places children want to enter,” I said. “You buy plants before deciding where the light is. You still call a second attempt a prototype even when it’s dinner.”
She smiled.
“And you’re happier at work than you were three years ago.”
Her smile became smaller and more real.
She looked at me. “You spend your days making a city easier for people who will never know your name. You’ve spent the last four Saturdays helping your father sort your mother’s things. And you keep telling everyone it’s going well because
