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I finished my piece of toast and told them I was going to get started on the bed situation. If this was anything like building an Ikea bookcase for the girls’ room, I was in for a long day.

Five minutes in, I realized that despite my bravado, I would need help.

The mattresses were too heavy and awkward for me to maneuver alone, especially on the stairs, so I had to convince Merry to ask Jim to come over.

Jim and Alice have lived next door for as long as I can remember.

Jim is a big lumberjack of a man. (Though he’s not an actual lumberjack—he’s a high school English teacher.

Or he used to be. He’s retired.) He’s in his sixties, but looks fiftysomething.

Merry reports that he lifts weights in their garage and goes for daily jogs.

Alice is a psychologist who still works, which baffles Merry: They must have more than enough money.

They have a daughter in her thirties who teaches at a fancy university in England—Oxford or Cambridge, I can never remember which.

When Jim came over, with Alice in tow, it was immediately obvious that Merry had not told them anything about my dad’s health issues.

They seemed alarmed when he attempted to stand from the couch to greet them.

(It was a failed attempt. He sat back down before he was fully upright.) Merry did nothing to address their alarm, so I took it upon myself to explain when I got them in the other room.

“He was just diagnosed?” Alice said.

Neither of them had heard of Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. I don’t imagine I’ll run into many people in my life who have.

“Yes. On Monday, actually. It’s a really rapid decline, from what I’ve read.”

“Is there a doctor treating him?” Jim asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t think there’s any treatment to be done. We’ll have hospice ... when Merry’s ready for that.”

“Hospice. My god,” Alice said.

Both their faces were long and drawn. I hate pity.

“You’ll need help, dear,” Alice said. “Soon.”

“I’m starting with getting him set up downstairs. One thing at a time, right?”

They nodded in sync.

“Do you want me to look into some options for help?” Alice asked.

“Sure, that would be great.”

She turned to Jim, and they had a mini conference about some friend of theirs named Suzanne who had a great caregiver for her husband, who had Parkinson’s. I busied myself with pulling the sheets off the mattress and folding them.

“So what’s the plan with these beds?” Jim asked. He seemed excited to have a task, to be helpful in a real, tangible way.

I told him about the mattress exchange, and he nodded his understanding, then said, “Let’s do it.” I was grateful for his enthusiasm because I had exactly none.

Alice took on a supervisory role, coaching us down the stairs with the king mattress. Merry just sat on the couch with my dad, turned away from the commotion, as if she couldn’t bear to see her life literally being turned upside down.

We leaned the king mattress against the wall in the downstairs bedroom, then brought the queen mattress upstairs. Jim was sweating at that point, which made me feel bad.

“Thank you,” I said when we’d gotten the queen mattress upstairs.

“What’s next?” Jim asked, noticeably out of breath. Even though he’s quite obviously a healthy man, he’s still elderly. I didn’t need a heart attack on my conscience.

“Your part is done.” I put my hands in prayer position to express my gratitude.

“We have to build the beds, right?” he asked.

“I can do that,” I said. “I have my dad’s drill and everything.”

He swiped his hand at the air, waving off my agenda.

“I’ll build the beds,” he said.

“No, really, you don’t need to do that.”

“He’s very good at this type of thing,” Alice said. “Come, I’ll make you some tea at my place.”

“I can at least be an assistant,” I said.

“It’s a one-person job, and I insist on being that person,” Jim said.

“There’s no point arguing with him, hon,” Alice said.

That was that.

Alice and I walked downstairs.

“Mer, I’m taking Nicole to have a cup of tea. You want to come?”

My dad couldn’t be left alone, though. He would likely try to walk somewhere and fall.

“I’ll stay here with Rob. Thanks, though.”

“You don’t mind if I steal Nicole away?” she asked, as if I were a minor in need of permission.

“Go right ahead,” Merry said.

Jim and Alice’s house is a Victorian meant for San Francisco proper. When we went inside, it looked the same as I remembered from childhood. It smelled the same, too—cinnamon and vanilla. Alice was always baking something.

We sat at the kitchen table, and she poured two cups of tea from a kettle on the stove. She was the type to always have a kettle of tea at the ready. She brought a little cup of sugar cubes too. Alice was someone with little cups of sugar cubes.

“I have to say I’m in a bit of shock about your father,” she said.

“I am too.”

I dropped one of the cubes in my tea, watched it dissolve.

“Merry told me your father had taken a fall ... Is that what started all this?”

I remembered what the doctor had said: A red herring, as we say.

“No, not related. Just a coincidence.”

“I just didn’t know his symptoms were so serious.”

“They weren’t really until very recently.”

She shook her head.

“How is Merry doing with it?” she asked.

“I think she’s in a bit of denial.”

“Denial can have very protective qualities. Our psyches can only handle so much.”

I nodded.

“I guess I feel like we don’t have time for denial. We have to start making arrangements and things.”

I immediately regretted using that word— arrangements . As if we were already talking about his funeral.

“He will need significant care,” she said.

“I know.” She didn’t need to keep hammering this home.

“I’ll talk to Merry.”

I thanked her, then took a sip of my tea. It tasted strongly caffeinated. Alice reached across the table and held one of my hands in hers.

“You need to take care of yourself, okay? I know you have two little ones. Coming up here, that’s a drive.”

This was a common refrain on social media— All you mamas out there, you need to take care of yourselves.

Put on your oxygen mask first, remember?

You got this. Of course, most of these messages were put out there by celebrities and influencers who probably have three nannies on staff.

I don’t know how the rest of us common folk are supposed to take care of ourselves when so many human beings rely on us to take care of them.

That saying “It takes a village” implies there is a village readily available.

But where is the village? Did I miss the registration email?

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“You need to.”

