Caroline's mind churned audibly into the phone, click click click.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that. I think he's back with his ex-lady now. That's what I'm hearin' from Jerome." There was the Texas tw.a.n.g. Enough said.

"Care, tell me the truth. Why didn't he call me?"

"I told you, back with an ex. Some long-distance somethin' or other," Caroline said, sticking to her story like an alibi.

"Care, it's me. I can take it. You'll be helping me by telling me the truth." Evie hoped Caroline wouldn't pa.r.s.e that argument, since it wasn't clear how it would help her at all.

"Fine," Caroline capitulated. "But it's ridiculous."

Evie heard high-pitched crying in the background. The cause, from what she could hear through the phone, was a lost princess costume. In the time it took Caroline to soothe her crying toddler by promising to replace the Cinderella outfit first thing tomorrow, Evie thought she would burst from a mixture of dread and curiosity.

"Okay, I'm back. Pippa is a hysteric. She could be your daughter," Caroline said, chuckling. "Anyway, I'll tell you, but you can't take this seriously. He found some picture of you online and then asked how old you were. I guess he thought you were younger."

Evie was equal parts incredulous and indignant.

"You and I are the same age!"

"I know that. I guess he didn't realize how old I was either. I swear I was too mad on your behalf to even be flattered. It's stupid. He's stupid."

Evie pictured Caroline's line-free smile and taut body, her platinum hair and wrinkle-free lids. The skin probably came from some high-priced dermatologist pumping rat poison into her and the body was the result of seven days a week of SoulCycle, but nevertheless, the results were age-defying good.

"So he thought you were like twenty-something and then saw my ugly mug and decided he better check my birth certificate?"

"Evie, stop. These finance types like dumb young models. Forget him."

"Forget the guy who thinks I need a walker? Gladly."

They went back and forth until Caroline offered to put Jerome on the phone to a.s.sure her of her youthful looks, which Evie declined before hanging up. She was no longer in the mood to dissect Paul and Marco's news.

Which picture of her was it that sent Harry running for cover? She was desperate to find it and call Google headquarters to demand its immediate removal. But she was powerless. Not that she'd even know which photo of hers he had found so unappealing. Even though she had quit the web, the G.o.dd.a.m.n Information Age was still killing her love life.

Her phone rang a minute after she hung up. It was Caroline calling back.

"I know you're annoyed right now, but I wanted to mention that Annabel met her fiance on OkCupid. He's a statistics professor at NYU. And pretty cute," Caroline said. "There's really nothing taboo about online dating. Maybe you ought to give that a try again."

"Well you can tell him, and Annabel, that based on my experience, I believe it is 'statistically' impossible that I will find someone online," Evie said. "I'm too preoccupied with my grandma to date right now anyway."

"All right, I was just suggesting. Did Paul tell you his great news yet? About the baby? Gracie and Pippa are going to be so excited to have a little baby to play with."

"Yes, yes. It's thrilling all right. Listen, I'm gonna hang up," Evie said, ending the call abruptly. Obviously Caroline did not share her reservations about the new baby. She leaned her head back against the exterior of the building and closed her eyes, letting the harshness of the bricks ma.s.sage her skull. She did not share Annabel's luck in the cyber-dating complex. A month after her breakup with Jack, when she found herself still dreaming of his creamy sauces and succulent desserts, she made a date with someone whose profile listed his occupation as "culinary industry." He was, in fact, a busboy at Katz's Delicatessen on Houston Street. To say he was a poor-man's Jack was the understatement of the century.

"Waiting for someone?"

Evie opened her eyes and saw Edward Gold, dressed in his white coat and khakis, peering down at her.

"No, no," Evie said quickly. "I was just making some phone calls before going up to see Bette."

To her surprise, Edward settled himself down on the curb next to her.

"Well, then I hope it's okay if I join you. I've got my dinner in here," he said, lifting a white plastic bag. "I just finished meeting with one of my research a.s.sistants at the office and I'm starving."

He pulled out a Styrofoam container of piping hot Chinese food. It smelled heavenly. Evie was sure it was from one of the sketchy-looking places around the hospital where she would never eat.

