When he realizes I’m no longer in bed, Leno groggily emerges from the doorway of my room. He trots his way over and takes a seat by me. As I pet him, I feel like I’m ascending on an airplane, weightless with the white noise of the engine whirring in the background. I have found smooth air; I feel calmer. I am under control.

“Should we go to bed, little buddy?” I whisper while petting him softly.

Before retreating to the bedroom, I stare once more at the urn, still not over the fact he’s in there.

“How about you, Decker? Do you want to go to bed?” Without much hesitation or thought, I grab the urn and carry it to my room. I set it next to Leno’s collar on the nightstand. He sniffs it as if it’s a new toy. I shoo him away so he doesn’t knock it over.

It’s not going to stay here permanently. I just want to see what it feels like. What it feels like to get ready for bed with my husband in the same room as me for the first time in five years. To experience a routine that we should have been enjoying together all this time.

Feeling like the medicine is kicking in, I do one more task before climbing into bed.

I locate the USC lacrosse hoodie. The things I have of Decker’s are starting to get sparse, but I still have a couple of his worn-out USC hoodies in my sweatshirt drawer for easy access. Even after college, the lacrosse hoodie was a regular part of his wardrobe. I would steal it from him when I wanted to relax on the couch in something baggy and comfy. It’s soft and worn out, and even though I’ve washed it several times since he’s passed, I’m convinced it still smells like him if I just close my eyes and inhale hard enough. When I wear it, it feels like I’m putting on a hug from him. And that’s what I want right now as I throw it on over my head and shimmy my arms through the too-big sleeves. I want a hug from Decker.

“Well, good night, babe. See you tomorrow,” I say as I turn off the bedside lamp. I kiss my D tattoo and touch it to the urn. In this moment, I’m glad I never had it removed.

I know it could be the pills talking, because this is by far the strangest conversation I’ve had with a guy recently, but I suddenly don’t feel anxious.

In fact, I feel married. Or something.

Chapter 5

I pop in my earbuds, leash up Leno, and make a quick left at the corner toward a neighborhood coffee shop with a dog-friendly walk-up window. But just then, like the way your mind spins thinking about whether or not you left your flat iron plugged in, I second-guess if I locked the door to my apartment. Involuntarily, I tighten up Leno’s retractable leash and head home.