“Make it up to me one day—put me in one of your books.”
“You got it. You’ll make a great character. No one will believe you exist in real life, though,” Harper said.
Aside from her landlord, Harper just had to convince her parents it was a good idea.
To her surprise, it was like pushing on an open door.
“I think it’s great,” Harper’s dad said. “You’ll see another part of the country, have time to write, and help the Democrats win back the White House.” He’d stayed somewhat active in the party after his tenure with Obama. “And you’ll be fine when the year is up. You’ll have more of an idea of what you want to do.”
Even her brother was encouraging. “That’s cool. Sounds like fun. And maybe you’ll meet a real man, not like the guys who live in the city.”
“You live in the city,” she said.
“Yeah, but I’m not one ofthoseguys.”
Harper rolled her eyes and tried to imagine a future sister-in-law. Poor girl, she thought.
On her last Sunday before leaving, they all met at their favorite brunch spot in Cobble Hill. Their orders matched their personalities. Her brother got a crispy buffalo chicken wrap, while her dad went for the tuna salad. Her mom ordered the egg-white omelet with veggies and hot sauce, and Harper chose the chicken Caesar wrap. They shared an order of Greek fries—covered in feta, oregano, and lemon. Endless hot coffee filled their mugs.
“We have a little surprise for you,” her mom said. “Check your Venmo.”
Harper picked up her phone and her eyes widened. Her mom and dad had sent her a nice chunk of money. She was shocked.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, blinking back tears.
“Consider it an advance of an advance,” her dad said.
“We believe in you, Harp.” Her mom hugged her and kissed her on the head.
“Knock ’em dead, kid,” her older brother said, lightly punching her on the arm. She was touched by his kindness. “By the time you get back, you’ll be a Republican.”
“You wish.” She lightly swatted him with the back of her hand. “Maybe by the time I get back you’ll have realized the planet is about to boil over.”
“Tell that to the dinosaurs,” he said, signaling to the waitress for more coffee.
“Exactly!” she said. He was infuriating, but she loved him.
AS MARY EXPECTED,her law firm was fine with her plan, and the head partner, a Democratic donor, was highly encouraging.
“I think it’s great. I wish I’d done something like this when I was your age,” Sofia Garcia said. She’d grown up in Queens and risen through the ranks to the top of the firm. She’d been in the “Top 40 Under 40” of the national law trade for ten years—until this year when she’d turned forty-one.
“I had a good run,” she joked.
“And you think you can handle all of your work remotely?” she asked Mary.
“I do. I have a plan. I’ll be up early and on all the calls. They won’t even know I’m gone.”
“I checked with the partners you report to, and they said you’re hitting all your marks.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“All right. You have sign-off from me.”
“Thank you so much.”
“There’s just one more thing I need.”
“Sure, anything.”