All around Natalie reporters collapsed back into their chairs, shaking their heads and murmuring as they began angry-texting on their phones. Everyone had rushed here and now this delay would throw live shots and lunch plans into chaos. But for Natalie it was a relief. Fifteen minutes to get used to breathing the air of a White House correspondent.

One of Natalie’s phones buzzed and she pulled it out to watch it fill with messages from her mother, Noreen.

MOM: Why haven’t you been answering my texts?

MOM: You’re being very selfish.

MOM: This is about my special day. My wedding. My chance at happiness. Are you trying to destroy it?

The temptation to write back, Yes! Yes I am! was almost overwhelming but she was saved by a text from her sister.

SARAH: So, you’re trying to ruin Mom’s wedding.

NATALIE: Either that or it’s my first day at the White House.

SARAH: Excuses excuses. Are you excited? Nervous?

Natalie hesitated for a moment and then typed: I miss Dad.

SARAH: Well, you know what he’d say right now?

Natalie smiled as she remembered their dad’s favorite advice. I didn’t raise my girls to be shrinking violets. Silence helps no one. Be noisy!

NATALIE: Be noisy?

SARAH: Or maybe that he’s really proud of you. You’re going to be great.

NATALIE: Thanks for saying that. But I could easily land on my face.

SARAH: When have you ever failed at anything?

NATALIE: I call your attention to the eighth grade high dive. Hives at prom. The scorched earth that is my dating life.

SARAH: Character building moments. On the topic of scorched earth, will you please pick a bridesmaid dress so our mother will stop looking like a boiled owl and torturing your little sister? Her wedding is in less than two weeks. I’ll re-send you the pics right now.

NATALIE: Gotcha. As they say in DC I’ll make it priority No. 1.

SARAH: God bless. A grateful nation thanks you. Can’t wait to see you live from the North Lawn!

Not if I face-plant first, Natalie thought.

Putting down the phone and looking around the press room, Natalie was struck by how little it had changed since she used to watch the briefings on TV with her dad years ago. How many hours had she and her father spent sitting on the couch in his study watching what happened in this space? The memories came back to her now with a painful clarity, how grown up she’d felt sitting next to him, the smell of books and furniture polish, the sound of ice cubes clinking in his big crystal tumbler of bourbon.