“Josephine. I thought you were going to forget to call me before you left for work.” Her voice was a mix of relief and accusation with a healthy side of guilt-tripping. Ah, mothers.

I took a deep breath. “Nope. Just trying to get showered and dressed. I’ll call you as soon as I get out of the meeting.”

“I’m so proud of you, Josephine. If I don’t say it enough, I just want you to know it. After Nicolas—” her voice hitched. “Well, I’m so thankful our family name will be prestigious once again. Your father, God rest his soul, is so proud of you. I know it.”

“Thank you. And Mom, I’m not making partner yet. That’s a few years away. No pressure or anything. ”

“You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” And I did.

“Good luck, my darling.”

“Thanks. I love you, Ma.”

We hung up, and I gobbled down granola, brushed my teeth, applied lip gloss, and headed out.

The streets were just waking up. Street sweepers were finishing their shifts, and garbage trucks tipped last night’s bottles and trash from the alleys behind all the bars and restaurants.

I stopped in at my favorite coffee shop, Armand’s, and ordered an espresso with a shot of cream. It was served in a tiny paper cup, and it was just the bolt of energy I needed before a day like today. I swung onto East Bay Street, taking a hit of the marsh and sea breeze coming in off the water, and passed by Rainbow Row, the colorful historic townhomes that faced the Charleston Historic Foundation building and the Charleston Yacht Club. I waved at the French lady, Sylvie, who worked at the yacht showroom on King Street as she passed me on the opposite side of the road. Most mornings I ran into her at Armand’s, and we sometimes exchanged small talk.