"Well, Mimi, you did rush into the relationship with Nick. You dated him for, what? Three months? You should've gotten to know him better before you quit your job and gave up your apartment."

"Mom," I say, wounded.

"What? You came to me for help. I'm helping."

"I didn't come to you for help. I came to you for comfort. Can't you make me chicken soup or something?"

"I'm all out of chicken soup," Mom says, "but I can give you a bowl of logic."

What does Mom's logic look like? Dad was the logic chef. From Mom, I only ordered comfort. No matter. I say, "It's too soon for logic. First comes moping. Logic comes later."

"You can mope as long as you want. And you can stay here as long as you want. You want your mommy? You got her."

"Thanks, Mom." Really? I want my dad.

"You know, Mimi, I do feel a maternal obligation to impart some wisdom."

I groan. "Go ahead."

"You thought Nick was the love of your life after your first date. From now on, you should go slower. Shop."

"Shop?"

"Sure," Mom says. "That's what dating is. Shopping for a partner. You don't buy the first lipstick you try on in the store, do you? You try on different lipsticks and see if they suit you. Same thing with dating."

"Maybe you're right," I say.

"Of course I'm right. Find the right lipstick. Find the right man."

I smile at Mom. "Lipstick theory for dating. Like chaos theory, only simpler."

Mom smiles back at me. "You're going to be okay, Mimi."

"Yeah." Exhaling, I lean against Mom. Which takes some doing, because I am considerably taller than she is. Arranging myself on the couch, I lie down and put my head in Mom's lap. She runs her hand through my hair.

"Mom, you know what really bothers me? Nick said that I don't know what men want."

Mom sighs. "Neither do they, baby. Neither do they."

Allison Louis The next morning, laughter wakes me. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, I see Mom sitting at the kitchen table with Allison Louis. My sister-in-law.

Allison looks perfect. She is perfect. I want to be Allison when I grow up.

Tiny and trim with highlighted blond hair, Allison is always wearing the right makeup, the right clothes, the right att.i.tude. And why shouldn't she have the right att.i.tude? Allison Louis is twenty-eight and she has a loving husband and three wonderful kids. Sarah is eight. Twins Gideon and Ezra are four.

"Good morning," Allison says in her musical voice.

"Good morning, honey," Mom says.

"Morning." I'm not ready to decide if it's good or not.

Mom says, "Ally and I usually have our breakfast club at her house, but I wanted to be here when you woke up. How do you feel, Mimi?"

"Fine. You have a breakfast club?"

Mom nods. "We have breakfast together twice a week. It was Ally's idea."

Mom and Allison smile at each other. I feel like the in-law.

Sisters-in-Law, Part One Allison Greene met my brother at Penn. Jeremy was getting his MBA at Wharton. Allison was in Wharton undergrad.

I was in my first year of working for Dine International when Jeremy arranged for Allison to meet our family over brunch at the White Dog Cafe near Wharton. At the end of the meal, Allison went to the bathroom. Looking seriously at me, Dad, and Mom, Jeremy asked, "Do you like her?"

We nodded.

"Good," he said. "Because we're getting married."

"Married?" I blurted.

"Why?" Mom asked.

"What we mean," Dad said calmly, "is why are you getting married so soon?"

"Ally's pregnant," Jeremy answered. "I love her and she loves me. It'll be okay."

But we knew, the three of us, that this was not the life Jeremy had planned for himself. "Are you still going to Los Angeles?" I asked. He had been offered a mondo job at an accounting firm there.

Jeremy shook his head. "It's too far from Ally's parents. They live in New York. Although they are moving to Florida soon. Still, we're going to stay on the East Coast. I've had several job offers in Philadelphia. We'll buy a house in this area and stay close to home." Jeremy smiled at Mom and Dad. They smiled back. Everybody smiled at everybody, making the best of the situation.

"Here she comes," Jeremy said.

Allison came back from the bathroom, walking hesitantly toward our table, trying to discern the status of the conversation.

My father stood and folded Allison in his arms. "Welcome to the family."

Five months later, Sarah was born. Jeremy finished at Wharton, but Allison didn't. Jeremy became an MBA. Allison became a MOM.

Although she's been a Louis for eight years, I don't know Allison very well. She came into the family as I was leaving. To work, to travel, to boyfriend. Of course, we've seen each other at holidays and birthdays-the ones I attend-but we haven't formed a relationship independent of the family. So my image of Allison is as my brother's wife. A job at which she excels. Jeremy adores Allison.

