"Hi, Tucker," I say, taking in her perfectly pressed white doctor's coat, blue scrubs, and shiny stethoscope. And of course, her long, blond mane pulled into her trademark ponytail. She is prettier than I remembered. But maybe it's the difference between seeing someone after a run and seeing someone with a bit of makeup. I shudder to think what she might look like fully dressed for dinner. My heart sinks, and I eye the exit door, hoping that our conversation will be short. Despite the very significant thing we have in common, I have nothing to say to her.

"Hi, Claudia," she says, looking completely at ease.

I remind myself that I'm not supposed to know that she's a doctor. So I go through the song and dance of feigning surprise. "Are you a doctor?" I say.

"Yeah," she says with false modesty. "I'm a pediatric surgeon."

"Oh," I say. "That's nice."

"What are you doing here?" she asks, glancing down at Zoe. "Is everything okay?"

Her concern seems genuine, but is still highly irritating. I know it's irrational, but I feel as if she is judging me. Assessing the magnitude of my negligence. Concluding that I would, indeed, make an unfit, inept mother.

I say, "My niece had a little spill, that's all. But she's fine now."

"Poor thing," Tucker croons.

Zoe, who has returned to her outgoing self, chimes in, "I got five stitches!"

I panic, wondering what else Zoe will say. I pray that Tucker won't mention Ben because then the floodgates will open. I can just hear Zoe: How do you know Uncle Ben? Aunt Claudia dee-vorced him because she didn't want kids. But Aunt Claudia says she'll always love him. And if they get married again I get to be a flower girl!

Sure enough, Zoe's comment gives Tucker license to interact with my niece. As if sharing a grave secret, she stoops, winks, and says, "The pink kind?"

Zoe beams. "Uh-huh. The pink kind."

Tucker tousles Zoe's hair and gives her a doting smile. Then she stands and says to me, "She's adorable."

"Thanks," I say, although I'm not sure it's appropriate to accept compliments on behalf of someone else's child, even if she is my niece. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Then my mind goes blank as I look toward the exit again. I desperately don't want to segue into other topics, like, say, marathons or Ben. I wonder if Tucker knows about my plans to see her boyfriend. I surmise that she does, as I recall how Ben told me when his ex, Nicole, sent him a birthday present about a year after we began dating. Struggling to sound nonchalant, I remember saying, "Oh. That's nice… What did she give you?"

"A book of poetry," he said matter-of-factly, as if it meant nothing to him at all.

Meanwhile, I couldn't think of a more menacingly meaningful gift than a book, let alone a book of poetry, and it took all my willpower not to ask which book, what poems. Instead I just mumbled a cool and oh-so-secure, "Well, that was thoughtful of her."

Ben said, "Yeah. Whatever. No biggie. Just wanted to tell you in the interest of full disclosure."

That's how Ben is—direct and honest. So I'm sure he was very forthright about our lunch date.

Sure enough, Tucker says, "So. How are you doing these days, Claudia?"

Her words are innocent enough, but there is a shade of condescension and pity in her voice. She is also, ever so subtly, laying claim to her man. She is behaving exactly as I would have behaved had I run across Nicole in my early days with Ben. She is pleasant and dignified, but still demonstrating who is in charge.

"Fine. And you?" I say tersely and formally. I am not about to be intimidated. I was married to Ben. Marathon or no marathon, she hasn't earned the right to be so territorial.

"I'm great," she throws out comfortably. She might as well add, And so not threatened by you.

My discomfort shifts to resentment as I process her great. There is no doubt about it: great surpasses fine. The bitch just has to outdo me. Any benefit of the doubt I've ever given her flies out the hospital door. I want to slap her or throw cold water in her face. Do one of those things that people only do in sitcoms.

And that's all before her hand darts up to shift that godforsaken ponytail from her left to right shoulder, and I see her ring.

Her diamond ring.

Her diamond ring on her left ring finger.

I can't say for sure if she flashed it on purpose, but I do know with certainty that she saw me looking at it. So I have no choice but to acknowledge it now. I take a deep breath and recruit every bit of will I have in me to point in the general direction of her hand and say, "Congratulations."

She smiles triumphantly and glances down at her hand before dipping it into her jacket pocket. Then she blushes and says, "Thank you, Claudia. It… happened quickly."

