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“You come here often?” I asked. That sounded better in my head.

He turned and broke into a grin, “If it isn’t my workout buddy. What’re you doing here?”

“They have food here, don’t they?” I said, trying for humor. “I thought I should get some before we all faded away.”

“Funny,” he said.

“I didn’t know you shopped here. Do you live in the neighborhood?” I asked.

“No, I’ve never been to this market. I usually just buy food at Seven-Eleven.” He pulled two boxes of crackers off the shelf. Did he notice that I looked good today, no workout clothes? I had on a scoop-neck T-shirt, a short skirt, tights, boots, and makeup that wasn’t smeared.

“Have you been to the gym this week? I’ve barely had time to get there.” I hoped he couldn’t tell I was lying.

“No,” he said. “My mom fell last weekend and hurt her hip, so I’ve been staying with her. Today’s the first day I could get away.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I haven’t worked out at all. Can’t you tell from my bloated stomach?” he said, pulling his shirt up a little and patting his perfectly chiseled abs.

I wanted to reach out and touch them, but that would’ve been weird. I told him that when my dad started falling a lot was when we had to move him to assisted living. I grabbed the Oreos and then realized I needed oyster crackers also, but since they were directly behind him, I was worried that I’d graze his waist if I went for them. I couldn’t get my mind off touching some part of him, which made me flustered. Finally, I struggled to reach the oyster crackers.

“Here, let me get those,” he said. He looked inside my cart. “That’s a lot of food.”

I had only about half of what I came in for. I was embarrassed that there were only three of us at home. How did we eat so much? When Gia left, I’d never have to go to the market; I got sad just thinking about it. Then again, not having to cook every night would be a bright spot. “I’m almost done,” I said, not copping to how much was still on my list.

We continued down the aisle, me pushing my cart, him holding his basket. “I need peanut butter and tomato sauce,” he said.

“Peanut butter is on aisle four and tomato sauce on aisle six.”

“You’re a regular directory. Do you mind if I tag along with you?”

Did I mind? I became Cinderella, and he had asked me to the ball. “Of course not,” I said. He held eye contact with me so long that I averted my gaze and wondered what he was thinking.

We moved to the next aisle. Oh God, tampons were next on my list. There was no way I was buying them with Michael here. Jim had witnessed an eight-pound baby come out of me, and I still didn’t like buying them in front of him. Great, now I was going to have to make an extra stop at the drug store. I walked through the feminine hygiene section and turned the corner to where the peanut butter was. Michael assessed every brand on the shelf. “Seven-Eleven doesn’t have this many choices,” he said.

I rifled through my purse and pulled out a two-for-one coupon. “Will this help?” I asked.

He looked at me as if I’d given him a Ferrari. “Cool. I can give one to my mom.” He dropped two peanut butters in his basket. “You sure you don’t need this?” He held out the coupon.

“No, I’m good.”

As we started down the aisle, he stopped to let a woman and her young son pass. We turned the corner into the frozen foods, and he looked at all the choices for frozen spinach. I handed him another coupon. Jim and Gia hated spinach, so I wasn’t going to use it anyway.

“You don’t need your coupons. It must be nice to be rich,” he said as he opened the door of the freezer section to get the spinach.

I couldn’t tell if he was being facetious, but I was still offended. “I’m not rich,” I said.

“You volunteer. Obviously you can live on one salary.”

“The only reason I don’t work outside the house anymore is I’m taking care of my daughter.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” he said, taken aback.

“Then how did you mean it?” I was more upset than I should’ve been. I worked hard; it shouldn’t matter if I got paid for all the stuff I did. I considered taking back my coupons. “I hate when someone comments on my life when they don’t know anything about it,” I said.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. People do that to me all the time when they hear I work freelance.” He was contrite.

“No, I’m sorry,” I said. “When someone brings up my not working, it pushes my buttons. I feel guilty that I haven’t gone back to work since Gia got older, and when I told my husband that I might consider it, he was kind of negative.”