CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND SOUVENIRS

The gift shop was cramped, its narrow aisles packed with trinkets, postcards, and novelty items branded with the town’s name. A sluggish stream of tourists drifted through, idly flipping through T-shirts, picking up keychains, and debating whether overpriced snow globes were worth the splurge.

Contessa stood in the middle of it all, unmoving.

Maggie, on the other hand, was already rifling through a display of magnets. “Alright, you’ve never done this before, so here’s the deal: when you visit a place, you bring something back. It’s tradition.”

Contessa’s gaze swept across the cluttered shelves. “For what purpose?”

Maggie held up a shot glass decorated with a cartoon sun wearing sunglasses. “To remember the trip.”

“I already remember it.”

Maggie sighed and set the shot glass down. “It’s not about memory. It’s about having a piece of the experience. A reminder.” She plucked a seashell bracelet from a hook and let it dangle from her finger. “You see this on a shelf in a few years, and you think, ‘Oh yeah, that trip. That was fun.’”

Contessa looked over the merchandise again. Plastic figurines. Pens with miniature palm trees. A rack of gaudy, overpriced tote bags. Nearby, a child begged for a plush dolphin. A woman smiled quietly as she slipped a postcard into her basket.

Contessa picked up a magnet shaped like a crab, its cartoonishly large eyes bulging. “This is a meaningless object.”

Maggie grinned. “It sticks to your fridge.”

“I do not require a crab on my fridge.”

“No one does. That’s not the point.” Maggie grabbed another magnet—a tiny bottle filled with sand. “Come on. Pick something.”

Contessa hesitated. The crab stared back.

When they left the store, her bag was just a little heavier. And later, when she returned home, a single red magnet found its place on her fridge.