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Abby leaned forward again. “But what?”

“I’m going to the funeral next week in Coachella.”

Abby groaned. “Jesus, Megan!”

“I have to!” Megan defended herself. “You don’t understand. Carole was more than just my girlfriend’s mother. Spending time with her allowed me to imagine what it would be like to have a supportive mother figure that I’m out to.”

“Which is something you still need to do. Just saying.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not having that conversation now.”

They drove in silence for about a mile before Abby asked quietly.

“What if he’s there?”

Megan didn’t need to ask who he was. And Abby’s question was one Megan had asked herself about a dozen times since telling Cindy she’d be at the funeral.

“I expect he will be there,” she said, coming off the highway at their exit. “But that’s not the point. The point is I need to say goodbye to Carole properly. I go to the funeral and I leave. I won’t even stay for casserole and deviled eggs afterwards. Easy peasy.”

“If you say so,” Abby said.

“I do say so. Now, forget about that...Who all is coming to this shindig?”

“The usual lot plus one or two others you probably don’t know because you’re a Hermit Dork and don’t come out with us all enough. Oh, my friend Chloë will be there, you haven’t met her yet.”

“Which one is that again?”

“You know, the barely legal little thing who walks my dogs and works the night shift at Amazon. Apparently, she knows Desiree from somewhere.”

“Did you have a thing with her? Is this going to be awkward?”

“Nah, I don’t think she goes for the butches.” Abby looked Megan up and down. “You might be in trouble, though,” she declared.

“Is she cute?”

“Adorable.”

“Like, young Kate Jackson adorable?” A long time ago, Megan had discovered that she apparently had a thing for TV stars from the 1970s. Kate Jackson topped her list. Followed closely by Lindsey Wagner, Farrah and that woman who played Bailey Quarters on WKRP in Cincinnati. And, if asked, she preferred Janet over Chrissy.

“Who the hell is Kate Jackson?” Abby asked.

“Oh my God, you’re a lesbian and you don’t know who one of the original Charlie’s Angels is?”

“No, I don’t know who one of the original Charlie’s Angels is but I do know you’re a dork. But I love you.”

Just five minutes after getting off the highway, Megan pulled up to a cute little green house on a quiet street in Vista. A few other cars were already parked in front of the house but Megan still found a prime spot. Before Abby had a chance to open her door, however, Megan put her hand on her arm, stopping her.

“Do me a favor,” Megan began, “don’t tell anyone about Cindy’s visit.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.”

“I’m serious, Abs,” Megan warned. “I would have preferred never seeing her again and the last thing I need is her name coming up all night.”

Abby put her hand over the one Megan had on her arm. “Okay, okay. Don’t worry.”

Satisfied, Megan reached into the back and retrieved the bottle of wine they had stopped off and bought on the way.

“Okay, let’s go.”