I paused, stung by this comment. Paige was six weeks into her freshman year at Northwestern, and I was still adjusting to the fact that she was now living in a different state and leading a new life entirely apart from me. I was excited for Paige, my only child, and all the opportunities that lay before her, but since she’d left for school, my days had started to feel flat. I reminisced about everything we’d been through together: First, there had been the joyous but never-ending work of the baby and toddler years. Then, once Paige got a little older, and she started to excel at lacrosse, I was constantly shuttling her to practices and games, even spending whole weekends away when her team competed out of town. Her prowess on the field grew, and I was there every step of the way, cheering her on, shaping my life around hers—and I was more than happy to do it. But now she was off at college, on a full athletic scholarship, and my days were suddenly empty.

Maybe Paige was right. Maybe I did need a hobby. But what? I thought about the most common activities around our small Florida town. Golf? Pilates? Gardening? In my past life, before Paige was born and after I finished college, I had worked at a public relations firm for a few years. I’d been good at it, too—but not exactly passionate. Once I had a baby, it was so easy to let it all go. To walk away from my job, as though I’d never have to worry about finding a way to fill my time again.

“Mom, are you there?” Paige’s voice was loud in my ear, pulling me back to our conversation.

“Yes, I’m here. I’m just not sure I’m ready to ditch the photo booth idea.”

“Then get the photo booth.”

“I think I will. How was practice today?”

“Awesome! I mean, we did so many wind sprints, I almost puked. But Coach said that my stick skills are getting better. Coming from him, that’s practically gushing. He never compliments anyone.”

I listened to my daughter chattering happily and pictured her walking across campus, book bag slung over one shoulder, dark ponytail bouncing behind her. Paige had inherited her father’s long, lean body and angular features, but she had my bright-blue eyes and light dusting of freckles, which she claimed to hate.

Paige finally drew a breath, and said, “What else is going on there? How’s Stella doing?”