Blithe returned with the herbs, and we baked a polenta lasagna with vegan cheese and mushrooms that belonged to the Moosewood subculture of Ithaca, New York. As we ate, Blithe told Minna about his plan to reclaim the past.

“When I was a kid, I hated Japanese stuff, except Hello Kitty because the white girls in my class loved her,” Minna said in reply. “I was in the quintessential first-gen disavowal stage, staying in the car whenever my mom went into the Asian grocer. It’s cool that you get to do this now.”

“True, I could have been a banana forever,” Blithe said with spite.

“LOL. Well, as far as food metaphors go, I’m like a banana-mochi-syrniki,” she said with her usual lightness.

For the first time, I would be entering one of Rachel’s primary living spaces. Blithe and I drove through dust clouds in Runyon Canyon at dusk. Turning into a long driveway, I could see an earthen bungalow surrounded by trees and beyond the thirsty green the desert canyon, parched and yawning. The smell of burning wood mingled with my desire to see Aiden.

Rachel’s PA, Marcy, opened the front door.

“Hey, good to see you again,” I said to her, friendlier now that our NDA was void.

“Likewise,” she replied with that professional courteousness that could mean anything.

We were led through a winding corridor. In each room, plants were set in perfect pots. Books lounged on tables; sheepskin slippers were waiting on a turquoise rug. I wished I were wearing a fringed vest to go along with the gentle western palette.

Was it money, psilocybin, or my own romantic entanglement that marked every surface with rest, rightness?

Marcy left us at the doors to the patio. At the back of the yard stood a small grove of fruit trees. The light was fading, and behind the darkening branches the canyon stretched out like the mouth of a cave.

In the shadows, I could see Rachel and Aiden sitting on a long sofa. A firepit had been lit and fragrant wood burned inside it.

We stepped outside and Agatha darted up to us. Getting up and following her, Rachel reached into her long skirt and pulled out some treats. She clacked, and Agatha turned and snapped up the treats.

“Welcome. I didn’t want her to bite you,” Rachel said, and gave me a one-armed hug.

Her hair was tied back in a short braid. She wore clogs. They were domesticating each other. I couldn’t believe that even in my early-transition despondency, I had managed to sleep with this beautiful woman.

“Pen,” Aiden said, walking straight up to me and looking seriously into my eyes. “We cool?”

There were about three thousand ways to answer that. “Yeah, man.”

I cherished his scent, smoky and also faintly floral.

We ate fish and designer greens outside, near the fire, and drank white wine from ceramic bowls.