But with Nathan, I felt too shy to ask. I didn’t know what he looked for in a partner, and asking him for anything that took us off task seemed inappropriate. So far the span of our conversations had not lasted more than a total of six minutes since our pain exercise.

Nathan called me on a Friday. When I saw an 818 number flashing that evening, I did not answer. He left a message suggesting we should meet in a Starbucks parking lot near where Bethanny’s sessions took place. I waited ten minutes and texted him back, Starbucks is great. I’ll meet you at 2.

I waited for dots to appear, my palms starting to sweat a little. A green text box appeared instead: Cool. Can you call me though?

I exhaled. I didn’t like talking to people on the phone, really. Calling someone out of the blue felt like an intrusion—too intimate—and when I did answer my phone I always sounded surprised, as if I didn’t quite know what was happening.

When I called him back, he was engaged without necessarily being warm. It was clear we were still strangers. He said Bethanny had talked to Daphne first and he thought it would be good for me to follow up with her, too, since we were in the process of building our own relationship.

When I called Daphne, she asked, “Is he cute?”

“He’s not bad to look at,” I said.

“Is he the type of person you wouldn’t mind being the last person you see on earth?”

“I wouldn’t be mad about it.”

“Fair enough.”

“He’s nice.”

“Maybe I can get him to hold my only breast while I take my last breath,” she said. “Joking.”

She giggled and so did I.

“Put in a good word for me?” she asked.

“I’m not sure how to bring that up, exactly: Can you sexually harass Daphne?”

“There has to be an extra-services clause somewhere,” she said, laughing. “Final wishes?”

“You might change your mind after you see him,” I said. “Maybe he’s not your type.”

“At this point everyone’s my type,” she said.

We laughed together, but a slight depression was starting to wedge its way under my skin. It didn’t feel fair that she could be this sharp while physically deteriorating.

“Anyway, he has to be better than that other one,” she said.

“Lorraine?”

“Totally humorless.”

“She’s okay when you get to know her.”

“At least you pretend you care.”

“She’s focused on detachment.”