My mother kept smoothing her dress. My father kept adjusting his tie. Clare clutched my hand like she was afraid we might drift apart again if she let go.
“You’re sure this is okay?” she whispered as we waited near a tall arrangement of white flowers.
I glanced at Daniel across the room. He was speaking to an agent with a familiar ease, nodding, then laughing at something the agent said. He caught my eye and smiled, and the smile made my chest loosen.
“Yes,” I said to Clare. “It’s okay.”
The First Lady approached with the calm confidence of someone who had learned to be watched without letting it change her posture. She was warm, even in her formality, and when she took Clare’s hands, she made Clare feel like the only person in the room.
“I’m so glad to meet you,” she said. “Daniel has told me a lot about you.”
Clare blinked. “About me?”
The First Lady smiled. “He’s proud of his people,” she said, and the emphasis on people felt intentional. “Sophia especially.”
My mother’s eyes widened like she’d been struck. My father looked like he was trying to decide whether pride or shame was winning.