I realized Bethanny had made a mistake putting us together as soon as he smiled and ushered me inside. He opened the curtains so we could have some light, and I watched dust flicker through the new sunlight all around us. I could get a better look at him now.

He was forty-two and had cirrhosis. He said his name was on a list somewhere for a new liver, but it had been five years, and he told me he didn’t have the kind of insurance that would let him survive anyway. The bags under his eyes and the gently hollowed-out cheeks were the only sign that he was not well. It did not seem like he had started to get rid of his personal items yet. The giveaways would inevitably happen closer to his death date.

He had a strong chin and other markers of good looks: green eyes (though they were sad), straight teeth, and a somewhat crooked smile. He had that musty, sweaty smell of someone who pulled clothes off the floor and wore them a few too many times. His hair was greasy and he needed to shave.

His house was small and wood-floored. I couldn’t tell how long he had been living there, because everything looked haphazardly put together—too-small side tables and a round coffee table that looked like he had painted it with house paint himself—and the living-room walls were bare. I wondered if he ever let anyone else inside. A row of small cacti in glass jars with grimy water lined the front windows, and he noticed me staring at them.

“People pay for those, but you can walk around outside at night with a pair of scissors and get whatever you want for free.”

We were sitting across from each other on his couch, he in gray sweatpants and a loose shirt, me in jeans and a sweatshirt. Though he had a window A/C unit sputtering out coolish air, I could still feel sweat dribbling down my back. I had a tank top on underneath my sweatshirt, but I didn’t want to seem unprofessional by stripping down to nearly nothing.

We went through the death-directive paperwork, and I noted that he was an organ donor.

“I am, too,” I said, as if that meant something about what kind of people we were. I was surprised he had filled out a good amount of the paperwork Bethanny sent over himself. I suggested we move on to more personal questions, so we could warm up to each other, make this all feel less perfunctory.

“What personal trait have you managed to overcome?” I asked.

“Starting off with the easy questions.”

It was hard to ask that of someone you knew, much less a stranger who wasn’t sure he could trust you.

I laughed and told him to wait until I asked for all his computer passwords.

“Can I give you those last?” he asked.