OLLIVANTHOUSE

Yesterday evening my husband put together a small bed for our eldest. That morning we had gone to IKEA for some basics we needed around the house— a bedside lamp, a bookcase, a task lamp for my sewing table, a pair of small knives, bed linens, a frame for the Grandma Moses print in the kitchen.

I didn’t know last night would be the last time we would put Adrien down in his SNOO bassinet. I felt overcome with emotion seeing him in Frances’ crib. Suddenly he looked tiny again. In his bassinet, he looked like a big fish in a small pond.

A trip to IKEA brings me as much joy these days as ordering Thai from our favorite spot. It feels like a special occasion. This feeling might be a remnant from the lockdown days in Los Angeles when we weren’t allowed to leave the house unless it was deemed essential. We were used to our hedonism— going out, eating out, having drinks on the west side then downtown. So we went on long walks back then, more often than not twice a day.

I remember finding out I was pregnant the day before the pandemic took over. Our last normal errand was picking up prenatal vitamins from the Sprouts down the street. Come to think of it, the last place we went out to eat was Pine & Crane in Silver Lake. Something about March 2020— many people talk about closing chapters in their lives. Life from that point onward felt like picking up a new book. I find myself thinking about the last _____ often. The last vacation we went on, the last bar we visited. Newly engaged, we began wedding planning. We went to the Chateau Marmont with a little picture in our head of eloping just the two of us and it seemed very us. After we got a pamphlet and business card from the front desk we sat at the bar. Already with a little buzz going from brunch I closed the drink menu and said, next time. We got up and left.

That afternoon crosses my mind often. That was before a lot of things. Before finding out I was pregnant, between jobs, and living in a shoebox studio apartment in Palms.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. But I think I understand now that some lasts you prepare for— the move out date of a lease— and others you don’t get a chance to, like when you find out the curry house you’ve been going to for years with your family closed down one weekend. Part of my education regarding growing up involves coping with unannounced endings, time quietly running out.