Her eyes were serious. I got a glimpse of what she was like as a psychologist with her patients.

“And I’m always here to talk if you need to.”

“Thanks, Alice. I appreciate it.”

When we finished our tea, we went back to the house. Jim was nearly done setting up the king bed downstairs. When I told Merry this, she said, “And what about the TV?”

“I’ll figure that out,” I told her, though I had little confidence in my technology skills. I don’t rely on Kyle for much, but he is in charge of all things audiovisual.

“I can help with the TV,” Jim called from the bedroom.

“Thanks for eavesdropping,” I called back.

“What’s happening with the TV?” my poor dad asked.

I was about to text Kyle to check up on the girls when my phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was Prisha. We had messaged a few times since the previous visit. She’d known I was headed to the Bay Area again.

Hey. Was just thinking of you. Wanna meet for a drink? I’m off at 5

My first thought was to decline the invitation. I wasn’t sure it would make me feel better to see beautiful, unencumbered Prisha again. But then I thought of what Alice had said about taking care of myself. Maybe I needed some Prisha energy in my life. Besides, Merry was irritating me.

Hi. Yes. Would love that. Same place?

Yep. See you then

I spent the rest of the day pretending to assist Jim (I was really just watching him while scrolling on my phone) while Alice sat and chatted with Merry and my dad.

Kyle and I exchanged a few texts, basically confirming each other’s existence and nothing more.

Alice picked up sandwiches for lunch, and we all ate together at the kitchen table.

When my dad was sitting, not attempting to walk, it was easy to believe things weren’t that bad.

He didn’t participate much in the conversation, but he had a pleasant smile on his face.

He just seemed quiet and tired. He started to doze off and then went to nap on the couch when we were done.

After lunch, we finished with the beds, and Jim set up the TV.

I made a run to Trader Joe’s for Merry, where I felt assaulted by the peppy cashiers: “How’s your day going?

Any fun plans?” They really need a “sad line” for people who are dealing with terrible life circumstances or just having a particularly awful day.

In this line, the cashiers would be reverentially silent.

By the time I unloaded the groceries, I was exhausted and very much in need of alcohol.

I told Merry I was going to meet Prisha.

I told her not to wait up, that we might be out late.

I wanted the option to wander the city and feel carefree again.

Alice said, “Have fun,” and Merry said, “Please don’t drink and drive. I can’t handle more stress.”

I had packed a form-fitting black dress this trip, figuring I didn’t want to be in leggings and an old sweater again if I met up with Prisha.

My hair is usually a sloppy topknot situation, so I decided to blow it dry and wear it long.

I used Merry’s round brush for as much curl at the ends as my hair would allow.

I swept some blush onto my cheeks and swiped my eyelashes with two coats of mascara. I felt, dare I say, pretty .

The bar was busier than the last time we’d come.

There was a large group of people who appeared to be celebrating someone’s birthday (there were party hats).

I took a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey straight, which is not something I ever order, but I wanted the burn.

Some people drink whiskey recreationally.

It’s their drink of choice. For me, whiskey is for when life feels unbearable.

And I was quite sure life was becoming unbearable.

I’d winced my way through half the glass when I got a text from Prisha:

I’m so sorry. I’m not going to be able to make it

Doctors can say this type of thing and people just accept it.

Oh, bummer. Ok.

Her: Are you there already?

Yes

Her: Ugh, I’m so sorry. We’ve got a complicated delivery situation ... I’m sorry. Have a drink for me?

Already on it

She sent me a clinking-glasses emoji.

I was mildly disappointed, but it was fine.

Prisha had done me the kindness of giving me a reason to leave the house.

Now that I’d left (and downed half a glass of whiskey), I didn’t actually need her .

I settled in, trying to remember the last time I’d sat at a bar alone.

Had I ever sat at a bar alone? In my younger years, I’d traveled in packs. And then I was married.

“You want another?” the bartender asked.

It was a different bartender than the last time. Every inch of visible skin on his arms was tattooed.

I assessed my empty glass and said, “Why not?”

He nodded distractedly and traveled to the other end of the bar.

I felt someone behind my chair, grazing my back, and I was mildly annoyed with the intrusion into my personal space.

“Sorry,” the person said. A man.

He sat next to me, and I groaned to myself. I didn’t want to talk to a stranger. At the very least, we’d have to exchange polite greetings, as our elbows would be in close proximity.

The bartender threw a napkin in front of the man, and they had a short discussion of the IPAs on tap.

The man ordered one of them. The bartender brought it, and the man took a sip.

I didn’t want to look at him directly because I thought that might be inviting conversation I didn’t want.

But he sounded handsome. His voice was deep.

“It is packed tonight,” he said.

Was he saying it to me? There was a woman in the seat on the other side of him, but her back was to him. She was laughing hysterically at the woman facing her. They were both wearing party hats.

I dared to look at him. He was handsome.

“It is packed,” I said.

He looked at me then. It was our first eye contact. His eyes were the kind people get lost in, little Bermuda Triangles.

“It’s not usually like this.”

“I’ve only been once,” I said.

“This is my usual spot, and if it was always like this, it would not be my usual spot.”

We laughed.

He wore a white button-down shirt, a stark contrast with his darker skin. I decided, right then, that I would flirt with him. I would pretend to be a single, childless woman, a woman like Prisha.

“I’m Elijah,” he said, sticking out his hand at an awkward angle. I shook it at just as awkward an angle.

When I was a kid, playing pretend with the neighborhood kids, I always gave myself this one somewhat-exotic name. I hated my own name. Nicole. It was so boring, so common. I wanted a name that an interesting, important, gorgeous woman would have.

“I’m Katrina,” I said.

I especially liked that it came with a cute nickname—Kat.

When he smiled, there were dimples.

“You can call me Kat.”