She's feeling up fruit at the supermarket. That's probably not what you're supposed to call it- she's testing it to make sure it's worth feeding to- to herself. Melissa is examining the fruit, trying to identify which ones are good apples and which ones are bad. They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but so far her son doesn't seem like a lying, cheating drunk.
It's not that she's mad (she's really fucking mad)- it's not just that she's mad. It's one thing, that Rafe put their son in the hospital for a week. It's another thing that he came home with alcohol on his breath, refusing to take no for an answer some nights. It's yet another thing, that she found lipstick stains all over his clothes in shades she would never wear (she's not going to say they're slutty colors, that's immature and she's supposed to be a mom now, which means all the immature instincts go into a box labeled 'Happy 18th Birthday').
Anyway, she's not just mad. She's sad. She's sad, because she really thought this was something special. She thought she'd wring five or so decades out of him and they would be happy, right, that's not too much to have expected. She thought she'd get to have a family, not whatever this is. Scott is with his father, and that means- that means she's feeling up- inspecting- fruit at the supermarket.
Melissa doesn't know what she's doing. She'd like to call up her mom and ask her for advice, but her mom would start in on the complaints about Rafe and this time, she wouldn't even be able to defend against them. So instead...she stands there, like an idiot, trying to figure out what to do with these apples.