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  “You must meet a lot of cool guys,” Stephanie continued.

  “Not really. And I’m actually happy like this. I’m busy with the magazine, my blog, Twitter, Facebook, and the rest. I’m happy to come home and collapse at night. And when I read the letters I get, I’m relieved I don’t have the problems that go with most relationships. I’ve been married twice. I don’t want the headache of someone screwing up my life, arguing with me, maybe cheating on me, wanting to change the way I live, telling me what to do and how to do it, and being angry about my career and how much I work, or hating my friends. People put up with a lot to make relationships work. I don’t want to do that again. I kind of have it all the way I want it, except for you guys being spread all over the map in three cities, on two continents, but I’m used to that too now.” She looked content as she said it. “I miss all of you, but I’m fine on my own.”

  “You’re not old enough to give up on romance.” Carmen had said the same thing, but Kait hadn’t been in love in years, and it hadn’t gone well when she was. Her life was comfortable just the way she had it. “You don’t need to get married again, just have a guy you can go out with when you feel like it.”

  “That sounds more like an escort service than love,” her mother teased her. “I don’t think men like being on call. They expect more than that, and they should. I think the whole era of social media has given people the impression that you can use an app to conjure up a guy whenever you want, and then dismiss him like an Uber car when you’re tired of him. And I know there are people who do that, but that’s not me. There’s no substance to that. I can’t see the point of it. I like the old values and relationships. I just don’t know if I want one for me, and when I think about it seriously, I realize I don’t.”

  “That’s too bad, Mom. You’re too nice and too much fun and too smart to sit here by yourself. I think you should start dating.” She made it sound like a sport Kait should take up again, like tennis or golf. But Kait knew it was a lot more work than that. After her last marriage, and her totally misjudging Adrian and being taken in by him, she had no desire to try again. And she hadn’t met a man in several years who caught her fancy anyway. It was an easy sacrifice to make.

  “Thanks for the suggestion,” Kait said, and hugged her again as Stephanie glanced at her watch.

  “I’d better get to bed early. I have to leave the house at five A.M. tomorrow to catch my flight. Don’t bother getting up to say goodbye. We can say it tonight.” But Kait immediately shook her head.

  “There’s no way I’m going to let you leave without giving you a hug and saying goodbye. What else do I have to do? I can go back to bed after you leave.” She never let her children leave without seeing them off, she never had, and wasn’t about to start now.

  “You don’t have to,” Stephanie said generously.

  “I know I don’t. I’d feel cheated if I didn’t get a last hug in before you go,” she said, smiling at her, and Stephanie laughed.

  “You’re still a mom,” she said, looking as though the concept was a mystery to her, and Kait suspected that was the case. Maternal instincts did not appear to be part of her daughter’s makeup, although she was sweet to her brother’s kids, and acted like a child herself with them.

  “Of course I’m a mom.” Kait smiled at her. “That’s forever, it’s part of who I am, no matter how old you get.” It was particularly meaningful to her, since her own mother had abandoned her as a baby. Years later, her grandmother had made a concerted effort to discover what had happened to Kait’s mother, thinking Kait had a right to know, and had learned that she had drowned in a boating accident in Spain when Kait was about ten years old. But her mother had never attempted to contact her or see her after she left, in the nine years before her death. Motherhood hadn’t been part of her skills either, and she’d made no attempt to grow into it. Kait’s grandmother was the only mother she’d ever had, which was part of what drove Kait to be so dedicated to her kids. She never wanted to be even remotely like her own mother.

  “Well, my feelings won’t be hurt if you don’t get up,” Stephanie assured her, but she knew Kait would.

  Kait set her alarm for four-thirty when she went to bed, back in her own bedroom. The next morning she knocked on Stephanie’s door with a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, and set them down next to Stephanie’s bed. Twenty minutes later, Stephanie emerged, in Frank’s plaid jacket with her carry-on, looking fresh-faced, with her dark hair still damp from the shower. She’d had a good Christmas with her mother, but she was excited to be joining Frank in a few hours. He was her real life now. Her mother was a piece of history, an important landmark, and an anchor for her, a touchstone she could come back to whenever she wanted.

