And if it had been up to me, this might’ve dissolved into some tearful exchange where we discussed the purpose of life or whatever.

But instead Autumn throws her arms around us both. “Aww, the love in this place is fucking humid. I love it.”

And we group-hug like nobody’s business.

And we make it our business to group-hug.

Ten minutes later Ms. Barrantes bursts into the room holding a brown paper bag with grease ovals on either side, like armpit stains.

“Someone order pad kee mao?”

And I guess Whit hears our enthusiastic affirmation in our adjacent room because she’s knocking at the door a minute later, looking less tired but more hungry.

“Angeles sends his love,” Whit says, taking a seat in the desk chair.

Q smiles. “Is there a better guy than that dude?”

“No way,” Whit says, slightly swiveling her chair toward Q, then to me. “But I can think of a couple guys who are just as good.”

And we pass the containers around, dishing noodles and chicken and crispy duck and lots and lots of veggies, and it’s nice. To not be planning anything for a few minutes.

To be quiet.

To let things settle where they fall.

15

EMILIO HAS ARRIVED.

I get a notification our car’s in front of the hotel.

Turns out Later Tonight is taped at one in the afternoon, go figure.

“You got the tickets, right,” Whit asks me not for the first time since we’ve gotten into the car.

“I got them. Sheesh. A little trust maybe?”

Q goes on another one of his coughing jags, but then finally manages a big laugh, which I feel all of, each laughter vibration, because we’re squished together in the back seat, he, Ms. Barrantes, Autumn, and me. My pregnant sister nice and comfy in the front passenger seat.

And sometimes this is how life works. You’re in a car with people you love, you’re happy, you’re singing—you can’t imagine anything different. You’ll never run out of gas. All your favorite songs will play one after another. You’re smiling, waving at the cars you pass and the cars that pass you. You don’t know if the sun is truly shining or if it’s just the way you feel inside. Either way, you’re warm. You’re full.

We get to the studio where they film Later Tonight and there’s a door marked Studio Audience Guests Enter Here.

“That’s us,” I say, holding open the door for everyone.

Autumn claps her hands together. “I’m getting excited.”

“Me too,” Q says. “Not gonna lie, this is pretty cool.”

“Just everybody stick to the plan.”

We all nod our agreement.

“Should we huddle up and do that thing where we each put a hand in the middle and then in unison say something semi-inspirational before throwing our respective hands in the air?” I ask.