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“Not as old as me.”

“By three months!”

“That makes me three months wiser,” said Shira.

“Whatever you say.” Leo took a bite of his mac and cheese, and hell, it might have been the best thing he’d ever tasted. He’d needed creamy, cheesy comfort, and that was what she’d given him. A homemade mac-and-cheese casserole wouldn’t have accomplished the same thing, no matter how many fancy kinds of cheese it used. “Thank you. For this.”

She took a bite. “Anytime.”

They reminisced as they ate, bringing up more memories, and it felt good to think about something other than his dead dad. He did have to keep stepping away to field calls—his mom, who was hopping on a flight despite how many times he’d told her he didn’t need her, but he was grateful for it, honestly; the funeral home, who needed a time and a place and a grave site, and thank god his dad already had a little plot purchased; Emily, asking what she should bring him from their apartment—but was glad each time to come back to his plate, no matter how cold and congealed his food was becoming.

As he was chasing the last few noodles around the plate with his fork, the doorbell rang. At the same time, Leo’s phone buzzed. Emily. I’m outside. He texted back that the door was open, and in she came. “Oh, hey,” she said, her eyes flickering back and forth between Shira and Leo. She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, revealing one of the shiny diamond earrings that Leo had gotten her for her birthday. “Shira, right? Nice to see you. Thanks for helping set up the house.”

“Nice to see you, too, and no problem,” Shira said. “Hey, you should’ve just broken in.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Leo said hastily. “Did you bring my suit?”

“I brought both your suits,” Emily said. “They’re in the car.”

“Did you bring any ties?”

Emily smacked her forehead with a palm. “Oh, crap. I knew I forgot something.”

Borrow one of mine, he heard his dad say, clear as the sodium in his mac and cheese. Maybe it was a good thing Emily had forgotten the tie. He could bring a bit of his dad to his own funeral. His dad would appreciate the dark humor of it all. “No worries,” said Leo.

“Well, I’d better go,” said Shira. She gave Emily a quick hug, then Leo. Her hair brushed his cheek, and he almost clasped his hand to it to keep it there longer. A weird thing to do, probably because he was still craving the comfort all their childhood memories had brought him. But she stepped back and nodded. “I’ll leave you to it and go get the sandwiches. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He nodded back, unable to reach the words he needed. A simple thank-you didn’t seem like enough. But it would’ve been better than nothing, which was what he ended up with, and then she was gone.

“That smell is so familiar,” Emily said, sniffing the air. “What is that?”

“Boxed mac and cheese,” Leo said. “A real blast from the past. Probably literally, since I have no idea how long that box was in my dad’s cabinet.”

“Oh, man,” Emily said. She was already dressed in her funeral attire, a knee-length black dress that covered her shoulders and collarbones. It had been so clearly purchased for a funeral that Leo couldn’t help but wonder whose death had spurred it. “I can’t even remember when the last time I had some of that was. You save any for me?”

“Sorry,” Leo said. He had to go pick out a tie. And yet, now that Shira had left, the thought of going up there into his dad’s closet, which still smelled like him and held all his clothes waiting patiently to be worn again, was overwhelming. “Will you come upstairs with me?”

“Of course,” she said, and her presence was a comfort as he climbed those stairs and entered his dad’s room. His dad had made his bed before leaving, Leo couldn’t help but notice. He closed his eyes and could practically hear his dad crack, Something happens to me, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m some schlub who doesn’t make his bed, you know? “Oh, the mirror’s covered up. That’s weird. Did your dad do that?”

Leo opened his eyes with effort. “No, it’s a Jewish thing. Shira or her sister must have done it.” And it came as a relief, honestly, as Leo opened the closet and picked out a burgundy tie covered with navy-blue flowers, because he didn’t have to look at himself and think about how much he looked like his dad. How much of his dad he carried in him.

He cleared his throat. “Did you know I didn’t talk to my dad for years? Like, almost ten years?”

Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “I knew you’d had your issues after the divorce, but wow, I didn’t know it was that long.”

“Yeah.” It felt important to voice this all out loud, somehow. Maybe because this was the truest eulogy he’d get to give for his dad—he certainly couldn’t get up and say all this at the funeral. “I actually moved back here and didn’t talk to him while I was living in his house, which was pretty disrespectful and ungrateful, right? I was an angry kid. But he had patience with me and waited me out.” He cleared his throat again; a lump kept trying to block his words. “I wish we had more time, but I’m glad for the time we had. I’m glad we worked things out before he died.”

Emily rubbed his arm up and down, as if she’d just given him a shot. He had to force the next sentence out, but somehow it meant the most. “I’m glad he was proud of me when he died.” Because it did matter, sometimes, what people thought of you. It was okay to care, it was okay to feel like your actions mattered, and it was okay to cry, finally, in the room of your dead father, knowing that he’d be glad you were there at all.

From Shira Levinson’s email inbox:

Dear Shira, Thank you so much for applying to the Green Leaf Residency. While we appreciated the opportunity to consider your work, we had an enormous volume of talented applicants, and so we regret to inform you that you have not been accepted this year…

Dear Shira, I’m so glad you’ve started painting again! In our classes, I always thought you had tremendous talent, and thought it was such a shame that things didn’t work out after your debut. Of course I’d be delighted to write a recommendation for you…

Dear Shira, Thanks for signing up to make hamantaschen for this year’s Purim baskets! We have some nut allergies among the kids, so please steer clear of marzipan and peanut butter, and we’ve also got some of those almond moms who freak out if their kids eat chocolate, so maybe stick to fruit fillings. We’ll need about…