“Well, honey, it’s obviously on your mind, or you wouldn’t have gotten so mad the other night. And it’s on mine. This is the perfect time to talk, because then we can put it away and have fun tomorrow. I want to go swimming again.” Tears were thickening the back of her throat. She coughed to clear it. The last thing she needed was mucous gunk choking her. A nice yoga breath, a conscious relaxing of her neck and throat muscles. But her eyes stung nonetheless. “Please, Josh. Let’s get it out of the way.”

He looked away. A night bird trilled, then fell silent. “Okay,” Josh said, and his voice was flat and expressionless. “Go ahead.”

Her heart hurt. It hurt like a dull knife was pushing through it, a centimeter at a time. “So I’ve been thinking about it a little, here and there. And I know it’s probably a long way off, but just in case . . .” Her voice choked off as she swallowed a sob.

He took her hands and studied them, the diamonds of her engagement ring winking like a star.

That had been such a happy day, the day he proposed. It seemed like decades ago, in another life. A healthy life.

She took a careful breath, as deep as she could. “I want it to just be you and me at the very end. Not my mom, not Jen, not anyone but us.”

He nodded and swallowed, his perfect throat working. His grip on her hands tightened.

“I’d like to say goodbye to everyone, if that’s possible. You know . . . if I can tell I’m winding down but can . . . but can still talk and stuff.”

He nodded, then bent so his head rested on their joined hands. He was crying. Of course he was. It was impossible not to, and she was, too.

“I don’t want heroic measures,” she whispered. “If it’s the end, it . . . we have to let it be. I don’t want to be a body kept alive by machines just for another day or two. When I go, I want to be . . . me. I know there’ll be drugs and stuff, but I want to be able to look at you.”

Her hands were wet from his tears. He nodded, unable to speak.

Given the choice, she’d pick his life over hers. Any day, every day. If one of them had to die, it should be her, because he was such a gift to the entire world. He was. He was everything.

She bent over so her head rested on his, the two of them folded together like origami. She pulled one hand free and stroked his black hair. Oh, she loved him so much. So much.

“Are you done?” he asked, his voice thick.

“Well, a couple more things.” She straightened up. “I don’t want to die at home.”

He looked up at her. “You don’t?”