"Yes… Well… congratulations," I say again, feeling so dizzy with devastation that I can barely see straight, let alone move.

Tucker starts to inquire about my Thanksgiving plans, but I interrupt and say we really must go home now. Then I take Zoe's hand and lead her outside where we climb into a taxi. I give the cabbie our address. As I watch the city blocks blur by my window, I am gripped with the knowledge that this day will forever remain the worst of my entire life. There will be no such thing as perspective. Time will not heal this. I will be marked by that moment in the hospital forever. It will become a part of who I am. In fact, it already has. I try to concentrate on breathing in and out, telling myself not to cry, but I am losing the fight. I can feel the grief rising uncontrollably in my throat. Then, somewhere between that East Side hospital and my best friend's apartment, I fall apart, right in front of my six-year-old niece.

"What's wrong, Aunt Claudia?" Zoe asks, her own voice shaky with fear. She has never seen me cry before. "Why are you sad?"

"Because my heart hurts," I say, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand.

"Why? Why does your heart hurt?" she asks me, now on the verge of tears herself.

I can't answer her—so she keeps asking the question. Over and over.

Finally I say, "Because I love Uncle Ben."

"Why does that make you sad?" she says, her small hand darting out to take mine.

"Because, Zoe," I say, too defeated to spin the truth or try to protect her. "Because Ben is going to marry someone else."

"That girl doctor?" Zoe says, her eyes wide with horror.

Through fresh tears, I nod and whisper yes.

I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to explain to Zoe one of the very saddest notions in love and life: sometimes the timing is wrong—and sometimes you realize the heart of the matter way too late in the game. I tell her that it was a big mistake to divorce Ben. I wanted my life to look a certain way, and when Ben didn't fit into that plan, I gave up on him. And now, the person I care about most is gone. Ben belongs to someone else now. Ben belongs to Tucker. The girl doctor.

Maybe Zoe truly grasps what I'm telling her, but at the very least she pretends to understand, her expression becoming almost comically philosophical. I feel a bit ashamed for dumping so much on a child with a head injury and parents on the brink of disaster. But I can't help myself. There is something soothing about her company and her innocent commentary.

"Just be happy, Aunt Claudia," she says at one point. As if it's the easiest thing in the world to do.

I smile and say, "I'll try."

But inside I'm thinking, Never. I'll never be truly happy again.

Jess and Michael return home a short time later. As I introduce Zoe and Michael and they shake hands, I can see Jess registering my red-rimmed eyes.

"What's wrong?" she mouths over Zoe's head, wrongly assuming that I've actually shielded my niece today.

I say, "Imagine the worst."

Jess thinks for a beat and then pretty much nails it. "Ben and Tucker got married?"

"Close," I say.

"Engaged?" she says, aghast.

I give her a grim nod.

Her mouth falls open and Michael busts out with a "Get the fuck outta here."

Jess glares at him and points at Zoe. I know Maura will get the curse-word report, although in the scheme of the day, one little F-word falling through the cracks doesn't seem all that destructive.

"Sorry," Michael says to me with a grimace.

"I've heard it before," Zoe says, crossing her arms. She is definitely relishing her role in this adult drama.

"Did he call you?" Jess asks. "Did Annie tell you?"

"No," I say, letting loose a bitter laugh. "We actually ran into Tucker in the ER."

"The ER?" Jess says. She and Michael look floored as Zoe and I regale them with the gory details of her accident and hospital visit. After Jess and Michael inspect Zoe's stitches and give her a few props for being brave, Jess gets right to the point: What did the ring look like? Have they set a date? Do I think Tucker could be pregnant?

I shrug three times in succession, and at her last question, I say, "It's a moot point anyway."

"Oh, no, it's not a moot point," Jess says. "It ain't over till it's over?"

"Heard that, sister," Michael says, putting his arm around Jess.

I stare back at the blissful couple in the throes of early passion—a couple who can't fathom feeling differently than they do at this moment in time.

"Oh, it's over, guys," I say, glancing at my sidekick for confirmation. "Right, Zoe?"

She nods somberly and says, "Yeah. The timing was all wrong."

