Two days after the gallery disaster, I need milk.
It's such a mundane thing. So ordinary. But Maribel's out of milk and I'm staying at her apartment, eating her food, disrupting her life. The least I can do is grocery shopping.
I haven't been to a regular grocery store in years. Julian had everything delivered. Organic, expensive, ordered by our housekeeper. I'd forgotten what it's like to push a cart down fluorescent-lit aisles, making choices about which brand of cereal to buy.
It feels strangely liberating.
I'm in the dairy section, reaching for milk, when I hear it. A child's laugh. High and clear and full of joy.
I turn without thinking.
And there she is.
A little girl, maybe seven, with dark curls pulled into two messy ponytails. She's wearing a purple jacket and light-up snea
