It was such a perfect evening that it seemed almost impossible that we could have experienced such a traumatic day. Slight wind. The sun had set into a brilliant orange sky. The chatter of normal people milling about.

“You know who I really pity?” I asked, looking at Matthew. “Poor Roy. What do you think will become of him?” He and Janet had fought over the last pastrami sandwich, leading Janet to call him “good-for-nothing.” Instead of retaliating—or more appropriate, walking away—he started swaying and crying.

Matthew had removed him from the living room, taken him outside, and listened to the horrors of his life and “that bitch,” who could have been Janet, the judge, or his abusive wife.

“I don’t know, but it can’t be any worse than Janet,” Matthew replied. “That woman, I understand why you feel bad for her, but she sure can be mean, and she’s going to die all alone.” Speaking of dying alone—Bob’s shivah had involved (1) a résumé reading, (2) allegations of absenteeism, and (3) a clogged toilet.

“Sheila, um, not to add any more drama to a very dramatic day, but I just wanted you to know that I talked to the folks at Goodman,” he said nervously. Goodman was the law firm in Los Angeles where Matthew would be starting in three weeks. “And they said they’d have no problem letting me start in the New York office. You know, with all the litigation out here right now, they said it might even be preferable. Spitzer really did a number on that town.”

I sat, staring at him, heart pounding, imploring him to continue.

“Um, the only reason I’m bringing this up right now is that I obviously would have to take the New York bar in that case and the deadline to sign up for the October test is next week and—”

I leaned forward and planted one on him. If the dude was willing to take another bar exam for me, he was clearly committed. We made out for what felt like seconds but must have been much longer. When we pulled away, a half dozen Maggie clones had gathered around us and were clapping, jumping, and screaming, “Gross! Gross!” They had a lot to learn about gross.

My cell phone started ringing. It was the judge. We’d totally forgotten about the post-shivah conference. As far as I was concerned, the two of us owed the judge nothing more for the day. Or forever, to be more exact. But today wasn’t the day to stand her up.

“Hey, Judge, we’re on the way,” I offered. Silence. Heavy breathing.