Page 85

GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Eddie stands up at the long table in the middle of Thunder Burger Bar in Georgetown. “I want to make a toast.”

Ryan considers intervening. The last time Eddie made a toast it nearly got him canceled.

Eddie continues: “To the new editor in chief of the law journal.”

They all raise their glasses and roar a round of cheers. Nora Watanabe blushes, modest as always. They’ve just finished finals and the election results came in today. Ryan was a distant second and will serve as Nora’s managing editor.

Eddie continues: “And here’s wishing our newbies on the staff, whoever they may be, an amazing trip to Italy. I, for one, will not be going back.”

This is met with groans.

There will be no summer abroad for any of them this year. Most of the gang are heading to Big Law. Many swore off ever “selling out” when they began law school, but six-figure student loans have a way of changing your priorities. But as much as he could use the money, Ryan chose to intern at the public defender’s office. Advice from an old mobster who told Ryan to do good in the world.

Nora, unsurprisingly, has short- and long-term plans that include a stint at Covington Burling, multiple judicial clerkships, and a run at the SG’s office. She’s too modest to say so, but Ryan knows that her dreams include being a Supreme Court justice so she can change things from the inside.

“Is there anything you like about Europe, Eddie?” Divya asks.

Eddie thinks about this. “One thing is better there: They don’t tip.”

“When have you ever tipped?” Aiden fires back, eliciting a high five from Jake.

After dinner, the group huddles on Wisconsin Avenue, saying their goodbyes. Ryan and Nora decide to go back to his place near campus.

Nora says, “Let’s walk.”

Ryan gives her a you sure? look since, contrary to its name, Georgetown Law isn’t in Georgetown. It’s three miles away, near the Capitol.

“Looks like it may rain,” Ryan adds. The sky is purple and ominous.

Nora laces her hand in his and leads him down the brick streets where she’s grown up, one of the only Washington natives Ryan has met in D.C.

They stroll down a path along Rose Park and past an outdoor basketball court. The court is half lit, but shirtless men run and grunt and pass the ball. One of them calls out, “Ryan, we could use your help out here.”

“Next time,” he shouts back.

Nora looks at him. “They know you?”

“That night after dinner with your parents, I stopped for a game.” He won’t forget that game anytime soon. It was the first time he could remember since middle school that he’d played hoops merely for his love of the game. Before the pressure of being good interfered. Before Ali was taken. Before the rival team shouted, Kil-ler… Kil-ler… Kil-ler, from the stands.

They walk to the Lincoln Memorial, a temple lit up against the dark sky. Tourists are doing their thing with photos and selfies, and a street performer plays guitar. As they continue on the gravel path that lines the reflecting pool, the area reminds Ryan of Paris, that walk a year ago from the 7th arrondissement to the Louvre.

He imagines Sophia in the gallery she opened in Montmartre. When they last spoke, she was still searching for the Alison Lane inside herself. He hopes she’ll find her.

There’s a rumble in the sky.

“You were right about the rain. We can get an Uber,” Nora says, gesturing to the street.

A raindrop hits Ryan on the cheek. Then another.

Nora grabs his hand, starts to tug him away. But he pulls her to him, kisses her.

“Let’s walk,” he says. “Let’s walk in the rain.”