Wallis had an uncanny way of keeping her life entwined with Blake’s, even when he was gone. This meant doing him a favor and watching his friend’s wild-eyed labradoodle for the weekend. Crabtree had already shredded the corner of one of Cricket’s armchairs, and marked his territory on most of the rugs, but I had agreed to a walk through the congressional cemetery by the Anacostia. I wanted to see Wallis, and if it required a canine third wheel, then so be it. In the weeks since the wedding, Wallis had either been with Blake, going to see Blake, or at work. She sent me pictures from all the places he took her—the symphony, the Anthem, the rooftop bar where Atlas and I once, years ago, had pretended to be fancy, ordering pitchers of expensive cocktails and waving at people we didn’t know to confuse them.

Despite the regular texts, I missed her. It was a particular kind of loneliness to feel far from someone who lived so physically close.

“How are we getting to the cemetery?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed to pull on my socks. “Taxi?”

“I have Blake’s car.” I glanced up and noticed her nosing through the bowl of stud earrings on my dresser. “We practically share it now.”

“That’s generous,” I said, back to minding the busybody Crabtree.

I’d spent the first decade of my life begging Cricket for a sibling. The odds had not been good; Cricket really liked being slender and subsisting mostly on diet soda, fruit salad, and coffee-flavored yogurt. So when she met me at the door after school and without preamble announced I had gotten my way, I ran straight to my room and decided which of my stuffed animals I could share with the baby.

Wallis came and she was perfect—a curly brown-haired cherub who I claimed as mine. There was a nurse and a nanny in the early days, but I stole her away as often as possible. I bathed her so much her skin peeled and I was admonished. She preferred to be held, to be in laps and slung over shoulders, and even when she learned to walk she was still a cuddler. She slept in my bed once she could toddle herself there, and I never kicked her out, which irritated Cricket, who had ideas about independence and grit.

Blake had replaced me as her favorite person in the world. I wasn’t angry about this. May we all be so lucky in love.

“I brought a note,” she said abruptly, my pair of pearls now in her ears as she revealed a card from her jacket pocket. “For Dad.”