Mason came around. Eve runs the household, and Mason let the packing and the move happen around him. He was a boulder in the middle of a strong current, but on Sunday morning, he let loose.
Anyway, he’s here in Chicagoland. He came back with us; all the Dials did. In another two hours, I’ll be next to the four of them in VIP seats as we watch Levi being sworn in as Mayor.
The city Levi leads still doesn’t have an agreed-upon name. It’s a big chunk of the former north side of Chicago along with some North Shore suburbs, and Glenview and Lincolnshire thrown in for good measure. That’s one of the things Levi vows to do: name the region.
We made it back to O’Hare only this morning, at four thirty a.m. We were so late departing—Eve kept thinking of one more thing to do—that I actually began to feel a little sympathy for Prianka. For a while there, Prianka looked like she might become one of the very few females to ever have a massive coronary at the age of thirty.
But we made it. On the stage for his inauguration, Levi will be properly dressed. His hair will be clean, his eyebrows trimmed. He will say what people want to hear. Of this, I’m confident.
Jill Riddell is a writer in Chicago. She teaches at the School of the Art Institute and has a weakness for nature, magic, and pennies abandoned in sidewalk cracks.