“I’m a medical device engineer.”

“That makes you sound very smart.”

He shrugged. When the waiter asked if they wanted another round, he said yes.

They talked about life in Providence, drank, and ate nachos. There was definitely some comfort in talking to someone who didn’t share his loss, didn’t have memories of Lauren, didn’t miss her.

“So . . . my wife wrote these letters for me,” he told Radley. “That’s why I was shopping tonight. She told me to get new clothes.”

“Wise woman,” Radley murmured.

Josh smiled. “She was.”

“Maybe there’s more to getting new clothes than new clothes.”

“You definitely sound like a therapist now.”

Radley smiled. “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes it isn’t.”

A man came up to their table and slid in next to Radley. “Hey, Radley. Who’s your friend?”

“Joshua . . . whoops, I don’t know your last name.”

“Park.”

“I’m Todd, Joshua, and I think you’re super attractive.”

“Nope,” said Radley. “He’s straight and his wife just died, okay? Some space, if it’s not too much?”

“Oh, shit, I’m so, so sorry,” the man said, backing away. “So sorry. My condolences.”

Then Josh was laughing, all of a sudden. Maybe it was the alcohol, because he did feel sort of spinny and light, or maybe it was the other end of his sob-fest in the dressing room, but he laughed and laughed, and Radley sat back and watched him. “His name is Todd,” Josh explained. Why that was funny, he didn’t know. But it was.

Radley shook his head and smiled. “I’ll drive your car back to your place,” he said, like a wise old uncle. “I can Uber from there.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Josh said. “These nachos are really, really good.”

An hour or so later, Josh was in bed. Radley had typed his name and number into Josh’s phone, took a selfie of the two of them for the contact picture and got into the Lyft Josh had summoned for him.

Josh was dizzy and floating and not sad. Well, not just sad. He was a little bit happy.

He’d had— Was it true? He’d almost had fun tonight. He’d punched someone. He had clothes that Lauren hadn’t bought and had never seen, and for some reason, that made him feel better.

And most of all, he was fairly sure he had a new friend.

“Pretty sneaky, hon,” he said, and then he was asleep.

13

Lauren

Sixteen months left

October 10

Dear Dad,

I was going to make a bucket list but decided that was super cliché. There are, however, things I want to do, and I’m aware that I might not have all the time in the world. I want a doggy. I want to eat dessert as often as possible, which I already do, honestly. Um . . . other stuff? The truth is, my life is so happy, it feels wrong to wish for more experiences or possessions or pies (well . . . maybe the pies are okay).

 But life is normal now. IPF is a part of my life. I’m not smiting myself with ashes.

 You know how so many women say the best day of their life was their wedding day? Not me. The best days (note the plural) are the regular days, Daddy. The days where it’s sunny and dry and you can smell the donuts from Knead. When Sebastian FaceTimes me without Jen knowing and we have our private chats, or he puts the phone down and I just listen to him playing. When Bruce compliments me on something at work, not because he feels sorry for me, because he’s not like that, but because I did good work. Sitting up in the garden, spying on the people across the way and making up stories about them.

 I’m happy, Dad. I’m really okay, and I’m so happy. Don’t worry about me, okay? I love you.

 Lauren

Pebbles, their newly acquired Australian shepherd mutt, could dance, walk herself by holding the end of the leash in her mouth, sing along to the radio, sneeze on command and catch a Frisbee in midair.

She also ate toilet paper, was terrified of pigeons, consistently shat underneath Josh’s desk and spontaneously peed when she heard the word ride.

“Now I see why she was put up for adoption,” Josh said, cleaning up her sixth pile of poop of the weekend. “Don’t tell my mother she crapped inside. Our whole house will be bleached.” Stephanie was on the obsessive side of clean, one of her many attributes. Who else had a mother-in-law who’d clean your kitchen for fun?

Poop aside, life was good. The foliage had been especially bright this year, and they’d spent the day at the Waterman Street dog park, throwing balls and sticks for half a dozen canines as Pebbles tried in vain to herd them. Now, Lauren was on the couch, using her oxygen because it had been a vigorous day. Pebbles was equally tired, curled up at Lauren’s side, head on her lap. The silkiest ears in the universe. Sure, Pebbles had chewed up the clicker last night, and she was a bed hog, but these ears.

“You doing okay?” Josh asked once the trash was emptied and he’d scoured his hands.

“Yep. A little tired.”

He looked at her, squinting as if he didn’t believe her.

“A lot tired.” She didn’t want to tell him too many details every time something came up, husband or not. Her bones felt sore, and her muscles ached and her eyes felt dry and sticky. But tired would cover it.

“How about a foot rub?” he asked.

“Is there a woman on earth who’d turn down that offer? Sold, handsome.”

He sat down and pulled one of her feet from under the blanket, his hands warm against her cool skin. “‘Did you ever think that you’re a hero?’” he began to sing, grinning at her. His voice was adorably off pitch, and she smiled. Goofing around was a conscious effort for Josh, so it made her all the more thrilled.