I don’t understand life at all, Ayanna. I walk around and even on the path, I meet miserable people. I meet people who think their divorces are the equivalent of true suffering. I look at all these people and think why are you here instead of Olivia. The shells make me think of going to the beach with the two of you when you were kids. Every shell you found, each of you tried to blow and make music. I know I haven’t learned enough that I think the shells on this path have anything to say to me. I am fasting and not sleeping much. I like myself this way. It makes me too tired to lie.

That was his response to her message: Will you be around at Christmas?

From the park in the distance, she could hear what sounded like a contentious basketball game. A man yelled, “That was a technical foul.” It felt late to be playing basketball, and to be keyed up enough to yell about it. Any basketball after ten thirty should be melancholic practice meant to hit the perfect three-point shot or a sensual game of H-O-R-S-E between two combative lovers. Ayanna didn’t feel anxious being alone in the dark or in the woods. It felt, alone like this, like she was going home.

At the path, Ayanna sat cross-legged. She thought about Olivia, the way her sister sometimes snorted when she laughed, how her sister had actually thought about things like getting married and having kids, and sometimes seriously worried if she could be both a mom and a professional athlete. How her big ambition was to play in the World Cup and then become the coach of the Women’s National Team and if not a life of professional coaching, she would be a teacher. Two kids; hopefully, twins. A husband who was fun. That had seemed like such a low bar to Ayanna at the time.

The most unexpected thing about grief was when there was finally progression—new friends, new interests, new crushes—it hurt more because the loved one wasn’t there to weigh in. Olivia would tell Ayanna to get a cute new outfit and ask someone out. While Olivia wasn’t sure if she was going to have sex before marriage, she had already told Ayanna she wanted to hear everything when she decided to do it. Tell me everything, Olivia had said once. I can’t promise I won’t judge but I still want to know you.

For a moment, she heard Olivia’s voice in her head. A little higher pitched, a faster talker critiquing the shots Ayanna had missed during her last match. Bad timing, hitting with your toe rather than through the laces. She used to roll her eyes or freeze her sister out when she did that.