Somehow it was June. Edith’s lease would end soon and she had nowhere to go next. No matter where you went, you brought your problems with you. You had to sort yourself out first.

Texas was becoming worse. There were new attempts to classify gender-affirming care as child abuse. Soon Medicaid would stop covering it. In Florida, children were being forcibly detransitioned. Alabama would follow. Eyes followed her in the women’s room more than ever before. There had to be better places than this.

On the phone, she asked Adam, What have you heard about the wedding?

Tessa’s wedding? Yes, obviously. It’s still ages away. I hear normal stuff, mostly. Cake tasting and dress shopping.

God, doesn’t that all sound sort of, I dunno. Straight?

I’m not going to talk shit with you about our dear friend, sweet Edith.

Aw, but how can you resist when I’m so cute. Had Tessa always wanted this sort of life? Or was Devin, and her love for him, strong enough to sway her? I’m not sure I’ve heard you say one word about our so-called dear friend’s so-called fiancé.

You don’t really want that. Or you shouldn’t.

Of course I do! I can process information in such a normal way.

It seemed so easy once you were in love. A person who could follow you places, or help you find a new place to go. Some shoulder to sleep on when your flights were delayed. Some sharp eye to find the lost back of your earring. It embarrassed Edith how much she wanted this.

When are you and Michael gonna tie the knot? she asked.

Adam laughed. “Tie the knot”? Are you someone’s southern grandmother?

I am the people’s southern grandmother.

I don’t think we’re the marrying sort. It’ll make it so much harder to have a string of torrid affairs in middle age.

Maybe Val had the right idea. Floating from place to place—live wherever, fuck whoever for however long, and carry on your merry way. Never mind that it had killed Val. Never mind what it would do to Edith.

When she didn’t have anyone to call on her walks, she listened to Michael’s podcast, I Love “I Love the 80s.” Michael’s voice had that NPR mellifluousness. It was like listening to a hypnotist.

It’s so interesting to think, he said, of the mythos that New Coke has taken on. No one from our generation knows what it tastes like, only its reputation. A reflection of a reflection. We might not hate it at all. It might be the best thing we’ve ever tasted.

Someone had to put her life in order. She needed a paradigm to squeeze herself into. The clarity of hindsight; a decade reduced to ten hour-long episodes.