             His text sends tremor of panic through me. Beano tablets! I so DID NOT order beano tablets! Did my dad or grandma somehow add them to my cart without me knowing? How completely mortify-

             “Oh wait, sorry. Wrong order.” His text arrives before I can formulate a reply and I breathe out in relief. I feel slightly indignant though. He’s shopping someone else’s order at the same time as he’s shopping mine! It’s like he’s Shipt cheating on me.

             “Um, no worries.” I type back, heart beating fast. “I definitely don’t need beano.” I add for good measure. Boys, gas, and romance do not mix.

             “Sorry ma’am.” He replies quickly. Ma’am? What’s that about? I toss my phone back on my bed. He’s being so weird.

             The rest of my order must be fine, because I don’t get another text from him until half-an-hour later, when he texts to say my order is complete and he’s on his way. This is it. It’s go time. At the last minute I grab my headphones, figuring I can pretend to be occupied with music when he arrives.

             Outside I don’t know what to do with myself, so I end up getting out the only gardening tool we own, a tiny shovel. I kneel in the mulched area and pretend to dig around.

             I hear his car pull into our driveway, but don’t turn around. The car door slams and his footsteps crunch across the grass, coming to an abrupt halt behind me.

             “Oh hey,” I hear his surprised voice and slowly turn around, pulling my decoy headphones out of my ear.

             “Hi,” mercifully my voice doesn’t squeak, even though my heart has sped up at the sight of him. Ryan S! Here on my lawn. He’s just as cute as I thought he’d be based on his profile picture (okay, and my window spying). My throat dries as I take him in and realize with certainty that he’s definitely the guy I saw in Dylan Kent’s backyard a few weeks ago.

             “Sorry to interrupt your work,” he says. I like the timbre of his voice. It’s got a musical quality, like he could just burst into song at any moment. “I was just dropping off their grocery order.” He gestures to my house as I register his use of the word ‘their’ instead of ‘your’. He must not realize that I’m Gia.

             “No problem” I tell him quickly, my brain scrambling to figure out how to play this. “You didn’t interrupt anything, I just wanted to get out of my house for a bit.” Now I gesture to the house.

             “You live here?” His brow furrows in confusion. “But-” his eyes drift over to Dylan’s house and back. “I, uh, thought an elderly woman lived here,” he adds lamely.

             Hope spurts inside me. He thought I was an elderly woman, could that be the cause of the weirdness these last two weeks? “My grandma lives here,” I tell him. “With my dad and I.”

             “You live here too?” He arches an eyebrow and I nod. “That explains the pads, then,” he says, and just like that the tension inside me dissolves and I’m laughing. Then he’s laughing too and his mask slips down and, oh, his smile is electric.

             “Who told you an elderly woman lived here?” I ask, even though I’m sure it was Dylan Kent. He may not like the theater, but he certainly has a Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream quality to him.

             “Dylan,” he says, pointing next door. “I just moved to this neighborhood back in March and I met him at the park a few weeks ago.”

             “You live in this neighborhood?”

             “Just over on the next block,” he nods. “That’s why I kept picking up your orders,” he adds. “I could do your order, then head straight home for dinner.”

             “Oh,” something inside me deflates at this. He took my orders because of location, not attraction.

             “Well, that was why at the beginning,” he amends. “But then we started texting more and you were so funny.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You became my favorite customer.”

             He hasn’t pulled his mask back up, and I notice he has a dimple on just one side. Dreamy.

             “Oh really?” I try to sound aloof, like I don’t care either way, but I fail, my voice comes out excited and I can’t keep a smile off my face.

             “Really,” he smiles back and we stand that way for a minute, just staring nervously at each other.

             “I’m glad you’re not an old lady Gia,” he tells me.

             “Me too, Ryan S.” I reply.

             “My friends just call me Ryan,” he says, and I giggle. Ryan takes a step towards me, but instinctively I back up. A shadow crosses his face.

             “Sorry,” I say quickly. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come closer, it’s just.” I gesture to my house. “I live with my grandma. I have to do the six feet thing.” I look down, feeling stupid. “Pandemics are the worst,” I mutter. I eye him, hoping I haven’t totally scared him off.

             “I probably shouldn’t kiss a customer anyways,” he tells me and I bite my lip to keep my smile from exploding at the word kiss. Ryan seems to hesitate, but then pulls a phone from his pocket. I watch, brow furrowed in confusion. A minute later my own phone buzzes. I pull it out and see a text from a number I don’t recognize. I open it and a thrill runs through me. It’s him! He’s texted me from his private phone!

             The message is a meme, Leonardo DiCaprio as Romeo, kissing Claire Danes as Juliet. He’s captioned it: “Thus with a kiss I die.”

             A gurgle of laughter escapes me and I hurry to text back a meme of my own. A picture of Rosalind and Orlando from As You Like It, the scene where Orlando realizes the shepherd boy was in fact Rosalind, just as Ryan S. has realized I am not an eighty-year-old woman. I hope he’ll get the reference. Given he just texted me a Romeo and Juliet meme, I'm guessing he’ll get the reference. He grins when he reads my text.

             “Rosalind,” he says and he blows me a kiss.

             “Orlando,” I reply as I catch his kiss.

             I told you our romance was Shakespearean.