Her mother, naturally, looked neat as a pin.

“The last time she threw something out,” sighed Maxine, “must have been 1950.”

Nana Kettle was bossily insisting that before any object could be assigned as “rubbish,” “Smith family,” or “new place,” she first be approached for authorization. She then wanted to chat at length about the history of each item and after finally making a decision, would more often than not change her mind, demanding that Cat and Maxine rummage through the rubbish bag and re-present the item for another lengthy discussion.

Neither Cat nor her mother had the right personalities for this sort of work.

“We need Gemma,” said Cat. “She could sit and talk to Nana while we just throw the lot out.”

“She’s doing something with Charlie’s family,” said Maxine and then compressing her lips at her mistake, quickly changed the subject, producing some creased and faded sheets of paper. “Look what I found!”

Cat smiled as she recognized her own childish handwriting. “Another blast from my past.”

It was the Kettle Scoop, a weekly family newspaper that Cat had produced when she was around ten. There had been four issues before she got bored.

“I’m really pleased,” said Maxine. “This is the missing issue! I was convinced Gwen had it!”

“You would come in and present it to me with this stern little frown on your face,” said Maxine. “And I had to sit there and read it without laughing. It nearly killed me. Then you’d leave the room and I’d laugh myself silly. You were such a funny, passionate kid.”

“I thought I was producing a serious publication!”

Cat read the front page:

INTERVIEW WITH POP KETTLE!

Mr. Les Kettle (sometimes known as Pop Kettle) is a tall, very elderly man aged approximately sixty years old. His hair is gray and his favorite foods are baked dinners and Tooheys beer. His favorite hobbies are reading the paper, betting on the doggies, and doing his wife’s nails. His least favorite things are mowing the lawn and broccoli. This reporter has sometimes seen him sneaking broccoli to his dog under the table. Pop Kettle has three granddaughters (they are triplets) and when they’re all together he calls them all by the same name, which is “Susi.” He doesn’t know why he does this. Our undercover reporter asked which Susi was his favorite. His answer was “CAT.” “But don’t tell your sisters,” commented Mr. Kettle quietly and under his breath. Mr. Kettle did not know that he was speaking to an undercover reporter at the time but this is what he said. This is an example of FREEDOM OF THE PRESS.

Next to the article was glued a blurry photo of Pop Kettle that Cat remembered taking herself. At the bottom of the page was a star: Look out for next week’s issue of the Kettle Scoop when we reveal who are Gemma’s real parents! As everyone knows, Gemma Kettle is adopted.

Maxine wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Give it to me,” she demanded. “I’m not letting it out of my sight again.”

Cat handed it over. She liked hearing herself described as a “funny, passionate kid.”

“So,” Maxine folded the page neatly in two and tapped it against her hand, “just what are you going to do with your life?”

“Sorry?”

Typical. The very moment she became the slightest bit likable, she had to repair the damage by reverting to bitch mode.

“Well? Not many people get a chance like you’ve got. I hope you’re not going to mope around forever, throwing cutlery at people whenever you don’t get your own way.”

Cat stared at her. She couldn’t believe it. And here she was helping move out Nana’s stuff while Lyn and Gemma spent the day with their happy little families. Cat had been feeling like the old maid daughter, the saintly one, Beth in Little Women—except she wasn’t dying, unfortunately.

“What do you mean?” Heavy, resentful bitterness filled her voice. “Not many people get the chance to enjoy a miscarriage and a divorce? How unfortunate for them.”

“Not many people get the chance to choose a new life,” said Maxine. “You’re young, smart, talented, you’ve got no ties, you can do whatever you want.”

“I’m not young! And I want ties! I might never get the chance to have children!”

“You might not,” agreed Maxine. “Would that really be the end of the world?”

“Yes!” It came out like a self-pitying sob of fear.

Maxine sighed. “Look. When I was your age I had three teenage daughters who were all convinced I was trying to ruin their lives. I had a dead-end job and an ex-husband with a bizarre habit of introducing me to all to his new girlfriends. I felt trapped, depressed—and now I think about it, a little bit insane. I would have given anything to be you with all those choices.”

“But I don’t have any choices. Not any that I want.”

I want to be sitting on a plane next to Dan. I want my baby. I want Sal. I want to be somebody else.

“But you do, you infuriating child.”

Nana’s voice trilled imperiously down the hallway. “Maxine! Cat! Where are you both?”

“Look at your grandmother,” said Maxine.

“What about her?”

“Oh, well, now you’re just being obtuse.”

Nana called again, “Maxine!”

“Just a minute, Gwen!”

At that moment a plane flew overhead, and Cat put her hands on the balcony fence and watched it turn into a speck on the horizon.