Our motel the second night had two twin beds, which was the beginning of a pattern. It was a toss-up, in every one, as to whether we’d get one bed or two. We hadn’t fucked on the trip, and I didn’t expect we would, but when there was just the one bed we slept in it together. Harry said that she’d forgotten to call the places that didn’t have an option when you booked online. I wasn’t sure if the hotels where she got to choose were the ones where we shared the bed or where we didn’t. I decided not to ask.

None of the motels allowed pets either, but Harry always snuck Emily Dickinson in. I told her the hamster would be fine in the car overnight, but she wouldn’t have it.

The nights were nice. We knew how to live in each other’s space, and had for a while. If there weren’t two beds, one of us would sit on the floor, or go play with the hamster. Both of us quiet with our headphones in, or me reading my book, which was about cannibalism in the natural world, while Harry tapped thoughtfully at her keyboard. I was trying to read more about science, and thought something a little macabre might keep my attention better. Harry liked to go on Reddit and give relationship advice to strangers. I didn’t get it. Sometimes she’d lift her head and tell me whatever crazy shit she’d just seen. “This guy used his girlfriend’s savings to buy a five-thousand-dollar dog.”

“What?”

“A five-thousand-dollar dog.”

“What kind of dog is five thousand dollars?”

She waved a hand. “One of those fussy purebreds with all the health problems.”

Or I’d close up my book and say, “This guy thinks climate change might make people eat each other.”

Harry would look at me with very wide eyes. “Why?”

“Famine.”

“Oh.”

And then she’d go back to typing for a while, telling the man on the internet what to do about his fussy dog and his girlfriend he robbed, and I’d go back to my book, and descriptions of prion diseases. Later, we’d share take-out food out of greasy boxes, flipping through the channels on TV. Ghost-hunting shows and late-night History Channel documentaries about aliens. Harry leaned on my shoulder and then, sometimes, climbed into my lap, and I put my arms around her body. She was so skinny, but her stomach was still soft, still stuck out a little. We talked about the things we were both excited for. Driving along the coast, Powell’s in Portland, the explorer myth of getting to see glaciers.