When I came downstairs in the morning, I was surprised to find Caitlin already up, alone and working at the kitchen table as sunlight streamed in through the window.
“Did Ravi take Eloise out?” I asked, growing hopeful.
“No, she’s asleep, believe it or not,” Caitlin said. “She went down after her early morning feed, so I figured I’d get to work on this report that’s due Monday.”
This was good news.
“I have to go into the city to see Mrs. Whitney,” I said. “Maybe I should go right now.”
I’d quickly learned to be fully dressed the minute I hopped out of bed, or I might not get any chance at all. And I wanted to be ready to undertake my errand to see Mrs. Whitney as soon as I got the opportunity.
“Can’t it wait a bit?” she said. “She’s been down for two hours and I’m afraid she’s going to wake up again before I finish this.”
I could wait. Mrs. Whitney wasn’t expecting me at any certain time. She wasn’t expecting me this morning at all. Caitlin was under a lot of pressure at work. She needed to work at night and on weekends to catch up.
I didn’t want to seem unsupportive, knowing how sensitive Caitlin was to my position on her working motherhood. I was truly proud of her. I appreciated how much stress she must be under. But something was niggling at me.
“Can’t Ravi take over while you do the report?”
“He’s playing basketball,” Caitlin said.
Ravi deserved to relax, of course he did. He’d worked so late every night this week that he never made it home for Eloise’s bedtime.
But I had been there for every bedtime this week, often alone. I was about to visit my longtime publisher and boss, with whom I was close, in the hospital. And I had a mysterious errand that needed to be performed as soon as possible.
“I’m sorry,” I made myself say. “But I really need to go. Can I have the car keys?”
My old Volvo was still the household’s only car.
“Ravi took the car,” said Caitlin.
“I’ve got to run, then,” I said, heading for the door, “so I can catch the 9:10 train.”
I didn’t feel guilty about leaving Caitlin and Ravi to deal with the baby on their own, or about taking time away from my baby granddaughter. I only felt guilty about how happy I was to be doing it.
twenty-three
It was a shock to see Mrs. Whitney lying there in the hospital bed, dressed in a printed gown rather than a Chanel jacket, her lips pale, her earlobes unadorned, no little dog in his Gucci case at her side.
“Darling!” she cried, nonplussed. She ran her hand over her white hair and pulled her hospital gown up at the neck. “Betty didn’t tell me you were coming this morning.”
“I’ve been taking care of my baby granddaughter,” I said. “I wasn’t sure when I would be able to get away.”
“It’s awfully good of you to take the time to visit me,” she said.
I didn’t want to pry—my relationship with Mrs. Whitney was always more professionally buttoned-up than personally revealing—but I couldn’t very well pretend we were meeting at the Century Club. And what kind of tests required an in-hospital stay? As I’d just witnessed when Caitlin gave birth, they usually kicked you out of the place ASAP.
“What’s going on?” I said. “Betty said something about tests?”
Mrs. Whitney waved her hand dismissively. “It’s so ridiculous, poking here and there, trying to find something wrong. I keep telling the doctor that at my age, if you start looking for a problem, you’re going to find one.”
“But… there must have been something that made you go to the doctor in the first place,” I said delicately.
“Oh God, no, I loathe the doctor. But you know, Betty schedules the checkups every year, and then she watches like a hawk to make sure I go. And of course they do the standard blood tests and one thing’s high and the other thing is low. I just want them to make their little diagnosis so I can go home.”
“Okay,” I said, not entirely sure whether I believed her. Then I remembered the mysterious envelope, which had been weighing heavily on me since Betty first mentioned it. I extracted it from my purse and handed it to her.
“What’s in here that only I can bring you?” I asked, trying to sound mildly curious rather than desperately anxious.
“We’ll talk about that in a bit,” Mrs. Whitney said. She tucked the envelope under her blanket. “But first tell me, how is the television show going?”
“I’m not really involved anymore, since I started watching my granddaughter, so I’m not sure how it’s going,” I said carefully. “I know Stella has been difficult.”
I got texts from Kelsey every day, detailing Stella’s sometimes hilarious, sometimes outrageous, sometimes obstreperous behavior.
“I thought it was going so beautifully,” Mrs. Whitney said.
I hated to bring her disappointing news, especially given that she was lying in a hospital bed. But it seemed an equally bad time to lie to her.
“There were problems when we were in LA,” I said. “I was going to quit, and Kelsey was going to shut down production, but I knew how important it was for Empirical.”
“Oh, darling,” said Mrs. Whitney. “You should never do something you don’t want to do because someone else wants you to do it.”
“We all wanted the show to go well,” I said, “and it would have, except for Stella.”
“I’m sure it’s challenging for her, trying to fill your shoes, given that she’s so intimidated by you,” said Mrs. Whitney.
Stella Power, intimidated by me? That certainly had never been the way I’d seen it.
“Why would Stella be intimidated by me?” I said.
“You’ve got everything she wants,” said Mrs. Whitney, in that decisive way that tolerated no contradiction. “You’re independent, you’re creative, and you’ve attracted the eye of that young man who plays opposite her in the show.”
