Rosita likes it when the world makes sense, even if it isn't the best version of itself; she likes when she recognizes something in the people around her, when they behave in ways she expects. She's not there with Drake yet, but at least this does make a kind of sense. At least he's consistent with himself.

"Sure," she hedges, and lifts her good hand to wave as she picks her way back to the boardwalk again. "Let me know, too," she offers, even though there was never a chance she'd say no to doing something to help Jesus.