Sophie and I are tucked into our side-by-side hotel beds, waiting for the midnight to arrive. Two things will happen at midnight: Taylor Swift’s new album will drop, and Sophie will turn 23.

Albums are not released anymore. Now they drop, like fat dollops of cookie dough onto a sheet pan, or a water balloons on rough pavement.

“It was really nice of Taylor to plan this for your birthday,” I say.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to use headphones?” Sophie asks, a little surprised that I am counting down with her. It’s a leisurely wait, but I don’t mind.

“Definitely,” I say. “I’ve never been part of a Taylor drop. I want the whole experience.” I really do. My girls live in Montreal and Toronto, and I miss their singing in the backseat of the car.