The corner shop was a riot of color and cellophane. Rose's eyes, sharp and analytical,
scanned the shelves of snacks with the precision of a spy mapping enemy territory.
Every crinkle of a chip bag, every glint of light off a candy wrapper, was a detail to be
f
iled away.
"New to the neighborhood or new to the town?"
The voice, thick with a syrupy Newfoundland accent and brimming with undisguised
curiosity, cut through her concentration. Rose startled, her carefully constructed
composure momentarily cracking. She turned to see the shopkeeper, a woman in her
f
ifties with eyes that had seen everything and a mouth eager to report on it, leaning
over the counter.
Rose adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, a small, grounding gesture. "New
to both," she replied, her voice even.
A wide, welcoming smile spread across the shopkeeper's face. She wiped her hand on
her apron and extended it over the counter. "I'm Ellen. I know everything about this
neighborhood," she declared, her grip firm and lingering. "You want chips or secrets?"
Rose took the hand, feeling the surprising strength in it. "I'm Rose," she said, a small
smile playing on her own lips. "I'll take the chips…" She paused, letting the handshake
hang in the air between them, a silent negotiation. Their hands were still locked.
"…and the secrets as well. What's the juiciest?"
Ellen let out a delighted giggle, and Rose chuckled in return. The deal was struck.
"What's your house number?" Ellen asked, her eyes gleaming.
"Umm… Flat no: 3-7, the one to the left of the garden."
Ellen's eyes unfocused for a moment as if accessing a vast, internal database of
neighborhood gossip. A look of recognition dawned. "Ah, that one. The woman who
lives ahead of you, her daughter," she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial
whisper, "she is a slut."
Rose coughed, taken aback by the casual cruelty of the word, especially in a first
meeting. Ellen, however, was just getting warmed up, completely oblivious to Rose's
reaction.
"She's fourteen and she's dated multiple guys over eighteen. Such a slut," Ellen
continued, shaking her head with a performative sadness that didn't quite reach her
eyes. "I still feel bad for her mom, she's a single mother and her daughter turned out
to be a slut."
Rose offered a nervous giggle, unsure how else to respond.
"One unwanted pregnancy and the loan will increase," Ellen added with a sigh.
This, however, caught Rose's attention. "Oh. She's a struggler?"
"Hmm," Ellen confirmed, finally turning to grab the bag of chips Rose had pointed to
earlier. She slid them across the counter. "Where are you from?"
Rose took the bag, her mind still processing the torrent of information. "Boston," she
said, then added, almost as an afterthought, "but I graduated from Harvard."
Ellen froze mid-motion, her hand hovering over the cash register. She stared at Rose
as if she'd just announced she was the Queen of England.
"Girl! You graduated from Harvard??" she shrieked, her excitement boiling over. "Oh
my god!" She leaned so far over the counter she nearly knocked over a display of
lollipops. "Are you single? My nephew's single as well and he has a van."
Rose chuckled, the absurdity of the conversation washing over her. "Yup, I'm single,"
she confirmed, "but not ready to mingle." She gave Ellen a playful wink and slid a
dollar bill across the counter for the snacks.
Ellen sighed, the picture of theatrical disappointment, as she took the money.