It took me a moment to realize that by “young man” she meant Hugo.
“I’m not sure you’re right about that,” I said. “But tell me about you. Are you going crazy in here?”
“I’m trying to see it as a chance to catch up on all the pleasure reading I never have time to do.”
“What are you reading?”
“The rest of Proust,” she said. “Lincoln in the Bardo: I’m a few years behind on that one. I hear great things about this young fantasy writer N. K. Jemisin.”
“I could bring you some books,” I said. “Or a Kindle. Have you tried reading on one of those?”
“Great for traveling,” she said. “But you know, I’m a publisher. I love the paper, the fonts, the deckled edges, the smell.”
“I know,” I said. “I feel like I never get to read anymore. Not an actual book, anyway.”
“Books are wonderful,” Mrs. Whitney said, “but it’s life that’s really important. Tell me about your world. How is life after Younger? Are you minding terribly not being a girl anymore?”
“That part’s fine,” I said, surprised I actually meant it. “It’s a relief, actually. I like trying to figure out what this age is all about, because it’s going to come and go too.”
“Late forties, early fifties sounds so young to me,” Mrs. Whitney said. “But it can be a dark time too.”
“That’s true,” I said. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Whitney said. “Your parents die, your children leave, you lose your job, no one looks at you anymore. It is the absolute nadir.”
“Was it dark for you?” I asked, surprised to hear Mrs. Whitney confess to any weakness or low point. She always seemed so strong and in control.
“It was,” she said. “My husband had died in a car crash at the same time the business was really taking off. Then I met someone. I guess you could say I fell in love. Her name was Helena Fletcher; she was an agent. The problem was she lived in London.”
“She?” I said, surprised again.
“Yes. It seemed a terribly shameful secret at the time. Now I can’t imagine why. So I pushed it away and put it off, and then the moment passed,” she said.
I couldn’t help thinking of Hugo. “Did you two stay in touch?”
“She died. Ovarian cancer. Not taking the chance to be with her is my one real regret. My life could have been so much richer.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “There was no one else?”
“I loved my husband, I loved her, and that was enough for me,” she said. “I poured all my energy into my company.”
“Having that passion, about someone or something, that’s really enviable,” I said.
“What about you, Liza?” she said. “Do you think you’ll go back and work on the TV show, or write another book, or what?”
“I still feel like I’d like to work with other people, but not on the TV show,” I said. “I’d love to find someplace I was as happy and comfortable as I felt working at Empirical.”
“I wish I could make that time come back for your sake as well as mine,” said Mrs. Whitney. “But all any of us have is now.”
* * *
It wasn’t until I was on the train heading back to New Jersey that I remembered the envelope I’d delivered to Mrs. Whitney. I recalled her taking it from me. But I’d never found out what was inside.
I tried calling Mrs. Whitney’s cell phone from the train, but she didn’t pick up. I panicked a little but told myself she was probably off getting another of the endless tests she’d complained about. They kept you busy in the hospital.
I leaned back on the hard plastic seat and shut my eyes. The word now kept echoing in my brain. The time to do anything is now.
There was something undeniably comfortable for me, I realized, in not doing what I really wanted to do. As long as I was mired in doing something I didn’t want to do, my dissatisfaction was justified and my dreams stayed safely on the shelf. Nothing was put to the test. I wasn’t failing, I wasn’t succeeding, I wasn’t even really waiting, because waiting implied something else you were moving toward. I was living as a hologram of myself, my energy and passion in suspension until that day, that faraway day that never seemed to come, when I’d finally be doing what I really wanted. Never making myself find out what that was.
Denying the reality, year after year after year, that all I had was now.
In many ways, I realized, I still wanted to delay this reckoning. I should at least wait a couple of months, until the baby was a little older, and Caitlin and Ravi had their sea legs as parents. Or I could wait until she was a year old, ready for day care, maybe, by which point I might have managed to write a few sentences. Or until she was in kindergarten, or high school, or college.
I’d turned thirty, putting off my real adult life until some point in the future. I’d turned forty, waiting for the future. I could easily turn fifty doing the same thing. And fifty-five and sixty and seventy, waiting and waiting and waiting until it was too late. I wanted to keep waiting and never acting. Because it was less painful than trying my hardest and still not getting what I wanted.
After Eloise was bathed and settled in her bassinet, at least until eleven or twelve and her first nighttime feeding, Caitlin and Ravi curled up on the sofa with Netflix. This was my cue, I’d learned, to retreat upstairs to my third-floor room so they could have some couple time alone. I didn’t resent that, in general. But it wasn’t going to happen tonight.
“I need to talk to you,” I said.
“I have some reading to catch up on,” said Ravi.
“Both of you,” I said.
I turned on the living room light and sat across from them.
“I love Eloise more than anything,” I said, “and I really appreciate you trusting me with her welfare. I know you both are under a lot of pressure with your job and your fellowship. But I can’t take care of her anymore.”