"Of course not," Evie said, secretly thrilled. Since their encounter near Brighton, Edward had been on her mind more than she liked to admit. She found herself bringing him up in conversation, telling Bette how precious his daughter was, and mentioning to Tracy that he was applying to Brighton.

"Want some?" Edward asked, holding lo mein noodles under her nose with his chopsticks.

"No thanks," she said, worried she'd make a mess of herself if she attempted to eat Chinese food in front of him.

"Well, if you change your mind, I have plenty here," Edward said. "So why am I finding you sitting outside Bette's building cradling your head? Are you worried about tomorrow?"

"Yes, among other things," Evie said.

"As for Bette, I promise the surgery is actually a very routine procedure, and even if the cancer has spread, there are treatment options," Edward said. "Regarding the other things, you'll need to elaborate for me to be helpful."

Evie inhaled sharply, and the grease from the Chinese food wafted so deeply into her nostrils she could feel the MSG clogging her brain, making it harder to decide whether she should share her litany of problems with Edward. On the one hand, she didn't want to bother him with her petty problems, like being jealous of her gay friend for becoming a parent before her or envying Stasia for her ideal marriage. On the other hand, Edward was outside of her circle, and it would be a relief to unload on someone who could be more objective than any of her friends. He was proving incredibly easy to talk to and seemed to have a genuine interest in getting to know her. In many ways he was a superb confidant.

"I guess," Evie started, "I'm starting to worry about meeting someone."

"Really?" He looked surprised. "I would think someone like you would have many offers."

"It's not really the offers that are the problem," Evie said. "Not that they're pouring in. I mean, I get some. It's that I need to find someone that I connect with. Everyone I really fall for has some complication. Like they won't commit or they're-I don't know-married or something."

"Married doesn't sound good," Edward said, and Evie wondered if he thought she was referring to him.

Was she talking about him?

Hard as it was to admit, especially to herself, she supposed she was. She had a crush. A crush on a married man. A man who was going to slice open her grandmother tomorrow. A man with a child. A child she'd met. This could go absolutely nowhere good.

It had been building for a while. She'd done her best to bury it, but her attraction to Edward was nearly gravitational. Even though they'd only seen and spoken to each other a handful of times, just studying the proportions of his face turned her on. Their conversations went far beyond the contrived biographical synopses proffered on first dates. No matter what he shared about himself, she always wanted more. What TV shows did he watch besides Antiques Roadshow? Did he read fiction or nonfiction? What was his best childhood memory? She was used to wanting guys to ask her these questions. To get them ready for the All-About-Evie quiz they'd take before her bridal shower. Now it was the reverse. And she found that thirsting for information was a h.e.l.l of a lot more exciting than dishing it out.

"Right, of course. I'm not a home-wrecker or anything." She looked at Edward to judge his reaction, but his expression gave nothing away. "I don't even know why I said that."

"Of course not," Edward said. He fished around the plastic bag from which his dinner emerged. "Want one?" He handed her a fortune cookie and cracked open one for himself.

Evie ripped open the plastic cover of her cookie.

"So you think the answers to my problems may be inside?" She nudged his knee with her own, the brief contact enough to summon goose b.u.mps to her flesh.

"Definitely," Edward said. "I make all major decisions based on fortune cookies."

They laughed together, and Evie felt certain they were sharing at least some kind of moment, albeit one clouded with ambiguity.

He unfolded his tiny slip of paper and said, "'You are a lifesaving doctor who men want to emulate and women fall in love with.'" He held the white scroll in front of her face. She leaned close to read the red lettering.

"It says 'You will learn Mandarin this year,'" Evie said, giving his arm a gentle shove. "But very funny."

"So let's see yours now," Edward said.

Evie opened her cookie, trying to think of something witty to say to match Edward. Nothing came to her so she just read aloud from the paper: "You are gifted in the art of seduction."

"See?" Edward said. "These things are foolproof."

"What are you talking about? Now I know they're c.r.a.p. I wish I was gifted in the art of seduction," Evie said, batting her eyelashes in mock flirtation.

"Maybe you are and you don't know it."

