I look, and Tess has already packed all of my belongings. There are four suitcases by the front door, and she’s hauling down a fifth, along with a smaller duffel bag.

She’s sweated through her blouse. She wipes at her forehead with the back of her wrist, blows a curly tendril of hair aside. “Okay. This one, with the stripes, is all your athleisure wear, so leggings, yoga pants, booty shorts, tank tops, long-sleeve running…things, headbands, all that. Next, in the plain black Swiss Gear, is your more formal, dress-up stuff. This will have all your skirts, hang-up blouses, sundresses, and your little black dresses of all colors—because a little black dress, as we all know, is a particular style not just a color. You have some power suits in here, but I don’t see why you’d need them, number one, and number two you’ll have to put on, like, thirty pounds for them to fit. But they’re in here.” She’s pointing at each suitcase in turn. “This puppy, mister ugly ass turd-brown whatever the fuck this is, has sweaters, sweatshirts, hoodies, cardigans, one heavy coat, one leather jacket—your best one—your best jean jacket, a windbreaker-slash-raincoat, and…I think that’s it in there. Oh! Your big fuzzy purple guy, you love that coat.”

Her voice takes on the tone of a game show host.

“And in the hard-sided red suitcase, I’ve packed your shoes. Sneakers, running shoes, TOMs, three pair of heels—red, black, and nude—slippers, rain boots, hiking boots…leather knee-high shit-kicker boots, pretty much one of everything.” She taps the last suitcase. “And in here, jeans and T-shirts, and that’s pretty much it.” The duffel bag, then. “This is bare essentials makeup—not the full set up, just the basics—your hairbrush, all that good stuff. Your cell phone charger. Your Kindle and a charger cord and block for that.”

She winks at me.

“Also in the duffel are a couple of your, ahem, rather dusty lady happy time buzzy fun helpers.”

I blush. “Tess, really?”

“I was being circumspect in consideration of your delicate sensibilities.”

“Lady happy time buzzy fun helpers. That’s your idea of being considerate?”

She snickers. “NO, but it’s fun to say, isn’t it?” She has the duffel on her shoulder, still. “You need them. You need to use them, Nadia. You are still a sexual being.”

I shake my head. “I’m broken, Tess.”

A sad smile, her hand on my cheek. “I know. He knew you would be, too. That’s why you’re going.”

I can’t fathom leaving this house. “Tess, I…I don’t know if I can.”

“You are.”

“Tess.”

She points at the letter still clutched in my fingers. “Nadia, you have to. You know you do.”