Lauren had loved it. In fact, Josh had made it for her when they were dating, hoping to impress her. It had worked. “Dakgangjeong it is, Pebbles,” he said. “Because you asked so nicely.”

HE WENT GROCERY shopping Saturday morning, leaving an envelope of money for Yolanda, since he hadn’t been back to the grocery store since his meltdown. This time, he put in earbuds so he wouldn’t have to hear anyone and tried not to make eye contact. Got the chicken, grabbed Korean red pepper and gochujang, since he couldn’t remember if there was any in the pantry. Should’ve checked before he left the house. In the produce aisle, he grabbed a knot of fresh ginger and a head of garlic.

Cooking for Lauren, going all-organic and unprocessed, had honed his kitchen skills. As a single guy, he’d been content to order food, eat on the fly or avail himself of his mother or Mrs. Kim for home-cooked meals. But as a married man, he upped his game, and after her diagnosis, he got even better. Lauren was easy—she loved food, loved to cook when she had the energy, and ate everything except veal or lamb. “Who wants to eat a baby?” she said. “Would you want some other species eating our kids, Joshua?”

Their kids. Except there’d be no kids.

His heart spasmed, and he rubbed his chest. Don’t go there, his brain warned. Focus. When he was a kid and his mood threatened to shatter, his mother had given him a sentence to repeat over and over, to think about and distract him. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Every letter in the alphabet in that sentence. He’d chant it out loud, thinking about the letters, making order in his mind to head off the emotional storm.

Sometimes, it worked.

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

It was helping. Spicy chicken would require rice. Did he have rice? Did he have chicken? He’d buy more. Broccoli for a vegetable. How many heads would he need? Four? Ten? How many people were coming? Didn’t broccoli shrink when you cooked it? He got eight heads.

He paused at the floral section. Lauren had always bought fresh flowers when they had people over. No. This was not a celebration or a party. This was seeing his wife’s sister, brother-in-law and best friend. It was part of mourning. They were all trying to deal with grief, to move on.

Except he didn’t want to move on.

That black tarry pull began at his feet, and Josh turned up the volume on his podcast and forced himself to the self-checkout, so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. But once he got home, Creepy Charlotte pounced the second he walked into the lobby.