I caught a glimpse of myself in her dresser mirror. There had been days when I woke up unsure of everything about me, down to my own last name. But today was no longer one of those days. The truth was that I’d spent too much time hiding behind rationalizations and excuses and smoke screens. Which is to say, instead of wielding my power differently from my father, I’d come dangerously close to mimicking him. I’d taken the easy way out, and what would follow would be hard, but necessary. But I would do it, even if no one noticed. Or if everyone noticed and condemned me anyway. Because that’s what it meant to have character, and I wouldn’t lose sight of that the way my father had.

“I’ve talked a big game about how I’m trying to do some good in the world. I think it’s about time I actually start doing it. I’m going to talk to Atlas.”

“Good,” Cricket declared. Then, because my mother was still my mother: “Wear something nice when you do.”

Thirty-Four

I arrived at Ari’s apartment building on Saturday night; the doorman had to call up to verify my visit, then accompanied me to the elevator, swiping a card to make it move. It was a lot of procedure for a building that looked mostly to be occupied by people aged thirty and under. When I thanked him, he shrugged.

Twelve floors up, I knocked on the door. Atlas answered. Hellos. One-armed hugs. He drew me inside, commenting on the rain, the London-like dreariness of the summer. He took my jacket and hung it up with care, as though it were a mink. My dripping umbrella I placed next to the door.

“I’m sorry to miss Wallis,” Atlas said. “Ari told me she couldn’t make it.”

“She’s with Bo, actually,” I said. “There’s a bookstore opening in Anacostia. Bo wanted to go. So did she.” That was true. Also, when I’d explained to her my reasons for going to the dinner, and why I wanted to go alone, she’d understood.

I trailed Atlas farther into the apartment, which was just as these new things are—one great room with a kitchen island, quartz topped, the size of a rowboat. Tall windows overlooked H Street, thick enough to hear nothing below.

Atlas, in a striped apron, resumed his place back at the island. “Ari has just dashed out for a missing ingredient,” he said. “She’ll be back soon. She’s given me some tasks with the assumption that I can manage a charcuterie board. Stuffed grape leaf?”

“Please.” I slid next to him and helped myself. “How are you?”