One of their favorite rituals when Finley was still alive was Taco Tuesday. Once in a while they’d meet up in a restaurant in town where the tacos were fifty cents on Tuesday nights, but mostly they did it themselves using kits from the grocery store. Either way, the three of them would get together, play Cards Against Humanity, and stuff themselves to bursting. Sometimes it feels to Willa that the only thing she and Taylor have in common—aside from Finley—is Taco Tuesday. Which might be a shaky foundation on which to rebuild a friendship. After all, everyone loves tacos.

Taylor groans. “Oh God. Yes. Let’s go find some.”

Most of the restaurants are buttoned up for the night as they walk down the main street of Little Falls, but they find an open grocery store and gather everything they need to make their own tacos. Willa grabs a bunch of cilantro in the produce department, and when Taylor laughs softly, Willa understands.

On their very first Taco Tuesday, Willa sprinkled a liberal amount of cilantro on her tacos. Finley, having never tried cilantro, did the same. But when she took her first bite, her mouth contorted and she spat the mouthful onto her plate. “Oh my God,” she gasped, before taking a big swallow of Coke. “Why would you eat something that tastes like soap?”

“Most people taste deliciousness, not soap,” Willa explained. “You’re just a genetic misfit.”

“I used to think leukemia was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but now . . .” She shuddered, and the three of them cracked up laughing.

Now Finley feels close and distant at the same time, and Willa wonders how that can be. She doesn’t know how to be Taylor’s friend without Finley. Or even if she wants to be. But here they are, buying taco fixings at Price Chopper.

They head back to the boat, where Taylor cues up Shiri Gray on her phone. Willa browns the meat as Taylor chops the veggies, and soon the scent of taco seasoning hangs in the air. Making small talk feels like scaling a cliff face without climbing gear, but they maintain an amiable silence as they work together to prepare a meal.

“How many days do you think it will take to get to New York City?” Taylor asks as she sits in the cockpit, balancing a plate on her knees.

Willa hangs an inflatable solar light from the boom. “A week, maybe six days.”

“Sister Kismet is doing a show next Saturday. Do you want to go?”