Evie grunted. "Trust me, I'm not," she said, and she felt the pangs of stress and sadness return. "I'm thinking of freezing my eggs. I know that's not really your area of medicine, but maybe you can recommend someone for me to see. I'm getting older, I'm single, and I feel like it might be a good idea for me to do this. That way, if it takes me another ten years to meet someone, at least I'll have young, healthy chicks on layaway." She thought of Harry the Greek as she said the last part.

To her relief, he didn't look at her like she was possessed, nor did he inch his body away from hers.

"Evie, I think you need to slow down. Obviously we just met recently, but I do understand why you'd want to think about freezing your eggs. If you need a referral, I can get one for you. Just take a deep breath first. You're a smart and beautiful woman, Evie. You have time to sort everything out."

"Thank you," Evie said, keeping her gaze fixed on one of her shoelaces. Talk was cheap, and she didn't know how much of what he was saying was genuine or just meant to make her feel better on the cusp of Bette's critical day. "It's been a difficult few months. I appreciate everything you're doing for my grandmother." She decided to leave it at that and let him extricate himself from the awkward conversation. To her surprise, he chose not to escape.

"Evie, where's all this coming from? You seem so full of life. You always make me smile, and I'm dealing with people who have cancer all day."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Edward said. He began to wrap up his dinner in the plastic. She thought he'd rise to leave but instead he stayed put.

"So how in the world did you end up with the Brighton job?" he asked. "Bette said something about a 'G.o.dforsaken law firm' and a friend of yours who's a teacher. I couldn't really follow."

She offered him the long version: the years at Baker Smith, the grueling meetings, the endless hours, and the canceled dates and vacations. The only part she left out was the reason for her dismissal, making Edward think she was one of many victims in a harsh round of layoffs. She shared stories she'd never told anyone before-about the time she forgot to fax signature pages for a $200 million merger to the opposing counsel so she backdated all the doc.u.ments. She told him about stealing a steady stream of office supplies for no apparent reason and about losing the epic power struggle with Marianne. She even told him about how she stashed a few shots' worth of vodka in a water bottle in her bottom desk drawer for whenever the pressure got to be more than she could handle.

"I do that too. Before a tough surgery that I'm really nervous about."

Evie eyes widened. But a moment later she registered that he was joking, and she let out a big bellowing laugh. She couldn't remember the last time she had really laughed out loud, emanating something more than a halfhearted chuckle.

"I'm fairly certain that my friend Stasia is pregnant," Evie said, diverting the conversation back inexplicably. "The one who is married to Rick Howell."

"Is that what's making you want to freeze your eggs?"

"Kind of. Well, it's contributing. I guess I just started worrying that time was getting away from me. Now that I'm not going to be a partner at the firm, I feel like I lost my Plan B, maybe even my Plan B-plus. Partnership was going to be my baby, if I never had a real one. Ideally I'd have had both, of course. Well, maybe not a partnership, but something equally satisfying."

Evie glanced at her watch. A half hour had pa.s.sed already. Evie started to feel sorry for keeping Edward from getting home on time. Mrs. Edward Gold could be waiting for a kiss (still in those painful Louboutins perhaps) or a nanny might be staring at the clock, hoping to be relieved for the day. Olivia too would be missing him. She hoped Edward's wife appreciated the gem she had at home. Maybe she was a career woman herself, an investment banker still at the office where a thick pile of papers on her desk obscured a group of framed family photos. Or maybe she was a doctor too-a pediatrician perhaps. That could explain why she'd restrict Olivia's sweets. She could also be a stay-at-home mom, whipping up well-balanced multicourse dinners, paying bills, and planning fabulous family getaways without breaking a sweat.

"Go on," Edward said, and Evie surmised she had him for at least a few more minutes.

"The way I see it, there's no one I'm interested in right now. Or who is interested in me. I'm thirty-four. So let's say I meet someone a year from now. We date for two years before getting engaged. He'll probably be some commitment-phobe so it'll take forever for him to pop the question. Then we'll get married a year later. Then we'll try to have a baby, but I'll be ancient by then so it'll take forever. I'm fairly certain my fallopian tubes are tangled or clogged or something."

"You think you have hydrosalpinges?" Edward looked at her in earnest.

