“Have a great week,” I say, kissing his cheek. He opens the door and I see snow crystals caught like motes in a sunbeam.

The door closes as though he sucks away all sound with his leaving. Then I hear my iPod playing and it’s time to get back to work.

The music fills me as I roll the last of the dough. The tree’s lights twinkle, the teddy bears beneath it. The one Jim brought looks like he’s always been there. The secure implication of saying “us,” I realize as I line up more completed cookies to cool, was immediately erased by his joke about death and taxes, his parry after my press for reassurance. Perhaps that’s how the previous men felt about me, a seesaw, a push-me, pull-you. Was I always like this? Tentative about commitments? My relationships last only seven, eight years, not the long forty-five years my parents shared until my mother died. Maybe it’s the bad luck of Alex’s illness that set me on a path I never wanted to tread … the knowledge so young that life doesn’t turn out the way you expect and that tragedy can be around the corner.

Just like great happiness, I remind myself.

I inhale the dissipating aroma of the cooling cookies and as I exhale I think of Sky and the wait for news about the viability of her pregnancy; Tara and the birth of my first grandchild, a son, she was told; and Jim, about to fly to Boston. My girlfriends are coming tonight to the party laden with wrapped cookies. I know all their secrets. I know the tensions between them. I have to remember to try to seat Rosie away from Jeannie. They probably haven’t resolved their fight. Rosie will be all over Laurie about her baby. I hope Taylor, or her husband, has found a job by now. Both of them unemployed and their severance packages must be dwindling. And I wonder how Sissy will fit in, meeting a bunch of women she doesn’t know.

Disney brings me his monkey, a squeaky toy that long ago lost its voice. I reach down, pet him, and take the toy. I say, “Thank you,” and return it to him. I’m grateful for the joys of life. No. Not just the joys. The richness of it. The opportunity to experience it all. That’s where I am.

The cookies are done. All they have to do is cool completely and I can pack them in their bags. Disney drops the monkey and inspects the floor for fallen morsels.

It’s still morning. I sauté onions and add chopped tomatoes, chicken broth, and basil for soup. It simmers on the stove. When it’s reduced, I’ll turn it off so the flavors will intensify. There’ll be something warm when the cookie bitches come in from the cold.