A Love Not Bound by Time or Space
AURELIO, THE YOUNG MAN behind the counter, greeted me cheerfully. Throughout my pregnancy he’d been scooping me up mountains of pasta salad, piles of orzo, buckets of teriyaki chicken wings, never commenting on my voracious appetite and ever-changing cravings.
He glanced down at my now-flat belly, then at the empty top basket of my shopping cart. “How’s your baby?” he asked with a big grin.
I stared at him. This was the first time I’d gotten this question, which I would get countless times again. I couldn’t think of anything polite to say. “She’s dead.”
We stared at each other for a moment.
“She died,” I said again, and burst into tears. I walked away, leaving the cart where it was, the groceries still in it. I drove home, crying.
My husband ordered Chinese takeout for dinner.
Two days later, I went back to the store. I went to the counter. Aurelio eyed me
