don’t know, Mom,” Liam said dubiously. “It’s freezing up again.”
“I insist,” the woman said. “And you’d be doing me a favor, because now I can tip the waiter. How do you like your martini?”
“You really don’t have to buy me a drink,” I protested weakly.
She smiled, displaying two rows of very straight, very white teeth. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to guess, and I’ll probably get it wrong. That would be a tragedy.”
I laughed. “I like my vodka martinis straight up and very dirty,” I said.
She began tapping at her touch screen. It seemed to be working better than the one my children were using.
“Done and done,” she said.
“That’s very kind,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I’m Kat.” She extended a hand.
I shook it. “Alice.”
“Do you live in West Palm?”
“Close. I live in Jupiter.”
“Me, too!” Kat exclaimed. “Small world.”
“We’re practically neighbors,” I said.
Later I learned that Kat actually lived on Jupiter Island, which boasted the highest per capita income and highest median home sale price anywhere in the country. Higher than Manhattan. Higher than Marin County. It was where mega-rich sports stars lived. We weren’t anywhere close to being neighbors.
“And these are your children?” Kat inquired.
I introduced Liam and Bridget, who were, thankfully, very polite. Bridget even remembered to extend a hand, which Kat shook solemnly. Then there was a flurry of activity as the touch screen finally started working properly. I was able to edit the children’s dinner orders and swipe my credit card. By the time I turned my attention back to Kat, the waiter had appeared with my martini. He held out the tray and, with a flourish, neatly set the martini in front of Kat. She slid it over to me.
“Thank you,” I said to the waiter. Turning to Kat, I said, “And thank you.”
“Cheers,” Kat said, raising her glass to mine.
I took a sip of my drink. It was delicious and cold. A blue cheese–stuffed olive speared through the middle with a bamboo pick bobbed inside. I fished the olive out and bit into it.
“How long have you lived in Jupiter?” Kat asked.
“Eight years,” I said. I nodded at Bridget. “We moved there from Miami when my daughter was a baby.”
“Miami to Jupiter. That’s a big change.”
“It was. But a good change. I wanted to take some time off work while my children were little. And then my husband got an excellent offer to join an architectural firm in West Palm, so it all seemed, well, serendipitous.”
This was the Facebook version of our life, the one we liked to put on display, in which we appeared smart and in control of our lives. It left out the grittier details, like the real reason I’d left my job. And how every time I thought about the career I had left behind—probably so far behind by now I would never be able to get back to it—the pain of failure still cut deeply. That although it was true Todd had gotten a decent job offer from S+K Architects in downtown West Palm Beach, the job was not all he’d initially hoped it would be. Eight years later, he still hadn’t made partner or even received the large bonuses they’d hinted at when they hired him. The Florida real estate market had rebounded somewhat since the 2008 crash, but it had never gotten back to where it was in the early 2000s. Anyway, the partners at S+K had an inflated sense of the sort of projects their firm attracted. Most of their work was residential, with a few small but decent office building contracts. No one was hiring them to design the airports or shopping malls or museums Todd had once dreamed of. We had reached our late thirties with our marriage and family intact, but with most of the hopes and dreams of our younger selves in tatters. Life had not turned out as either of us had expected.
But this was not a conversation one had with a stranger in an airport.
“What are you taking time off from?” Kat asked, looking at me intently over the rim of her martini glass.
“I was an associate professor at the University of Miami,” I said. “I taught in the math department there.”
“Wow,” Kat said, looking impressed. I could feel my cheeks growing hot. “What did you teach?”
“Logic.”
“You mean like Mr. Spock?” Kat asked.
I smiled. “Not exactly, although he always was my favorite Star Trek character. I taught systemic reasoning.” Kat’s eyebrows knit together, and I knew she wanted an example. “Problems like...all humans are mortal. Kat is a human.” I gestured toward her with a wave of the hand. “Therefore Kat is mortal.”
Kat wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I like that problem.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“I’m just kidding,” Kat said. “I think it’s fascinating. So these days you’re, what—illogical?”
I laughed. “Pretty much. That’s what being a stay-at-home mother feels like a lot of the time. But, no, actually I’m writing a book of logic puzzles for kids.” I surprised myself by telling her this. Hardly anyone knew about my little project, as I thought of it. I looked at it much like not telling anyone you’re pregnant until you get past the risky first trimester. I didn’t want everyone asking me about it if I failed to finish or publish the book. So why had I told Kat? Was I trying to show off?
Kat looked impressed. “Good for you.”
“What do you do?” I asked. I had already clocked her Louis Vuitton carry-on, her navy cashmere sweater, the diamond studs sparkling in her ears that I suspected were not cubic zirconia, like the pair I was wearing. If she was a stay-at-home mom, it was on a different level than the one I lived on. “You said you have kids?”
“Kid. One daughter, but she’s all grown up now. She’s premed at Vanderbilt. She obviously didn’t take after me, since I faint at the sight of blood.” Kat smiled. “I have an art gallery, which is probably about as far away from medicine as you can get.”
“Wow,” I said, intrigued. “What kind of art do you sell?”
“Mostly modern and contemporary, although my real passion is sculpture,” Kat said. “That’s why I came up to New York after Christmas. To tour some galleries, follow a few leads. Nothing panned out, but what are you going to do? How about you? Were you staying in the city?”
“No, we were in Syracuse, visiting family,” I said.
“You’re smarter than me. I don’t know what I was thinking going to Manhattan on New Year’s.” Kat rolled her eyes. “The crowds were insane. I finally gave up and spent the last two days holed up in my hotel room, eating room service and watching reality TV, which I really don’t get at all. Why
