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That’s how I got here, Allen. And that’s how I survived. I’m not making this up.”
    Ishmael moved into the kitchen and started opening cabinets. “We’re about to eat,” Allen said. “If you could just wait a—” She cracked open a bag of chips and stuffed a wad in her mouth, grimacing as she read the label on the front.
    “Seriously? Who buys salt-free tortilla chips?” she asked. “Men who let the love of their life slip away and eat crap food for decades, then finally decide to change their ways.”
    “I was the love of your life?” she asked.
    “Yes. And you probably still are.” He softened his voice. “But I can’t say I believe you. And I think you should see a doctor.
    I’m scared you hit your head.”
    “But what if what my dad told me is actually true? Maybe she did just swim away,” Ishmael said, stuffing another handful of chips in her mouth. “Maybe she’s out there somewhere.”
    “I’m going to have the most delicious food on the table in about two minutes. I can’t believe you’re still eating those.”
    “Now that I’ve seen my own body change . . .” Her voice trailed off. Her eyes glazed over, focused on the past. “I don’t know, Allen. She’s my mom . I’ve always wanted to know the truth of what happened to her. I’ve always wanted answers. I have this whole separate dimension of my life, deep inside, that completely revolves around her.”
    She looked over at him.
    “People talk about having a hole in your heart when someone is missing from your life, but I don’t have a hole: I have questions. Millions of them. I want to know if my mom was an artist like me. I want to know what her favorite color was. I want to know if I have her eyes. I mean, did I make that up—or were her eyes really the exact same color as mine?”
    Allen speared the food onto plates.
    “A mermaid,” he finally said, slicing an avocado and adding garnishes to each plate.
    “Yeah. A mermaid. As in, a woman with a tail.” She beamed. “It’s amazing, right?”
    “Just give me a chance to warm up to all this.”
    Ishmael was distracted by Diane’s open purse on the counter: a glass container caught her eye and she pulled it out, unscrewed the cap, and smelled the contents.
    “Hey—chick with a tail—you think it’s cool to just go through someone’s purse like that?”
    “You don’t believe me at all, do you?” She sprinkled the contents from the container into the bag of chips. “You really think I need to see a doctor?”
    “Yes, I do. Because, I actually do believe you. At least, I believe that you believe that you’re half-fish. And so I think you should see a doctor. And before that, despite what Diane says about me—and despite the fact that Nicholas only drinks Starbucks coffee—I want you to call Nicholas.”
    “How do you know Nicholas only drinks Starbucks?” she asked.
    He took a deep breath, ignoring her question. “Ish, if it were me—if I were the one marrying you—let’s just say he deserves to know you’re alive.”
    “I’m impressed.”
    “Yeah, well, I’ve matured a bit over the years since we split up.”
    “No. I’m impressed with this spice .”
    Whatever she had found in Diane’s purse was the perfect blend; she savored each bite.
    “This is far too complicated for me to handle alone,” he said. “You have to call the guy.”
    She spoke with her mouth full. “I’m going to pretend for a little bit longer that you didn’t just say all that and that you’re still on my team.”
    “I am on your team. There’s this doctor guy that comes in for coffee all the time. I’m not sure what kind of doctor he is, but I could ask him to—” His nose crinkled. “Man, what’s that smell ?”
    She looked around, smelled the bag in her hands.
    “What smell?” she said, stuffing more chips into her mouth. “That smell that smells like the bottom of a fishing boat.” Allen reached in Diane’s purse and pulled out the small jar of spices.