Some old Playboy magazines are stacked under the coffee table on the lower shelf. Clearly for the novelty, as they look old and well preserved. A few Bill Bryson and David Sedaris books are stacked on a bookshelf, along with The Bell Jar, Strangers on a Train, and The Catcher in the Rye, and modern classics like Gone Girl and About a Boy. No wonder we got along so well. I have things to say about every book in his house.

On the bottom of the bookshelf, I see the spine for She Comes First. I arch an eyebrow at the discovery, then grab it to see if there’s an inscription in that one too. There isn’t, and it makes me think he may have bought it for himself. It’s weirdly hot.

I put it back and keep looking.

There are framed photos of his family, Maureen the dog, and even one old photo of the bar itself.

I am struck by this sudden vision—a fantasy, a scene as if my life were a movie, or an interdimensional memory, I’m not sure—of Cillian and me here on the couch using chopsticks to eat out of paper Chinese food containers, listening to John Coltrane while snow falls outside. Him in a soft white cotton T-shirt and me in an oversized green sweatshirt. I can almost make out the words on the front.

I walk over to one of the windows and look outside. The sky has already darkened a bit, and I get the feeling it’s going to rain.

“Here you go,” says Cillian. He has come out holding something folded, forest green. I stare at it for a second too long, then take it. Avalon Rugby Club. It’s the one from the … daydream. Whatever you want to call what just happened. Where I saw myself from outside my own body, and I was wearing this very thing.

“It’s the one you usually borrow when you’re cold.”

I take it. “How did you know I was cold?”

He gives me a look like it was so obvious. “Ready?”

I nod, and then say, “Actually, let me run to the bathroom again really quick before we go. All that cider.”

He gestures in its direction.

It’s as clean as the rest of the house, which is nice, I manage to think as I lean on the sink and puzzle over what just happened.

Some things about this life, I seem to know. Deeply.

I put on the sweatshirt, and then look at myself in the mirror. I may not have my expensive new nose or lineless skin, but my reflection looks a lot happier here. Even now, when I’m so deeply confused.

On the way out of the bathroom, as I pass the closet, I catch a glimpse of another framed photo.