  The two women hugged for a long moment, and Kait kissed her and took a last long look at her as they waited for the elevator. Then with a broad smile and a wave, Stephanie thanked her mother for a wonderful Christmas, and she was gone when the elevator door closed. Kait stood staring at it for a long moment, and walked slowly back into her apartment. She felt lost for a minute, looking around, as though recognizing her own life again, the life where she was an adult woman alone, and her children were gone. And no matter how she filled it, denied it, or tried to ignore it, she was what her readers talked about with such poignancy. She was an empty nester. And after Stephanie left, in the silence of the apartment, Kait walked back into her bedroom, got into her bed, and cried, missing them fiercely.

  Chapter 3

  The week between Christmas and New Year’s was bitter cold, and it snowed twice. Stephanie texted Kait from Montana to say she had arrived safely, and Tommy sent a text from the Bahamas to thank her for a nice time and their gifts. After the initial shock of their departure after the time they’d spent together, which always hit her when they first left, Kait got back into the groove of her own life. In some ways, it was pleasant being the parent of adult children. She could do whatever she wanted, work, relax, sleep, read, watch TV, see friends, or do nothing at all. She could eat at any hour and not worry about entertaining anyone, or making sure they were having a good time.

  There was always a balance, and sometimes a conflict, between wanting to spend time with her children, missing them when they were gone, and liking time to herself. It was a luxury she had never had as a single parent when they were growing up. She was always doing something for them then, or worrying about them, helping with homework, keeping an eye on who their friends were, consoling their broken hearts, helping them fill out college applications, or talking to them about the important things in life. And at the same time juggling her professional obligations and doing her work and meeting deadlines. She had often thought of her grandmother during those times, who had gone from opulence and grandeur, with unlimited money and no responsibilities, to a one-bedroom walk-up apartment, taking care of four children herself without the help of maids, governesses, or nannies, and starting a business making cookies and cakes for neighborhood restaurants so her own children could eat and have a roof over their heads and new shoes. And on the days when the obstacles ahead seemed insurmountable, Kait remembered what her grandmother had accomplished, and knew that she could do it too, in much easier circumstances than her grandmother had wrestled with at a far more difficult time.

  Kait did her work for her column, did a Q and A interview for the Los Angeles Times by email on her new computer, and, as a reward to herself, watched another episode of her favorite series again. It was always enjoyable for her, no matter how many times she’d watched it. The situations in Downton Abbey usually resolved satisfactorily after an episode or two, you knew who the good people were and the bad guys, and what to expect of them. She was surprised by how much comfort it gave her. Carmen had a whole other list of favorite shows that she liked for different reasons and they talked about over lunch. She preferred mysteries and wasn’t bothered by violence, and shows that had a science-fiction
quality to them were the ones that she loved best, which Kait didn’t like at all. Everyone seemed to have a favorite show these days, on the cable channels or by streaming. The era of sophisticated series on television had come into its own.

  Four days after Stephanie left, Kait got a call from the friends who invited her to their New Year’s Eve party every year. It was always something of a haphazard gathering of people who had nothing else to do and didn’t want to spend the night at home. She had already decided not to go this year, she didn’t want to venture out into the cold and battle for a cab to get there, and it was supposed to snow again. It seemed like a perfect time to stay home, and she had declined their invitation two weeks before. She didn’t have a date, and didn’t want to spend another New Year’s Eve watching other people kiss at midnight, while she pretended not to care. Normally, she didn’t, but on special nights like that, she hated feeling like a loser or the odd man out. New Year’s Eve seemed designed for that.

