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some cookies, and dropped them into the container of Oreo Cookie ice cream. “But does he need you as much as you need him?”
    She began to mash the cookies into the ice cream with her spoon. I could see why she’d brought out the extra Oreos. I’d need the reinforcement. This was heavy stuff.
    “Mr. Monk has come a long way in the last few years,” I said. “I’m sure he’s capable now of living on his own. But I worry that if there isn’t someone running interference for him, cutting down on the little distractions and smoothing out his misunderstandings with others, then the frustration, confusion, and fear could build up in him, become too much, and he could crack.”
    “He could,” she said. She stopped mashing and took a big cookie-filled scoop for herself. “But it’s not your problem.”
    “Easy for you to say,” I said before I dug out a spoonful of ice cream and stuffed it in my mouth. It was delicious. Pure Oreo heaven.
    “Do you think it was easy for me to leave Adrian?” she said. “He was much less capable of taking care of himself back then than he is now. But one thing was true then and is still true today: Adrian becomes your life and pretty soon you forget you have one of your own. I knew if I didn’t go, I’d end up sacrificing my life and my happiness for his and I wasn’t willing to do that. But I also knew I couldn’t face walking out on him. So one day I just didn’t show up. I left without even saying good-bye. And you know what? He survived. He found you.”
    “What if he doesn’t find someone else?”
    “I think he already has,” she said.
    As if on cue, that’s when Monk returned from his dinner date and walked in on us in the kitchen.
    “Are you two drunk?” Monk asked.
    “No, of course not,” I said. “What makes you say that?”
    “Because that’s the only thing that could explain such reckless and unsanitary behavior,” Monk said.
    “There’s nothing wrong with sharing ice cream, Adrian,” Sharona said.
    “Did you both floss and brush your teeth before eating out of the same container of ice cream?”
    “No,” I said.
    “So what you’re actually sharing is ice cream slathered with hot saliva teeming with millions of germs, bits of undigested food, and flecks of plaque. I hope you’re not thinking of putting that massive petri dish in the freezer and preserving it. That’s how the Black Death started.”
    “With Oreo Cookie ice cream?” I said. “Did they even have Oreos back then?”
    “Relax, Adrian,” Sharona said. “We intend to finish it here and now and with no regrets.”
    “I’ll be sure to quote that in your eulogies,” Monk said and went to the refrigerator to get himself a bottle of Fiji water. He cleaned the top with a disinfectant wipe, then unscrewed the cap and drank directly from the bottle.
    “Rough night?” Sharona asked.
    “I told Ellen that I needed to find a place to live,” Monk said.
    “And that made you feel anxious,” Sharona said. “Don’t worry, Adrian. While you’re in San Francisco, I’ll start looking for first-floor apartments that are even numbered, symmetrical, and spotlessly clean.”
    “She pointed out that her house has four bedrooms, two baths, and was extremely clean and symmetrical,” Monk said.
    “That’s true,” I said. “It’s got the same disinfected operating-room smell as your place.”
    “She offered me a room in her house for as long as I wanted,” Monk said.
    I shared a look with Sharona. “What did you say?”
    “Naturally, I declined,” Monk said.
    “Because you’re not ready for that kind of commitment,” Sharona said. “And everything that it implies.”
    “It’s not the rental agreement that concerns me,” Monk said.
    “She was asking you to live with her, Adrian,” Sharona said.
    “Strictly as a tenant,” Monk said.
    “No, she wasn’t,” I said. “She wants to be with you, Mr. Monk.”
    “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Monk said. “She’s not that