“Let’s take a seat in the living room, shall we?” Debbie blows on her cup of tea and leads the way. I follow her to a velvet sofa and find a place across from her in a matching tufted wingback chair. We are separated by a marble coffee table that I’m sure cost ten times my monthly rent.

The Sharon Stone look-alike takes a sip of her tea and just stares at me, a relaxed smirk on her face. She’s always so irritatingly composed, but I try not to let that distract me. I take a deep breath, ensure that my legs are crossed in a way that won’t betray my lady-parts, and lean in toward her as a gesture of warmth. At least that’s what it said to do in the book Lean In.

“So?” she says. I guess that’s my cue to begin.

“I’m not sure if you heard on the news or what, but there was a wildfire in Pala recently and the mausoleum was in the path of destruction.”

“What?!” Her eyes widen and she sets her teacup on the table with a clank. “I did not hear such a thing. Why didn’t their Death Concierge contact me? They’re supposed to contact me should anything come up regarding the urn.”

Death Concierge?

“Relax, relax. The urn is in good shape. It was sent back to me this weekend with a note from the insurance company who is handling the damage claim filed by the mausoleum. It’s totally fine.”

“Oh my god,” she exclaims as she draws her palm to her mouth like it’s magnetized to her lip. “How...when did you get it?”

“It was delivered to me Saturday night.”

“That must have been a mistake. You weren’t supposed to get that.”

I’m pretty sure I was.

“My name was on the package. Just my name,” I clarify.

“And you’re only telling me now? Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

It’s been less than forty-eight hours. I want to ask what’s the big deal, but I have a feeling it will be met with contention. So I take the high road.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to process the fact that his remains just appeared at my door seemingly out of nowhere. But now I’m slowly coming to terms with the shock of it all and I will figure this whole thing out, I promise. I just wanted to come by and let you know, in person, that—” My words snag like a hangnail on a chenille sweater. I blank on how to finish this sentence. But then the dream I had of Decker flashes into my mind and I choose his words over anything I could come up with. “—that he’s back and he’s okay.”

“No need to figure anything out. I will take this off your plate, Charlotte. Where is he? Your apartment? I’ll send Sandra right now to pick him up. You can get back to things at the studio.”

“I don’t work at the studio anymore. I’m a software developer at The Influencer Firm.”