For a moment, the noise of traffic and commuters around us seemed to disappear.
“What?”
“Liver failure.”
I sat beside him on the freezing pavement.
“Larry, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The face people make when they’re already standing at your funeral.”
Even then, he managed to make me laugh.
But I kept staring at the sign.
“Why marriage?”
Larry looked at his coffee.
“I don’t want to die belonging to nobody.”
“You don’t belong to nobody.”
“That’s a nice thing to say, Sarah.”
He looked toward the street.
“But it’s different when there’s paperwork.”
He explained that without legal family, strangers would eventually deal with his remains.
He didn’t want that.
“I just want one person who can say, ‘He’s mine. I’ll take care of him.’”
