I start to hand her the bowl, but she shakes her head. “It’s yours now.”

“But I fucked up.”

Jo nods. “Yeah, you did. C’est la goddamn vie. Remember, it’s progress, not perfection.” She rests her hand over mine. “Relapsing is a bitch, but you’re gonna be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“I talked to your paramedics. They said you thanked them. Usually, addicts are pissed as hell when they get woken up. They don’t care that you just saved their life—fuck you because you ruined their high.” She shakes her head. “One time, my mom woke me up—she had Naloxone in the house—and that’s exactly what I said to her: Fuck you. To my own mom. For saving my life! But the last time I overdosed, I said thank you. I was so goddamn grateful to be alive. I haven’t used since.”

She hands me one more thing—a pamphlet about the Pink House. Jo had told me a bit about it—a rambling Victorian sober house, absolutely pink, in Cambridge’s weirdo community, with ten bedrooms, all occupied by female-identifying former addicts. Jo runs the place.

“One of my girls is moving out,” she says. “In June. I think this could be a good place for you to land while you figure out next steps. You can get a job, get involved. We have daily meetings. Support. A great kitchen with a big-ass soup pot. Even a poetry night.” She smiles. “Think about it.”

I stare at her. This isn’t just a lifeline, it’s an entire rescue operation.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes.”

“This isn’t some Disney happy ending,” she warns. “You’re gonna be working your ass off to get your shit together.”

“I’m ready.” I hold the little pamphlet to my chest. “Thank you.”

“Thank yourself.” Jo grins, then stands and crosses to the doorway. She pulls open the door, then turns around and holds up a finger. “Day one.”

I nod. “Day one.”

I finally understand the ending of The Little Prince. All my life I thought he had to die so that he could leave his body, which he said was too heavy to take with him the distance he needed to go. He couldn’t leave Earth and get back to his asteroid otherwise. I thought it was like going to Heaven. But now I realize what he was trying to tell the pilot: Sometimes to find your way back home, you need to surrender the person you no longer are so that you can step into the person you’re supposed to become.

I shall look as if I were dead, he said, and that will not be true.

That will not be true.

Drew is curled up on a couch in the waiting room, sleeping.

The TV mounted to the wall across from him is playing a rerun of Golden Girls on mute. (Life goals.)