So does Mom, apparently. It looks like they've grown even closer now that Mom lives in Lenape Hill, which is nearer than Westfield to Allison's house. It's good that Allison has Mom and Mom has Allison. Where does that leave me? I don't know. I guess I have to find where I fit in this revised version of the family Louis.

Someone to Dance With "What were you laughing about?" I ask Allison and Mom.

"We were talking about the wedding last weekend." Allison uses the pearly pink polished nail of her pinky finger to brush blond hair out of her eyes.

"What wedding?" I ask.

"Cousin Lauren's," Mom says. "It was a fabulous party."

"Why wasn't I invited?" I ask.

"You were," Mom says. "You said you couldn't go because of your trip to Paris."

"Oh." When was the last time I saw Lauren, or any of my cousins? I missed the family seder in April. I was in Rome. The Chanukah party? I was in Dallas. Gee. Looks like I'll be having guilt for breakfast.

"Tell me about the wedding," I say.

"Lauren's dress was beautiful," Allison starts.

"The band was great," Mom says, "even though I didn't dance."

"Why not?" I ask as I turn to the coffeepot. "You love dancing."

"Your aunts and uncles dance with each other," Mom says. "I don't have someone to dance with."

Mom states that as fact, without self-pity. But the sadness of the statement brings tears to my heart. Standing in front of the coffeepot, I keep my back to Mom and Allison, so Mom doesn't see the emotion on my face.

Allison says, "You should start to date."

That makes me laugh. "It's too soon for me."

"Not you. Mom."

Turning, I look at Mom. "You want to date?"

Mom shrugs.

"She doesn't want to be alone for the rest of her life," Allison says.

"She's not alone. She has me and Jeremy and you and the kids."

"It's not the same," Allison insists. "A woman needs a man."

Allison and I look at Mom. Mom looks at the kitchen table. "It would be nice."

I am stunned. Why am I stunned? Do I want Mom to be alone? No. But, I didn't think she was alone. I can't imagine her with anyone but my father.

"Some of my friends have found dates from the personals in the Jewish Exponent Jewish Exponent," Mom says. "Helen has been dating someone she met on the Internet."

"We'll go on the Internet," Allison decides. "Lots of people do that."

Yeah. People who aren't my mother. Shouldn't she, like, knit?

Mom looks at me. "What do you think, Mimi?"

Allison raises her eyebrows, willing me to be supportive. So now I have to be supportive. I can't be the bad daughter.

"If you want to date," I say, "then I think you should."

Mom smiles. "Really?"

No. "Yes."

Allison looks at her watch. "I have time. Let's go on the Internet now and look at websites. The three of us can do it together."

"Helen and I are going to a lecture and lunch at the JCC," Mom says. "But I don't have to leave for a while."

Help Mom troll the Internet for lovers? I'd rather not. "I have things to do."

"It's okay," Mom says to Allison. "Mimi's been through a rough few days."

I accept my pardon. Allison takes Mom's hand and the two of them leave the kitchen and go into the den. I hear them turn on the computer. They laugh. I decide to shower, and wash away the scent of despair.

Bobbi's Ideal Mate After Allison leaves to collect the twins, Mom asks me to help her fill out her profile on an Internet site for singles over fifty. I can't think of a logical reason not to. Pulling up the dating site's profile screen, I start to fill in Mom's information. "Age?" I ask.

"You know how old I am," she says.

"Maybe we should skew downward. You look a lot younger than sixty. You could easily pa.s.s for fifty-five."

"Yeah," Mom says. "Let's start my dating life by lying."

"Fine." I type "60" into the age box. We finish the rest of the vital statistics.

Reading from the website, I say, "Name some characteristics and hobbies your ideal mate should have."

Mom thinks. "Someone who wants to travel."

"Dad never traveled."

"Intelligent," Mom continues. "Well read. Love of the performing arts."

I laugh. "Dad didn't like to go to plays or concerts."

"I know."

From the screen, I read, "What well-known person would be your ideal mate?"

Mom thinks for a moment. "Billy Crystal."

I turn around to look at her. "Billy Crystal?"

"Yes. He's Jewish. Funny. Smart. I don't know how old he is but he looks like he's in my generation. He's very witty at the Oscars. Helen and I went to see his one-man show on Broadway. Brilliant."

Turning back to the computer, I hit send and watch the screen as the information transmits. Then I realize that Mom's ideal mate is nothing like Dad. Why not?