“Yeah. I think Josh liked people asking him if he was Korean when they saw him and Ben together.”

“What was the bio-dad’s background?” Josh could fall into any category—Latino, Asian, Middle Eastern, Roma . . .

“I honestly don’t think we ever talked about it. Like I said, it was maybe a five-week thing. He was from the Midwest. That’s all I remember.” If she knew more, she wasn’t saying.

“It left a mark, of course,” Stephanie continued. “The facts are the facts. Joshua’s father deserted him before he was even born. It’s part of his identity, same as being a high-functioning super-genius with Asperger’s, or autism spectrum disorder, or neurodiversity, or whatever we’re calling it these days. Those terms change so fast. Anyway, are you hungry? I’m starving. Want a grilled cheese? It’s my specialty, after all.”

The conversation was over, clearly. “Thanks, Steph. I’d love one.” Her mother-in-law did make the best grilled cheese sandwiches, using at least three types of cheese. Otherwise, she wasn’t much of a cook. Steph patted her shoulder as she went in the kitchen, and Lauren opened her notebook.

ALMOST EVERY DAY, she and Josh drove to the bay side to watch the sunset and let Pebbles splash and swim and sniff (and roll in) the carcasses of fish or birds or crabs. The house had a very convenient and huge bathroom on the ground floor, and they’d designated it for Pebbles’s baths. Josh would hose her down and shampoo her, then blow her dry (spoiled beastie), so Pebbles would be silky smooth and gorgeous and able to sleep on their bed.

Lauren took to waking up early at the Cape house and tiptoeing to the windows to watch the sunrise by herself, letting Josh sleep. She always started the coffee, because it had been her job even in childhood, when she’d get up early and measure out the grounds. Daddy would come in and act so pleased every time. “Who was so thoughtful? Lauren, sweetheart, thank you! Aren’t you the best girl ever!”

She missed her dad with a constant ache. She missed the reassurance, the comfort a good father brings a daughter. She found herself wondering about the moment of his death, if he’d had any warning, any final thoughts. She hoped it wasn’t “Oh shit, that hurts.”

Note to self: Say something profound for your last words.

Her dad felt closer these days. They had more in common now; she would die young, too. She was glad she knew. Sure, sure, a rogue bus could take her out at any moment, but being someone who liked to have a plan, she’d take a diagnosis like IPF over her father’s type of death any day.