So Tess brings a spread of food from our favorite restaurants in town. And every day after that, every single day, Tess brings us food. Carryout Chinese, Thai, Indian, Mexican, homemade casseroles and pots of Spaghetti bolognese and lasagna and platters of hot grilled PB&J and boats of tomato soup with triangles of grilled cheese.

One day, she brings over a bag of marijuana and a pipe, and we get Adrian stoned out of his head. Where she got it, hell if I know, but it helps him in some ways more than even the narcotics. So she keeps bringing it.

I’ve stopped drinking almost entirely. I want to be lucid, to remember.

The pain is too much to bear, and I know no amount of alcohol will help.

I smoke with him sometimes, but mostly just so he doesn’t feel alone in it. “I hate partying alone,” he says, with a tired smile.

Tess, god, what would I do without her? Adrian falls asleep around three in the morning most days, and when I let it slip to her, she starts sneaking in at 3 a.m. every fucking day with a bottle of Josh and her iPad Pro and a big bag of Skinny Pop, and she makes me sit outside with her on our back deck covered in a huge, thick blanket she got on Etsy, and we drink wine from the bottle and watch mindless comedy and action flicks and cheesy romances. So much for not drinking, right? But it’s the only way I manage to find space to breathe.

Every other moment of my day is consumed with…It.

We don’t use the word. We don’t talk about death.

Tess never asks how I am. She’s just there.

We’re a few days shy of three months from when he told me.

He’s been in bed more often than not, and I just sit with him and we keep the TV on, or I read to him until I start to lose my voice.

We’re halfway through Casablanca.

Play it, Sam. Play it like you did for her.

Adrian turns it off, and his head swivels slowly, heavily over to me. “Nadia.”

I swallow hard. “Yeah, baby?”

“I need you to help me move to the guest room.”

“What? Why?” I sit up. “This is our bed.”

He closes his eyes. Even that seems hard for him. “I’m not going to die in our bed. I won’t do that to you.”

“Adrian, goddammit. No. I’m not, I won’t. This is our bed.”

“Nadia—”

“No. Not a fucking chance.”

“I will not haunt this room for you. This bed. I won’t do that.”

I blink, but the tears win. “Adrian, you big dork. You’re going to anyway. You think you’re just…written into my life on this bed? You’re in everything. Every room in this house, Adrian.”