  Kait was surprised when Jessica Hartley called her herself to convince her to join them. She worked in the art department at a rival magazine and was a talented artist. Her husband ran a hedge fund on Wall Street. They weren’t close friends, but the Hartleys invited her to their New Year’s Eve party every year. And she had gone many times.

  “Come on, Kait. It’s a tradition, you can’t skip it this year.” But that was precisely what she wanted to do. A night in bed in her pajamas watching television and eating takeout sounded more appealing than getting dressed up and risking life and limb on icy streets in bad weather. But Jessica was persuasive, and Kait was annoyed at herself when she ran out of excuses to decline and finally accepted. She was even more so when it took nearly an hour for a car to come to pick her up, while she waited in the lobby, wishing she hadn’t accepted. The car finally arrived and took her downtown to the Hartleys’ West Village apartment. Like her, they had grown children, both of theirs were in college, and Jessica had said they were home for Christmas break and had plans of their own that night. She complained that they hardly saw them while they were in town. They were always out with friends.

  Jessica and Sam were delighted to see Kait when she got there, and welcomed her warmly. There was a group of people standing around the fireplace, trying to get warm. And as they did every year, the women were wearing long gowns or dressy cocktail dresses, and the men had worn black-tie. It was the one night of the year when all the Hartleys’ friends agreed to dress up. Kait had worn an old black velvet skirt with a white satin blouse, and she tried to get into the mood as she accepted a glass of champagne from Sam, and stood near the fireplace with the others. It was the coldest night so far that winter, breaking some kind of record for miserable weather, which made Kait long for her bed again.

  Although she only saw them once a year, she recognized nearly everyone there that night, but there was one unfamiliar face in the crowd. His name was Zack Winter, and Sam said they had been college roommates. He was a TV producer from L.A., Jessica whispered, and she told Kait that he produced several award-winning series, and coincidentally was single, and had just gotten divorced. She realized then why they had insisted that she join them, since she was the only single woman in the room, and she was being offered as some kind of blind date for the night, which made the evening seem even more arduous before it began. He was wearing a dinner jacket with a black T-shirt, jeans, and black suede loafers, and he was very L.A. The only thing missing, Kait thought to herself, was a gold chain around his neck. And he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week, which made him appear more unkempt than trendy at his age. Kait didn’t bother trying to make conversation with him since she had noticed on the seating chart that they would be next to each other at dinner. She wasn’t looking forward to it, no matter how successful his shows were. She would have been more impressed if he’d worn a pressed white shirt, the bottom half of his suit, and shaved. He was about the same age as Kait.

  But by the time they sat down to dinner an hour later, everyone had relaxed. The food they served was always delicious, and people were anticipating a good dinner and a pleasant evening, with a congenial group of people.

  “I used to read your column. I’m an avid ‘Tell Kait’ fan,” Zack told her pleasantly after they sat down. “I tried to save my marriage with it, but I think my ex-wife was a little beyond your scope. We’re having a custody battle over the dog. I still read your blog and follow you on Twitter,” he said, as a waiter from the Hartleys’ caterer set down cold crab in front of them, and Kait wasn’t sure if she should be sympathetic or laugh. But he seemed good humored, and she decided to be honest with him, no matter how unkempt he looked. He was like a stereotype of an L.A. producer, or what she imagined one would look like.

  He asked her what her favorite shows were and she admitted to being a Downton Abbey addict, and he smiled. “Whenever I have a bad day, I watch two of my favorite episodes, from the last two seasons, and the world feels like a better place again,” he said. The woman on his other side overheard them, asked which show it was, and admitted to being hooked too, and then went into rhapsodies about one of his shows, a modern-day family saga set in Australia, and Zack seemed pleased. And the man seated across from them started talking about the police drama he had been devoted to for the last three years. Within five minutes, half the table was talking about which series they liked best, and Kait listened to them, amused, as Zack leaned toward her and laughed too.

