Q gives me a look like I just asked him for a back rub. “Arsenio. Hall,” he says with emphasis.

“Ohhhhh, see, I didn’t get it the first time, but then you said it louder, and it clicked. Thanks.”

We crack up.

“The guy in the club scene of Coming to America who wasn’t Eddie Murphy.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“He used to host a late-night show. Every star came on his show. Everyone loved that dude. Look him up. He’s like the perfect balance of humor and charm. Like, he’s not only the guy who invited you over, but he’s also the guy who makes you feel like he’s been waiting for you. He’s dope.”

“I’ll check him out.”

“Yep. Respect your black history.” He takes a sip of his drink. “How ’bout you? If you could do anything you wanted over the next few weeks, what would you do?”

I look away. “I’m already doing it.”

“Booo. That’s weak, man,” he says, laughing. “What, is this the part where you tell me I only have weeks to live and I’m stuck spending them with you?”

“Would that be so bad?” I attempt to ask casually, except I must make a face because Q shakes his head.

“Wow, why do you look like I just stole your puppy? I’m only playing with you, man. Of course you’d want to spend your last days on the planet with me. Duh.”

And for a moment I wonder if somehow Q knows everything. Like, the truth is locked away in his subconscious, except every now and then it manages to sneak a message out.

“Earth to Jamal.” Q stares at me. “You okay, man?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure what I’d want to do, honestly. I’m not like you. I don’t have it all figured out yet.”

“I don’t have it all figured out, either.”

“You’re way ahead of me. All I know is I don’t want to end up living in my sister’s basement.”

Q laughs. “Well, you’ve got time to figure it out.”

That four-letter word again: TIME.

“And don’t worry,” Q adds, winking. “Even if you are camping in Whit’s basement, you’re definitely gonna be a guest on the show.”

“Cool, I’ll come on and tell embarrassing stories about you.”

We laugh, bump fists, but two quick taps this time, the way we always have.

And then Autumn’s back from her restroom sabbatical, and then it’s Mission Mayhem, Cobra Cobra, those teeny-tiny ice cream beads, and my aforementioned all-time fave park amusement, FUNNEL CAKE, powdered absolutely, but hard pass on all that fruit compote crap.

“You shoulda got it. I woulda ate it. I love strawberries.”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

Autumn also disagrees. “Not even on the side?”