“What you need is a nice long shower. No offense.” His eyes skim over my rat’s nest of a hairdo. It is greasy and tangled and so oily it is actually heavy on my skull.

“None taken.” I shrug. “I might muster a little more energy if I have a stiff drink.”

Joe closes the fridge. He leans a hip against it, folding his arms over his chest. “Let’s cut a deal.”

I look at him expectantly.

“I’ll give you alcohol if you have a shower.”

I realize I’m wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that haven’t been washed in a month. I probably smell. I still brush my teeth regularly, but my body hasn’t met a deodorant or body lotion in three weeks. And, in what I think is an encouraging sign, I finally have the awareness to feel embarrassed about it.

“You mean with soap and everything?” I pout, trying to lighten up the mood.

“And everything,” Joe confirms. “You’re lucky my shampoo also moonlights as a conditioner, body wash, and a shower microphone. It’s about to become your best friend.”

“Ugh. Boys have such a basic hygiene routine.”

“With all due respect, now’s not the time to pass judgment, kiddo.”

I feel a smile curling over my face. He stares at me, waiting for confirmation that I’ll do it. That I’ll have a shower. I roll my eyes. “Fine. But no peeking.”

“Scout’s honor.” He reaches for one of his kitchen cabinets and takes out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. “Now let’s get fucking smashed.”

We take the first shot in the kitchen. It burns through my throat. The second and third one run smoother. Joe grabs the tequila bottle by the neck and walks over to the balcony. I follow. We sit on two plastic chairs with a round table between us, watching the busy night street as winter morphs into spring. The trees don’t look so naked anymore. I can’t believe Dom won’t be here for the cherry blossoms. For the ice cream on the beach. For Cape Cod vacations. Which reminds me . . .

“I hope you took the ship,” I tell Joe. “The one I got Dom from the inn. I know how much you two liked it.”

“I find it hard to want anything Dom had these days.” Joe lights himself a cigarette, and I wonder if he includes me in Dom’s belongings, before reminding myself that it shouldn’t matter. “And don’t feel entitled to any of it. Losing him after everything we’ve been through seems . . . extra cruel.”