Free The Hazards of Sleeping Alone by Elise Juska Page A

moment, Charlotte lays her hand against her daughter’scheek, then lets it fall away. “So,” she says. “What does Walter like to eat?”
    The upside of guests, even unwanted guests, is the busywork. While going to the Super Fresh to stock up on Walter’s favorite foods is not exactly how Charlotte pictured her first—and now, only—full day with Emily, it’s better than staying home feeling resentful. It’s an activity, a job to do, a way of spending time together. Still, as Charlotte drives by the shiny Bed, Bath and Beyond presiding over the Millville Mall, she can’t help but feel a pang of regret, picturing the soap dishes and can openers she wanted to buy Emily as housewarming gifts.
    In the supermarket, Emily steers. Charlotte walks beside her. It’s the same way they used to navigate grocery stores when Emily was a little girl. Emily always liked to control the cart, which left Charlotte free to squeeze produce and compare prices. Today, threading through the aisles, Charlotte maintains an orderly running dialogue about Walter’s food and drink preferences: soda (root beer),breakfast cereal (Apple Jacks),snack food (cheese popcorn),juice (apple),bread(rye).
    â€œYou talk like he’s staying for a month.” Emily laughs.
    Despite the purpose of their trip, it’s fun shopping with Emily. Charlotte can’t remember the last time they roamed a supermarket together, especially since Emily’s diet became too complicated for mainstream stores. In high school, Charlotte used to give her money and send her off to Parkway Health Food, from which Emily would return home to stuff the refrigerator with soy, tofu, tabouli, tempeh.
    â€œI’m assuming Walter’s a vegetarian,” Charlotte says, as they pull to a stop in front of Meats & Seafood. Above the glass cases, the wall is swimming with a mural of blue fish thatbears a disconcerting resemblance to Charlotte’s bathroom tile.
    â€œNope.”
    â€œNope?” She is shocked. She can’t imagine Emily could eat with, much less fall in love with, a meat eater. “Really?”
    â€œI’ve tried to talk him out of it, believe me.”
    This part doesn’t surprise Charlotte, having been on the receiving end of a countless number of Emily’s boycott campaigns. Plastic. Leather. Cleaning products tested on rats. She knows how relentless Emily can be and can’t help but feel a hint of warmth toward Carnivore Walter, simply for his refusal to bend.
    Back at The Heights—this is what Emily has taken to calling it, like a prime-time TV drama—they are heading toward L1, grocery bags clutched to their hips, when Charlotte hears: “Well, hello there!”
    It is her neighbor, Ruth O’Keefe, a widow who lives alone with her cat and never stops talking. The day Charlotte moved in, she stopped by to “say a quick hello,” and an hour later Charlotte had said less than ten words and was holding a bundt cake topped with a nonpareil smile.
    â€œHello, Ruth,” Charlotte says, not breaking stride.
    â€œGross,” Emily mutters. “What is that thing?”
    She is referring to Ernie, a fat golden cat resembling a butterball turkey, straining awkwardly from a leash as Ruth hurries toward them.
    â€œSeriously,” Emily says. “Is that a—”
    â€œHello!” Ruth descends, yanking Ernie to a stop. She looks expectantly at Emily. “I’m Ruth!”
    â€œRuth,” Charlotte says, “this is my—”
    â€œEmily,” Emily says. “Nice to meet you.”
    â€œShe’s my daughter,” Charlotte adds.
    â€œOh! How fun! A mother-daughter visit! Emily, this is Ernie. Ernie, say hi to our new friend.”
    Emily raises her eyebrows at Charlotte.
    â€œCome on, Ern, don’t be shy,” Ruth says. When the cat still doesn’t speak, she shakes her head in genuine confusion. “I don’t