“No, yeah, I know. Seriously, Mom. You look great. Actually, you look hot, but it would just be too weird to say my mom looks hot so let’s just stick with great.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay, so I heard this thing that in India they sometimes ask women: ‘You’re stuck in a castle and you can’t leave. You get to choose—you can either have one dress and a mirror, or a thousand dresses and no mirror. Which would it be?’”

“I’d take the thousand dresses and then look at my reflection in the castle’s silver candlesticks.” Christie spritzed a touch of perfume on her neck.

“Ha. That’s cheating. You have to choose.”

“Hmm. Then I think I’d go with the one dress and the mirror. What does that say about me? Vanity?”

“I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

“You?”

“I’d take the thousand dresses, tie them together to make a rope, and climb down from the castle tower to get away.”

“That sounds like cheating too.”

Tessa shrugged.

Christie wanted to tell Pat about her diagnosis at dinner, but she was torn.

She felt the need to put everything on the table and figure out what the next step should be; however, she also wanted to simply enjoy tonight with no stress, no pressure, not letting thoughts of death and grief edge in on their time together.

And, of course, she didn’t want to lose it and start crying at a fancy restaurant.

So, there was that.

In the end, she decided that it would be best to play it by ear, see how things went and tell him only what she felt led in the moment to say.

Led by who? By God?

Is he really guiding any of this at all?

“And you’re going to that book signing?” she asked Tessa.

“Yeah.”

“It’s a school night. I want you back by ten thirty.”

A sigh. “In honor of your being home again, I’m not gonna argue, but give it time, and then I’ll be back to my endearingly obstinate adolescent self again.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Normally, Christie didn’t wear much makeup or jewelry, but tonight she borrowed some of Tessa’s mascara, then touched up her lipstick and found the turquoise teardrop necklace Pat had given her when they were engaged and slipped it on.

“What’s the occasion anyway, Mom?”

“Going home.”

“Don’t you mean coming home?”

“Yes, sorry. Coming home.”

Christie found her clutch purse and reminded her daughter to be safe.

“I will. It’s just a book signing. No big deal.”

“Yes. Okay.”

Then Christie headed out the door to hail a cab.

++++

Unlike the gridlike streets surrounding it, Greenwich Village has narrow, winding roads.