They both frowned, which made me want to rush in and tell them I’d keep doing it till they found someone else, to offer to find someone for them, to stay while she learned the ropes.
I looked at the ceiling. Remembered the sky full of wonderful things. I’ll take some courage, I thought. And some strength.
Caitlin burst into tears. “I knew you wouldn’t really help me,” she said. “You thought all along that I should stay home. You told me not to go for this job. And you know what, you were right, it is too hard. You say you can’t do it, well, I can’t do it either. I’m going to quit.”
“You can’t quit,” Ravi said, horrified. “We’re depending on your income right now.”
“You’re going to have to give up that precious fellowship and get a job,” she said, angry at him now.
“Neither of you have to quit,” I said. “You can hire someone. There are lots of wonderful caregivers out there.”
“I don’t want a stranger in my house alone with my baby,” Ravi said.
“Then a day care center that takes infants,” I suggested.
I had actually googled all this on my phone on the train back from the city, to reassure myself that I wasn’t leaving them without options.
“I’m not going to leave my newborn infant at some institution,” said Caitlin.
“Well then, I’m not sure what to tell you,” I said. “Ravi, you once talked about bringing the baby with you to school. Is that still a possibility?”
“I’m not sure,” he mumbled.
“I can help you look for other options tomorrow, but first thing Monday I’m heading into the city.”
I was going to help to successfully finish shooting the show. I hadn’t told Kelsey this yet. The idea was still formulating, and I didn’t want to get her hopes up in case I changed my mind or chickened out. If I showed up on set and she didn’t want me there, then I’d figure out something else. Something that didn’t involve reliving a former life.
“I wish you’d thought of this before you volunteered to come out here,” Caitlin said.
I could have pointed out that I didn’t exactly volunteer, but that would have been arguing the wrong point.
I took Caitlin’s hand, and then reached for Ravi’s too. Half to my surprise, he let me take it, and even gripped mine back a little.
“I saw the two of you, under the most difficult conditions any parent could face, being so strong and kind and brave and loving,” I said. “You were the best possible parents to Eloise, straight out of the gate, and I have complete confidence that you are going to be amazing parents to her from now on, both of you.”
“I’ve never even spent a single hour with her,” Caitlin said.
“Are you kidding?” I said. “You barely left her side at the hospital.”
“But there was always a nurse or a doctor there, or Ravi was there, or you were there. Someone was there to help me if I screwed up.”
“I’ll help you,” Ravi said.
“You’re not going to screw up if you take care of Eloise on your own, either of you,” I said. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You have each other, and there are all kinds of wonderful people you can hire, people who will enrich your child’s life and who will make you feel confident about working. I’m proud of you both for having such successful careers, and that’s not something selfish, that’s something you’re giving your daughter too.”
Ravi squeezed my hand.
“Thank you, Liza,” he said. “I appreciate all the time you spent with us, and all the help you gave us. It really meant a lot.”
I was glad I was holding both their hands, because I might have fallen over.
“Well, thank you, Ravi,” I said. “That’s really nice of you to say.”
“I appreciate it too,” Caitlin said.
“I know you do, sweetheart.”
“You know, some of the women I work with have read your book, and they thought it was so cool you were making it into a TV show with that Hugo guy, who is apparently some kind of big deal,” Caitlin said. “They couldn’t believe it when I told them you were
taking care of the baby instead of doing that.”
“Yeah, you should be working on the show and writing,” said Ravi. “I get it. I know how important my career is to me. I love Eloise more than anything, but I don’t want to step back from my career to be with her full-time.”
“Oh really?” said Caitlin, withdrawing her hands. “So does that mean I need to be the one to step back?”
“Nobody needs to step back!” my son-in-law said. “Like your mother said, we can hire someone.…”
“But we’re not going to be able to find somebody just like that,” Caitlin said. “I can’t take off from my new job after two weeks, to interview nannies.”
Ravi had a rejoinder, but I didn’t stick around to listen to it. I had packing to do. This was their problem, and it wouldn’t be easy, but they would work it out. And work it out again and again over the years as their family and their positions changed. When you have a newborn, you think that’s the hardest it’s ever going to get, and then when you have a two-year-old or a teenager, you look back and you can’t believe how easy it was before they walked, talked, or demanded an iPhone.
twenty-four
I got the cinematographer to send me the call sheet for Monday, then showed up at the waterfront street in Williamsburg where they were shooting. I got there about ten, when I figured they’d be finished with hair and makeup and ready to shoot their first scene. I stepped directly into this exchange between Kelsey and Stella:
STELLA
I quit!
KELSEY
You can’t quit, you’re fired.
STELLA
You can’t fire me, I’m firing you!
KELSEY
I don’t care, because I quit!
At that, Stella whirled around and stomped toward her trailer. Hugo ran after her. I don’t think he even noticed I was there.
“What the…?” I said to Kelsey.
Everyone else had moved as far as possible from us without abandoning the set altogether and seemed to be involved en masse in studying the equipment, the script, anything that would take their eyes off us.
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