Taylor books a room at a hotel overlooking the American side of the falls. Willa doesn’t ask how much it costs, but the sheets have a just-laundered scent and the air-conditioning hums quietly in the background. The shower stall is bigger than Willa’s entire bathroom at home, and she steams up the mirrors as she washes away several days’ worth of sink baths. She hasn’t felt this clean since they left home. After Taylor takes a shower, they head to the taproom of a local brewery just down the street.

“Can I get you some drinks?” the bartender asks as they claim a couple of barstools. “And our guacamole is amazing.”

“Guacamole sounds great,” Taylor says.

“Definitely,” Willa says. “And I’ll have a Niagara Lager.”

Taylor nods. “Same.”

“I’ll just need to see your IDs.”

They hand over their fake driver’s licenses, and Willa holds her breath. The drinking age on the Canadian side of the falls is nineteen, but Willa wouldn’t be surprised if the bartender threw them out on the street. Instead, she hands back the cards without question. “Thanks. I’ll get that guacamole order in right away and be back shortly with your beers.”

As she walks away, Willa leans over and whispers, “Oh my God! I can’t believe that worked. My first beer in a foreign country.”

Taylor laughs. “Calm down, Marco Polo, it’s only Canada.”

Willa watches the bartender fill two pint glasses from the tap near the middle of the bar. She brings them down, along with a pair of menus. “The guac should be up shortly.”

Willa takes a sip of her illegally acquired beer. It’s yeasty and a little tart, just like every other beer she’s ever had.

“Well? Does it taste foreign?” Taylor teases.

Willa laughs. “Shut up.”

Taylor takes a drink and crinkles her nose as she swallows. She’s never really liked beer all that much. “I was hoping it might taste like maple syrup.”

“Way to stereotype Canada.”

“I could have said hockey.”

“Hockey-flavored beer?” Willa says. “What would that even taste like?”

Taylor shrugs. “I don’t know, but it would be served on ice.”

Willa laughs. “Did you steal that joke from your dad?”

They plan their next move as they munch on chips and guacamole. Willa wants to go a little more slowly on Lake Ontario, but Taylor is still skeptical about sailing. Willa hates to compromise, but she agrees that they’ll get to Oswego as fast as they can, then take a slower pace through the New York canal system. Before they leave the taproom, she buys a growler of beer to take back to the hotel, where they sit on the balcony, drinking from plastic cups and watching the falls. At night, the water is illuminated, and tonight the colors alternate from blue to purple to red.

“This was definitely worth staying for,” Taylor says.