Three months after BNL closed the Installation Center where David and Julie had gotten their Pilots, a Tex-Mex chain restaurant opened in its place.
Sophie called from her new apartment to invite them to the grand opening. “No is not an option. Everyone will be there. It’s a tangible victory.”
It was late January. The sun hadn’t shown itself all day, and they walked across the parking lot under a dusk sky wiped gray from edge to edge. A snow sky, they’d called it when the kids were little, taking bets on when the first flakes would fall, Julie complaining she was the only one who wouldn’t benefit from a snow day.
“Wait, why does it still smell like cookies?” Val asked, holding the door for Julie.
Julie smiled. “It’s a mystery for the ages.”
The place was crowded and bright, a riot of color compared to outside. A mariachi band played in the far corner.
“Over here, guys!” called Sophie from the center of the room, where she and David sat surrounded by people. Several tables had been pulled close together. Val recognized a few faces from the meeting space, as well as Milo and Karina and Karina’s sister, and Gabe, and Gabe’s father, who walked over to greet them.
“Tony!” Julie said in delight. “It’s been ages.”
He smiled. “It’s hard to support them and also give them space, isn’t it?”
“We’re still figuring it out,” Julie said. “I’m glad the three of them are living together.”
Val nodded. That solution had delighted them both, as hard as it was to let Sophie go; not that they had any say in it. If she was going to move out, an apartment with Gabe and David was the best solution they could have hoped for. She knew how to look after herself, and they understood how to help her in the moments when she couldn’t.
They all looked over at the central tables. A few people from outside their group had recognized David and gathered around him, and he was taking selfies with them beside a nacho platter half as tall as he was, while Sophie and Gabe stole chips off the side for their friends’ waiting plates. When David finished posing, he turned back to a diminished appetizer.
“You work for us now, Congressman,” Sophie said. “Your nachos are our nachos.”
“Hey!” he said in a tragic voice, and the others cracked up. On his current dose of Quiet—they still called it that, even knowing the real name—his noise was dampened enough that this chaotic, loud, crowded restaurant wasn’t stressing him out, nor was the fact that he hadn’t noticed his sister’s prank. Progress.
More people arrived: volunteers from the campaign, anti-Pilot activists.
“There isn’t room to sit with them,” said Julie.
“That’s okay,” Val replied. “They wanted us here. That’s something.”
They sat edge-of-center with Tony Clary, close enough to be considered part of the celebration. Julie ordered a fishbowl-sized margarita, and they all ordered tacos, and their conversation, which started on the kids and their projects, drifted in other directions. That was a form of progress, too, Val supposed.
The party was still going when Julie paid the bill and they put on their coats. Sophie and David came over for quick hugs, then returned to their friends.
Val and Julie had to push through a crowd to reach the door, and on the other side was winter. The snow sky had given over to snow, and a thin layer had already begun to accumulate on the sidewalk. Julie paused to pull on a hat, then threaded a gloved hand through Val’s arm.
The flakes were big and heavy, catching in their eyelashes and hair. Val looked up at the sky, enjoying the deeper view, the kaleidoscopic swirl; then back at the restaurant, where another group of diners exited the building and startled at the sight. They put on hats and scarves and started walking in whatever direction would bring them home. Bundled against the falling snow, all blue lights vanished, and it was impossible to tell anyone apart.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would first like to acknowledge that I’m lousy at acknowledgments. For three albums and three books now, I’ve been given the opportunity to say thank you to everyone who had a part in the project, and each time I remember that I should have been keeping a list, but by then it is too late, and I’m forced to rely on my memory, knowing I will inevitably leave people out. How could I possibly fit everyone, in any case? You should all have your names in here.
Then, too, given that I’m writing this in the midst of a lockdown that I can only hope will be over by the time the book comes out, this feels particularly like a step out of time. Thank you, past and future readers, reading this book by past me, and this note by present me, who will be past me by the time you read it. Thank you also to everyone who helped keep other people alive, in any way you did that, whether staying home or protesting or doing work deemed essential.
On to the specific acknowledgments:
Zu first, always, because I don’t think I’m very easy to live with while I’m drafting a book, and she is always supportive despite my obvious shortcomings, and I love and appreciate her more than I’m capable of showing.
Kim-Mei Kirtland, my agent, exactly the teammate I want for a weird sport where everyone plays by different rules. Also Gabrielle, and Megan, and everyone else at HMLA.
My editor, Jen Monroe, and everyone at Berkley, including Alexis Nixon, Tara O’Connor, Jessica Plummer, and Megan Elmore, along with copy editor Randie Lipkin. Katie Anderson in-house and Tim Green of Faceout Studio for the supercool cover that I have only just seen.
The Future Embodied, Fierce Family, and Accessing the Future anthologies, which provided the prompts that got me thinking about this idea years ago.
Sherri and Rep and the Sparkleponies for reading my outline and chapters. My sisters and my mother, the
