Behind me, a child shouted. I turned to see a little boy pointing, his mother close behind. I smiled reflexively, observing the boy from behind my sunglasses, the way his mother picked him up so he could see better, planting a kiss on his cheek while he watched. A pang of—something—hit me. I wasn’t ready to write that life off and be Ada. But I didn’t want it now either. And what I really needed was someone who understood and appreciated that.
