Ari continued to look at me expectantly, and I realized we had made it to the front of the line. She’d been asking what I wanted to drink. The bartender, who must’ve been about sixteen, wore an oversize black vest and appeared very eager to serve us. “Wine,” I said, gathering myself, remembering where I was and who I was supposed to be. “White.” After she ordered her whiskey, she tipped, and so I felt compelled to dig through my wallet. I had a twenty and a one. The former was out of the question, so I guiltily stuffed the dollar bill in the tip bowl.

Drinks and fresh cocktail napkins in hand, we moved out of the way of the guests behind us. Ari took a sip of her two-finger pour, grimaced, then told me an overly long story about doing a blind taste test of cheap and expensive whiskeys one night after a client dinner that had turned into drinks at a Central London speakeasy. She was the only person who could differentiate the top shelf stuff from the swill, she claimed. “Girl power,” she said, finishing her tale and cheersing her glass with mine.

You beat the men at a whiskey tasting. Good for you! That is precisely what the third wave feminists fought for. “You mentioned a new job,” I said instead. “Atlas told me you were lobbying?”

Ari wrinkled her nose. “You can call it legally bribing, Daisy. I know you want to.”

Legally bribing. I hadn’t heard that one before. Bo and L.K. would love it. “I wouldn’t presume.”

“My firm had an opening for a principal here in DC, and I went for it. I may just make enough money to live here.”

“The market has accelerated since you’ve been gone. There was an NPR story the other day—” I stopped myself, wishing I’d ordered the tequila.

“Did Atlas tell you his rent is going up ten percent this year? His lease is up in two months, and I’m considering asking him to move in with me... Daisy,” Ari said, “how old are you?”

“Thirty-four,” I answered, mechanical, before I could absorb what she’d just revealed.

“Baby!” she exclaimed. “I am thirty damn eight. You still have some good eggs left in there. Mine are shriveled like capers. I have plans, and I don’t have much time.”

A waiter carrying a tray of tiny toasts and caviar stopped before us. Ari partook; I did not, unable to bring myself to eat roe in the middle of this particular conversation.

“I know I just met you,” I said as the waiter moved on, “but I have the feeling your eggs will do as you command.” I didn’t mean this as a compliment, I felt too petty and rattled for that, but she flipped her hair behind her shoulder in a way that suggested she was flattered.