This is how our small family found ourselves on an impromptu outing to the Southwest Waterfront, a part of town on the Potomac that, as recently as three years ago, had been home to the nation’s longest-running fish market and not much else. On the boat, I gave everyone a brief history of the land and the development—or, at least I tried. Cricket already knew everything, she claimed, and Wallis and Blake were preoccupied with snuggling and taking photos of each other. No matter; some nice out-of-towners were interested in my lecture, so when the attention of my family drifted, I still had an audience.

We disembarked, walked along the cobblestone promenade. Blake ducked into one of the massive glass-and-steel apartment buildings. “To grab a brochure,” he said when he returned. In we went to a bookshop, then an art gallery. Cricket considered an oil painting, fallen petals and lemons and a hyacinth in a chinoiserie vase. It was lovely. The price—impossible. It was gone, her old life, and I saw in her eyes she was still adjusting to her new one.

I wrapped my arm around my mother’s shoulders as we made our way past restaurants full of young people drinking cocktails, and the luxury hotel, to wooden steps near the water.

As we sat, my phone chimed with an incoming message. Atlas. My pulse skipped. If this text was about the kiss, I think I’d throw myself off this beautiful dock into the harbor. His pity would be worse than his rejection. I read with trepidation:

Hi. My editor has scheduled the story about your dad to run on April 15. If you’d like to go on record, we can speak any time before then. No pressure. Lots of fun last night. Thank you for inviting me.

Okay. That wasn’t so bad.

Why, then, did my heart still feel like lead?

Confusion must’ve shown on my face, because Cricket asked if I was all right. “Work,” I told her. She accepted this lie.

I hoped the right response to Atlas’s text might materialize as I listened to Blake and Wallis describe their night previous over the bag of gourmet nonpareils he’d bought from a chocolate shop the size of a stamp. “We were celebrating—oh, God, Daisy.” Wallis raised her hand to her head. “I completely forgot. I got a job.”

This was wonderful, yet overdue, news. Maybe Wallis’s pay would be good. Private-sector good. Principles withstanding, a defense contractor salary would be very useful right now. Glad to have one problem in my life solved, I rallied, clapped my hands like she and Blake had earlier in my apartment. Now she could help contribute to her rent. “Where?” I asked.

“Women First.”

“A remarkable organization!” Cricket pronounced.