“I’m not sure there is much I can do. People have a right to protest. I have a right to build. One thing shouldn’t prevent the other.”

“I think you could play up the social media component of this.” The senator clicked through a few images on his screen and turned the monitor. It showed the two viral memes of him and Liza. Dorsey unbuttoned his jacket in an excuse to look away.

“How do you mean ‘play up,’ sir?” Dorsey was an expert at making his tone unaffected.

“The little girl that started this whole thing. Maybe a photo of you two being friendly. It would make it seem like you’re hearing their concerns.” The senator pulled the monitor back. “Make it seem like you’re being responsive.” Murmurs of agreement washed over the room.

“So a photo op?”

“Not a photo op, a viral photo op. Use social media to either discredit her or prove that you’re a bleeding heart.”

“That’s gross,” Dorsey said coldly. The room went still.

“That’s politics. If you don’t have the stomach for the ugly underside of progress, you’re in the wrong profession.”

Dorsey stopped short at that. Perhaps he was in the wrong profession. He didn’t enjoy smiling and glad-handing with people he had no chance of ever liking. His mother would have thought of a better way. She would have tried to understand.

“The developments are a net positive for the community and the district,” Dorsey insisted. “The facts should speak for themselves.”

“Ha.” The senator slapped the oak table. “You need to come down off your high horse, son. People don’t deal in facts and figures. They know how a thing makes them feel. And pushing a boulder through the projects while little Black and Brown kids watch and cry is bad for business. Like a damned SPCA commercial.”

“I’m sorry, everyone is just going to have to grow up. I will not associate myself with Liza Bennett”—he took a thoughtful pause—“just for the sake of building more buildings in DC,” Dorsey said. He wouldn’t mind being huddled up in the cold with her half straddling him again. But the senator thought people’s lives were chess pieces. Not to mention he’d just compared Black children to those sad anti–animal abuse commercials. He had the strength of his mother’s convictions about this. He would not use Liza.

“That’s a lot of money to throw away for the sake of your pride.”

The senator’s marriage-counseling email gave him an idea. “Self-respect is a perfectly good cause to spend your money on.” He rose and closed the buttons on his black tartan sport coat, which had stayed remarkably wrinkle-free.

The senator looked him over. “And when it’s all gone, can your self-respect keep you dry in the rain? Can you eat your pride?”