Claims he’s staying in hostels, but the credit card bills!” She rolled her eyes, glanced appraisingly at my cart. “Kitty’s living with a terrible boyfriend she’ll probably marry. (“Mom, they’re so spoiled,” my daughter had complained, and I smugly refrained from telling her this pleased me.) Then she asked about my daughter, my son, the grandchild who was now three.įor my part, I asked dutifully after the twins, who for one long summer had lived with my daughter, their much older sister, because Delia and my husband didn’t know what else to do with them. My hair was short, but it had been for a long time.
“You changed your hair!” she said, alarmed. But even though we were older now (some might say actually old) and our children were graduating from college and having their own kids, even though the man who had been our husband was now married to someone else and living in Texas, I still felt awkward to face her like this: my cart filled with nothing but ice cream, potato chips, and cheap rosé. Years ago, before I was married, she was just my neighbor. I considered the best way to escape unnoticed, but then she turned and caught me in the blaze of her smile.ĭelia always had a great smile: shimmering, inclusive. As she leaned toward the bulk bins, the fabric grazed the floor. She wore a signature dress: long, almost transparent. At first she didn’t see me as she scooped organic walnuts into a paper bag.
Her gray-black hair was piled attractively on her head, in the style she had favored before marrying my husband. Kenyon Review Award for Literary Achievementĭelia looked the same.Developmental Editing Fellowship for Emerging Writers.The Patricia Grodd Poetry Prize for Young Writers.
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