Yesterday in therapy, Dr. Ocean suggested that when I miss you so bad it hurts, I should write to you. Which, to be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about this. It’s weird, but man, Q, I really wish you were here right now. So here I am.

And I won’t lie to you. Since you left, there are days when I really struggle. When I want to do nothing more than stay in bed for the rest of my life, cocooned in a thousand blankets.

I can’t tell you how many times a funny thought crosses my mind and I reach for my phone to call you. Every now and then, I do call you—just to hear you say Wait, are you really contemplating leaving me a voice mail? Listen to me. Texting is your friend.

Sometimes I scroll through our text chain and just crack up—I did this yesterday while waiting for Dr. Ocean to finish up with a patient, and the receptionist glared at me like I just cut her off in traffic, which I blame you for.

But mainly, I see this as a true testament to your gift.

You’re so funny, I read your jokes and laugh my ass off.

I guess your jokes are kinda timeless. But don’t get a big head or anything, okay? I’m still funnier. Ha!

Speaking of funny, Jada is hilarious. Like, she makes these faces where her entire face scrunches and her little mouth turns up in this awesome smirk. Whit says she’s just gassy, but Angeles and I disagree. She’s sassy, and we love it. Also, I’ve pretty much realized I’m never gonna be able to say no to her, so cool, cool.

Your mom is doing okay. A few times a week, we eat dinner together. She’s teaching me to cook! Last week, we made enchiladas. And okay, mine tasted a little weird but still! I want you to know I’m going to live up to my promise. She’s in good hands, don’t worry.

Okay, well, Autumn just got here. I hear her downstairs laughing. She’s actually using the front door these days, haha. I guess, eventually everything changes.

That’s it for now.

I love you, Q.

Sincerely your favorite co-host,

Jamal

I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. Whit’s standing at the island, an empty blender box on the counter, next to what is apparently a new blender. She looks up at me and smiles. “Hey, have a good nap? I didn’t wake you up with the noise, did I?”

“Your sister’s making her own baby food now,” Angeles says, bouncing Jada on his knee. “And we get to be her taste testers for her very first batch. Yay.”