“Of course not,” said Morgan, sounding like a little adult. She took a deep breath as she buckled the seat belt across her spindly chest and looked around like she was rounding the Cape of Good Hope for the first time.

They crossed Merrimac Street and Alexa immediately saw the line of cars stopped ahead of her. “Go figure,” she muttered. The drawbridge was on its way up, which meant they would sit here for at least five minutes, maybe ten. She could see the Deck from here; she could practically taste the street corn with cojita cheese. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, thrumming with impatience. If they’d left two minutes earlier or eleven minutes later, they could have avoided this.

But Morgan said, “Yess! I love it when the bridge goes up,” and her enthusiasm reminded Alexa of Cam, who in this situation would say something corny and soothing, like, That’s okay, we’ve got nowhere to be. Alexa had to admit, it was a fairly majestic sight, the view from this bridge, with the sun waltzing off the water. To their right, dozens and dozens of boats were docked in the slips at the harbor, with more out on moorings, and the river extended beyond the boats, all the way to the open ocean.

They watched as the mast of a grand sailboat cleared the bridge, and Morgan let out a cheer. The bridge eased down—it looked like it was exhaling—and the line of cars moved ahead.

A girl a year behind Alexa was at the hostess stand at the Deck, and two girls from her class were waiting tables. One of them came up to their table: a hard-core soccer and lacrosse player named Maya. Alexa gave her a hey.

“Let’s put our phones away,” Alexa said to Morgan. “Shall we?” Her mother would be proud of that. Alexa held out her hand and Morgan relinquished the phone—reluctantly, because she was playing some online game against one of her little friends. “Your generation is totally addicted,” said Alexa. “I worry about you guys.” She was kidding, but only a little bit.

Alexa ordered the fish tacos with the street corn. Morgan first claimed to want a grilled cheese from the kids’ menu but Alexa nixed that right away. They were in coastal Massachusetts! In summertime! Grilled cheese was not a native dish. Morgan sighed and ordered the fried fish plate. Better. The fish was cod, and local. Morgan requested no straws for either of them.