"What in the world is that?" She had no idea what he was talking about, but the medical jargon was kind of s.e.xy.

"What you just said-blocked tubes. I a.s.sume you have no evidence for this?"

"It's more of a feeling. But now do you see why I want to freeze my eggs? It's insurance."

"Your logic is nuts. But I still like you." He knocked his knee gently back against hers. "Based on your fallopian tube comment, I'm going to a.s.sume biology was not your best subject in school."

"My only C. Ever."

"Ouch. Too bad I didn't know you back then. I was a biology tutor in college."

Feeling the pull of Edward's magnetic charm, she began to regret sharing the warts-and-all version of her life story. Not that it really mattered. This was no date. Still she liked the idea of him believing she had her s.h.i.t together, even if it was far from true.

"I really think you've gotten ahead of yourself," he said. "But all this talk of your eggs has got me jonesing for an egg cream. Can't be any worse for me than my takeout from Shanghai Pavilion. There's a diner one block from the hospital that makes the best chocolate ones. Want to grab one before you head up to see Bette?"

She knew she couldn't say yes. It would be too painful to sit across the table from Edward and keep wishing their relationship were more than platonic. If she learned anything from her breakup with Jack, it was that self-preservation was not something to be neglected.

"Thanks, but I'd better get up to see Bette and then I've got an airport run," she responded. "Though I'm happy to see my problems were able to whet your appet.i.te."

It was a shame to waste such a good line on a married guy, but wasn't that just her luck?

Chapter 13.

Fran tasked Evie with picking up Aunt Susan from the airport the night before Bette's surgery. Susan had finally decided to grace everyone with her presence after Fran finally lost her cool on the phone. Her aunt feigned regret and said she would be there soon, apologizing for having been so busy with "stuff."

Evie didn't dare complain about the airport run because at least her aunt was taking shelter in Greenwich. So after her unexpected talk about egg freezing with Edward and a five-minute visit with her grandmother, Evie picked up Tracy and Jake's clunker of a car and headed out to LaGuardia to await her crazy aunt.

Susan's flight was delayed three hours, which Evie didn't know, since she couldn't track the flight. After arriving early and cringing when she saw the FLIGHT DELAYED sign, she found an airport lounge where she alternated a gla.s.s of white wine with sips of club soda and eavesdropped on the snippets of conversation among the motley crew of travelers. When her aunt's flight arrival was finally announced, Evie was a touch light-headed.

At the baggage carousel, the interchangeable black suitcases spinning on the conveyor belt put Evie into a trance. She zeroed in on one bag in particular, which had a bright yellow-and-pink polka-dotted ribbon tied to its handle. Who was that unabashedly joyful that they would choose a bow suited to an Easter bonnet and think That's me . . . That's how I'll know which suitcase is mine? Not a weathered New Yorker, a washed-up professional, or a beat-up romantic like herself, that was for sure.

She didn't notice Aunt Susan coming toward her.

"Evie, come here!" Aunt Susan enveloped Evie in a bear hug. She smelled like body odor and citrus. It didn't help that Evie's head was pressed into Susan's hairy armpit, no doubt bathed in homeopathic deodorant made from plants in her backyard.

"Hi, Aunt Susan," Evie said. Her aunt was dressed in a brown linen muumuu. Concentric circles of turquoise necklaces and a Southwestern-style poncho folded into the crook of her arm completed the look. Her hair hung long and loose, a sloppy mess of gray and chestnut waves. Susan was Henry's younger sister by seven years, but now she looked eerily older than the way Evie remembered her father, with deeper wrinkles than her dad's skin ever had the chance to develop.

"Evie, I'd like you to meet someone." Aunt Susan was beaming.

F-.

Susan must have brought a boyfriend with her. Another crunchy hippie to smell up Tracy's car. She looked past her aunt, trying to catch sight of the dreadlocked Phish-T-shirt-wearing middle-aged man who was sure to deliver death by heart attack to Bette. There was no one like that in sight, just men in suits and mothers anxiously gripping their little ones.

"Evie, this is Wyatt." Susan wheeled over a stroller that was positioned a few inches away from her. She turned it so the baby faced Evie.