“It’s great you came,” Cricket said once we’d found an unpopulated corner of the ballroom, near the bar, where we could give side-eye to the familiar faces in the crush. Wallis’s boss had written a memoir about fighting zealots, loons, and men who didn’t know a uterus from a hole in the ground, so of course half of DC and a sliver of Los Angeles had packed into the Willard for the free drinks and food.

“That’s about the fifth time you’ve said so,” I said. “I came to a book party, Cricket. You’re acting like I’m walking on the moon.”

“Need I remind you,” asked Cricket, waving off, to my chagrin, a waiter with small spring rolls, “what you were doing when I came down to check on you the other night?”

“No,” I said, sipping from a glass of wine, not keen on reliving a low point.

But Cricket pressed on, “You were in bed, eating old pasta and chocolate pudding.”

“The pasta was new,” I said, snagging a crispy shrimp before Cricket could send that tray away, too. “And the pudding was vanilla.”

“Daisy, I know you’re upset about this Miles thing, but you have got to pull yourself together. A class, a hobby, anything.”

“You think I’m living a meaningless life,” I said. A baby-faced reporter eagerly roaming the ballroom with both a digital and video camera headed over to us, but now it was my turn to say, No, thank you. Our presence, still tinged with scandal, did not need to be cataloged.

“I don’t want you to be lonely,” Cricket replied.

She sounded more troubled than necessary, so I attempted to pivot. “I’m finding stuff to do,” I said. “I went for a run the other day.”

This cheered her. She’d always believed in the transformative power of aerobic exercise. “And how did that go?”

I hadn’t been jogging in years. I had grand plans to run the trails in Rock Creek Park, but had barely made it out of Adams Morgan. I must’ve appeared to others like a machine on the fritz; occasionally my legs and arms worked like they were supposed to, but mostly I moved in fits and starts, and sometimes not at all. I returned home, red-faced, sweaty, and mortified. “It went well. I did three miles.”

“Good work,” said Cricket. “Now we just have to make you some money.” She grinned. “Well, look at that. Your financial worries have finally rubbed off on me.”

“Any day,” I said, “I’ll be back at work.” Just then I spotted Bo by the door. “Guys!” I tried to temper my wave, but it was still entirely overeager. “L.K.! Mom, it’s Bo and L.K. They just walked in. And Miles is here!” I think I actually said the word yay, but I’d like not to dwell.