The narrator meticulously plans her six-day cross-country drive from Los Angeles to New York City. Harris helps map the route—210 to I-15 to I-70, through Las Vegas, Zion National Park, Salina, Denver, Kansas, Indianapolis, and Pittsburgh before reaching NYC. She prepares extensively: PowerBars for early starts, twelve audiobooks, custom playlists for different stretches, therapeutic back support, sun-protective clothing, rosacea gel, and extra Benadryl for the insomnia she experiences nightly at two a.m. She plans to stay six nights at the Carlyle hotel in New York to see friends, museums, galleries, plays, and take work meetings. The entire trip will take about two and a half weeks—the longest she's ever been away from Sam or Harris.

The narrator reflects on her fear of separation: not that Sam will miss her, since both are out-of-sight-out-of-mind people, but that they might forget each other. She draws a parallel to her mother Elaine, who always reintroduces herself on the phone—"This is your mother: Elaine"—even before her mild cognitive impairment. The narrator accepts the heartbreaking risk of distance.

The night before departure, the narrator and Sam share their weekly bath ritual—dark, candlelit, eating apple slices dipped in honey, musing about love and big ideas. Sam asks for a dog when the narrator returns, and the narrator gives a noncommittal answer. Sam observes that the narrator isn't like other moms, who enthusiastically gush over things kids make; the narrator responds more like she's talking to an adult. Sam accepts this but asks the narrator to try the other way at their next birthday party. They discuss keepsakes from the trip—Sam wants a toy or key chain, the narrator envisions rocks or napkins, and Sam insists on "one big, good thing."

After Sam falls asleep, the narrator forces herself to go to Harris's bedroom wearing only high heels—a ritual that helps her overcome her resistance to initiating sex. She describes the painful transition from her default state of feeling intrinsically alone to physical intimacy, noting that once she gets past her resistance, the sex is genuinely good and Harris gives her multiple orgasms. But afterward she retreats and begins dreading the next time, which won't be for two and a half weeks.

On the morning of departure, the narrator dresses in white sun-repellent clothing, carefully packs the trunk, and practices reaching for things without looking to avoid causing an accident. She kisses Sam all over, but the child is eager for the promised screen time. Harris takes a photo and tells her to call from Utah. In a final exchange of meaningful looks, the narrator silently wishes they could finally drop their emotional barriers and truly connect, while Harris's look suggests they could be close right now if she wanted. Her eyes say nothing in return.