“Check this out,” I said, galvanized by her reaction. “I’m in the process of making the door.” I pointed. “It’ll latch from the outside. Right here.” I showed her the drawing I’d made as well, so she could see what I was talking about. “This is where the clasp will go. I’m thinking of putting a small box around it, if I have time, so you can’t reach through and open it. Apparently that’s a thing. Some birds can open doors.” I took a drink of my cappuccino. She was right. It was terrible. The espresso tasted like burnt popcorn and there was too much milk, but I drank it anyway. “And, well, there’s this other crazy idea I’ve been working on, but I can scrap it if you think it’s no bueno. It sort of depends on the statement you’re trying to make about freedom. I mean, is this an I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings sort of thing? Or a literal absence of freedom? Or a commentary about freedom of choice regarding women’s rights? Given the charity we’re supporting, that’s what I would imagine, but you tell me.”

She didn’t answer my questions. She just squinted and said, “Tell me your idea.”

“OK. Like I said, if you hate it, it’s not too late to dial it back. But here’s what I was thinking: What if I put a mechanism on the cage so that as the night rolls on—we have what, two hours? So, imagine as those two hours tick by, the cage is literally closing in on you. It’ll happen slowly and be barely perceptible, but perceptible enough, like if it wasn’t for the base sticking further and further out from the bottom of the bars, people might not even notice it until the cage is pressing up against you. But they’ll sense it. It will make them uncomfortable. And by the end of the night, you won’t be able to move. You know, as a sort of interpretation of how women seem to have all this freedom but are still caged in a lot of ways, and it’s stifling, and some people are still trying to take it away.”

Her expression had been expanding as I spoke. Her eyes were huge and sparkly, and she was pointing at me, pressing her finger into my chest. “Joseph Harper, do not get me excited about this unless you’re confident you can build it in a couple of weeks.”

“If this is all I’m doing, then yes, I’m confident I can.”

She pursed her lips as though she were holding a secret between them.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing.” She was smiling now, big and bright. “I just love this idea so much.”

“You do?”