  “It’s a national frenzy,” he said to her. “You just hope you come up with the right show at the right time, there’s always an element of luck involved in a big show.” He was modest about his success, and an avalanche of comments and heated discussions had started at the table about their favorite shows, several of which were Zack’s. Kait had seen two of them but didn’t watch them regularly. “We have three hit shows on the air at the moment, and we’re starting a new one in January about a Chinese family in Hong Kong. I’m not sure it’s your cup of tea, though, it’s edgier than the others, with a fair amount of violence in it,” he said to Kait.

  “You’re right, that’s not my thing,” she agreed. “I love my nice, cozy family show. I’ve watched a couple of other series, and they always stress me out more than when I started watching. I enjoyed seeing two of yours, though.”

  He laughed. “Some people like violence and high stress. It’s like shock therapy, it distracts them from real life.”

  “Real life is distracting and shocking enough. I don’t need more on TV.” They chatted more about his next show, and what shooting on location in China was like, which he said had been difficult. He was knowledgeable about his subject and well traveled. She found him personable and intelligent to talk to, despite his somewhat shaggy appearance, which would have gone over better in L.A. than at the Hartleys’ New Year’s Eve party. There was nothing trendy or avant-garde about them, and Zack stuck out like a sore thumb, but he was so likable that no one cared. And for most of the guests, his success balanced out his trendy L.A. look. And after a while Kait forgot about it too. They talked about their kids then, their jobs, L.A. vs. New York. He had grown up in New York and had started out producing Broadway shows, and had gone to London to work in TV and then L.A., and had done well at it. He was one of the most important producers in television, but he seemed quiet and unassuming. And Sam startled her over dessert when he spoke directly to Kait, loud enough for Zack to hear him.

  “You should write a TV show, Kait. You could base it on your family.”

  “Any drug lords in your family, or famous criminals?” Zack teased her and she laughed and shook her head.

  “Hardly. I think Sam is referring to my grandmother, who was a remarkable woman. The family lost everything in the Crash of ’29, and my grandfather committed suicide. She moved to a walk-up apartment on the Lower East Side with four children under five and no money, and she had never worked in her life. She started baking cookies, and then cakes, and
sold them to restaurants, and kept them all alive, and provided for them. Fast-forward the film, and she sold the business to General Foods years later. Mrs. Whittier’s Cakes, and the cookies were abbreviated to 4 Kids. You’ve probably eaten them.”

  “Are you kidding? They were the mainstay of my diet all through my childhood, and still are. That was your grandmother?” He looked vastly impressed. “She must have been quite a woman,” he said admiringly, and was suddenly even more interested in Kait. He had enjoyed talking to her all through dinner, and liked her looks and understated elegance.

  “She was,” Kait said. “I grew up with her. But that’s another story. My mother disappeared when I was a year old, and my father died a year later, so I grew up with my grandmother. We had a great time together, and she taught me all I know about life.”

  “I smelled a strong matriarch there somewhere when I read your column. I never made the connection, though, between Kait Whittier and Mrs. Whittier’s Cakes. She must have made a fortune when she sold it,” and then he looked suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that was rude. But I love stories like that, of people who take life by the throat and refuse to be defeated, especially women, and in those days, that was a major accomplishment.”

  “She believed that you can do anything you want to, or have to do. She was the bravest woman I’ve ever known. I always tell myself I’ll write a book about her, but I haven’t yet.”

  “What about a bible for a TV show instead?” He threw it out as a random idea off the top of his head, referring to the synopsis used to tell the basic story of a TV show. She knew what he meant. “Not necessarily about her cookies and cakes, but a woman like her, who has lost everything and doesn’t just survive, but creates a whole new life. Stories like that inspire people. It’s why you love the show you watch. People need role models and inspiration. And it’s even more impressive when you think she did it in the early thirties when women like her didn’t even have jobs or know how to work. There were a few women scientists then, and in the arts, but no businesswomen, especially from what I have to assume was a very elitist world. Weren’t the Whittiers related to the Vanderbilts and the Astors?”