Edie took the train down from Poughkeepsie to meet with Jim Morgan, the man who managed the family’s finances, to discuss buying a house. Michelle was born rich. Her father was a prominent Connecticut attorney before becoming a senator, and her mother’s family had made a fortune in textiles for generations. They produced uniforms for the Union Army, outfitted the rangers at the National Parks system, kept the Boy Scouts in knee socks, and state prisoners around New England in stripes. The millions Edie’s dad earned in the music industry added to the enormous pile, but he never felt confident managing money and let Michelle handle it all, which meant, she always said, “hiring the best people.” Jim Morgan was the best. He invested for them and set Edie and Claudia up with trusts when they were babies. Jim’s firm was conservative, and the money was woven into all kinds of safety nets to keep everyone and their offspring taken care of. On the day Edie was supposed to meet with Jim, her mother invited her to lunch.

It was February, but sunny, and Edie got to the Tribeca restaurant before her mother. She pointed the hostess to a table by the window in what was the back patio all summer, and transformed into a heated atrium in the winter. While she waited for her mother, Edie ordered chamomile tea and texted Nathan about the house they’d just toured. She sent him an image of a nursery she found on Pinterest and he responded with two emojis: a heart and a home. After a few minutes Michelle appeared.

“I called and reserved a table inside,” she said. She was wearing four-inch-heeled ankle boots, military-style pants, and an oversized black wool coat with what Edie guessed was a fox-fur collar. As usual, her mother looked fierce. Her face just slightly flushed, her walk almost a march.

“I didn’t know,” said Edie. “It’s nice out here.”

“It’s more comfortable in there. I thought you’d want to be comfortable.”

“I think you and I have different ideas of what it means to be comfortable, Mom,” said Edie.

“Okay, Eden,” said Michelle. She sat down and when the waiter came, asked for a bottle of Pellegrino. “So, how are you?”

“I can’t drink bubbles anymore.” Edie rubbed her belly. “Apparently, I have acid reflux. But the baby is healthy.”

“I wonder if you’ll go early,” said Michelle. “Claudia was three weeks early. Which is why I wanted to meet. I gather you are still considering a home birth?”

“What do you mean considering? It’s all planned.”

Michelle pursed her lips and brushed her hair from her forehead with a finger. “I do not like having to do this, but if you’re going to be stubborn you don’t give us much choice.”

“Us?”

“Your father and me.”