THE LAST DROP

You’ve just left your dad in Virginia with your brother after taking him to the neurologist to confirm that it is, in fact, Alzheimer’s. Now, you’re driving to New York to get your dead ex-girlfriend’s cats who need a home and even though we weren’t planning on cats, they’re fifteen and who’s gonna take them and you know them already and why not give some animals a home even if it’s another twenty hours of driving there and back? I tell Manuel about your travels and he says, It’s a good premise for a horrible road trip dark comedy movie. And there is something funny about it all. Your father hates cats, but they love him. And I spent a long time envious of your ex-girlfriend’s beauty and now I only miss her and want to love her cats for her. My memoir could be titled Everything Was Fine until It Wasn’t. My memoir could be called I Thought I Wanted a Baby but All I Got Was Your Dead Ex-Girlfriend’s Two Old Cats. My memoir could be called Before the Wedding You Must Suffer a Little. My mother’s motto is “Nothing Is Easy” and I tease her for it, but it’s true. Before he left, your dad said he didn’t understand the saying “Good to the last drop.” Does that mean the last drop is bad? he asked. No, I reassured. It means all of it is good, every single drop of it is good.