“Let’s get you to your room, then,” the über-happy concierge said without missing a beat.
A cold wind hit me as I came out of the hotel with Aidan an hour later. I looked up at the New York spring light glistening off the blue-tinged towers of the Time Warner Center down the block. I smiled as I remembered how my daughter, Emma, called it the world’s largest glass goalpost.
I looked at Aidan and wondered if what we just did was right. It didn’t matter, did it? I thought as I dabbed my eyes with the sleeve of my knockoff Burberry jacket. It was done.
“You were amazing. You really were,” I said, handing him the envelope as I kissed his cheek.
He gave a theatrical little bow as he tucked the thousand into the inside pocket of his suede car coat.
“Hey, it’s what I do, Nina Bloom,” he said, walking off with a wave.
“It’s Mrs. Smith to you,” I called as I hailed a taxi back to my job.
Two
“OK, MOM. You can open your eyes now.”
I did.
My daughter, Emma, stood before me in our cozy Turtle Bay apartment in her sweet sixteen party dress. I took in her luminous skin and ebony hair above the sleeveless black silk and began to cry for the second time that day as my heart melted.
How had this magical, ethereal creature come out of me? She looked absolutely knockdown amazing.
“Really not bad,” I said, catching tears in my palms.
It wasn’t just how beautiful Emma was, of course. It was also that I was so proud of her. When she was eight, I encouraged her, as a lark, to take the test for Brearley, Manhattan’s most prestigious girls’ school. Not only did she get in, but she was offered an almost complete scholarship.
It had been so hard for her to fit in at the beginning, but with her charm and intelligence and strong will, she stuck it out and now was one of the most popular, beloved kids in the school.