Nonfiction

Here’s the story: I met my boyfriend in a park in Chicago. I’d like to tell you that we met by chance, swimming in the lake, or through mutual friends, or at a bar. We didn’t.

I dreamed of tracing my fingers over the ridged edges of buttery Ritz crackers, of piling the neon yellow cheese and soft pink bologna into never-ending towers….

The day before Robert died was an otherwise perfect June day in Connecticut: warm but not hot, with a bit of a breeze, flawless blue sky, puffy white clouds….