After Jess and Michael leave for dinner, Zoe and I curl up on the couch watching the original Parent Trap with Hayley Mills. It was one of my favorite movies as a child, and like the satisfying child she is, Zoe tells me more than once that she prefers this "old-fashioned" version to the one with Lindsay Lohan.

When the phone rings, I glance at the caller ID. It is Maura. My heart seizes with the thought of more family drama. And aside from any report that she has for me, I positively dread telling her about Zoe's accident.

"It's your mom," I say as I hit the pause button on the remote control and answer the phone.

"Hey, Maura," I say gingerly. I'm going to have to ask cryptic questions with Zoe right next to me.

"I wanna talk to Mommy!" Zoe says, her voice becoming babyish and whiny.

"One sec, Zoe," I say, and then ask Maura how she's doing.

"I'm fine," Maura says, sounding stronger than I expected.

"What's going on? How are you?" I say.

"I'm fine, but I can't really talk now. He's in the kitchen," she says in a low voice.

"Can you give me an overview?" I say while Zoe continues to clamor for the phone.

"Well, in a nutshell, he's crazy sorry. Like begging and crying sorry. He keeps saying that he doesn't know why he does what he does. He says he needs help. He wants to see my therapist, Cheryl, something he was never willing to do before. He says he'll do anything to keep our family together," she whispers. "I've never seen this side of him. It's not like before. I guess it's because… I'm different this time. I haven't cried once."

I glance at Zoe and choose my words carefully. "Is he trying to say he has some sort of… addiction?"

"Well, he hasn't said that exactly… I just think he's… a very unhappy person."

That might be true, I think, but it doesn't give him the license to run around all of Manhattan and make everyone in his family miserable, too. But it's not up to me to make judgments—or decisions for my sister—so I just say, "How do you feel?"

"I don't know," she says. "But I know I have the upper hand for a change… And that sure feels good."

There is a long pause and then she asks how Zoe is.

"She's sitting right here, patiently waiting to talk to you. I'll put her on." Then I inhale sharply and say, "But first I need to tell you something—"

Maura interrupts. "Oh, God, what happened?"

I am amazed at her mother's intuition as I reassure her that Zoe is fine. Then I give her the least melodramatic version of the accident. I leave out the part about Tucker and finish by saying, "I'm truly sorry I let that happen."

"Don't be silly," Maura says, but her voice is shaking a bit. "Accidents happen. It's not your fault… Lemme talk to her."

"Sure," I say, handing the phone to Zoe, who promptly and predictably bursts into tears when she hears her mother's voice. I guess it's a natural reflex when you talk to the person you love most in the world. Which means I better not go through with my lunch with Ben. I can just see myself blubbering in our booth.

After Zoe gives Maura her rendition of the accident, and the ride to the hospital, and Dr. Steve and her stitches, she launches into Ben and Tucker's engagement. I don't have the energy to stop her or intervene. Besides, her report is fairly accurate, right down to the "blond ponytail" and the "big, sparkly diamond ring."

When I finally take the phone back, Maura says, "Is that true?"

"Afraid so," I say. "Her imagination isn't that good."

"God. I'm so sorry," she says.

"I know," I say. "So am I."

In light of the accident, Maura decides that Zoe should return home tonight. "She needs to be here with us," Maura says. The us is not lost on me, nor is the fact that Maura and Scott arrive together. I wonder if this means that Maura is going to give Scott "one more chance." Or whether it's her way of showing Zoe that both her parents love her very much even though they no longer love each other.

What I am sure of, though, is that Maura looks much better than she did at Zoe's drop-off a mere twenty-four hours ago. She looks strong—with perfect posture and good color in her cheeks. In contrast, Scott has a gray pallor and a scared, mealymouthed manner.

It occurs to me that things could very easily have gone the other way. Scott could have responded with a cavalier, "All right, you got me. Now let's get a divorce." Or worse, he could have said, "I'm in love with this woman, and we want to get married."

At the very least, Maura gets to choose now. And being the decision maker is always empowering. I am happy for my sister for having at least that much. I wish I did.

I kiss Zoe good-bye at least four times and tell her I think we need to have another sleepover soon so we can go to FAO Schwarz and have our carriage ride. "And maybe it will even snow the next time," I say, missing her before she's even gone.

"Can I come back soon, Mommy?" Zoe asks, looking up at Maura.

"Of course," Maura says.

As Scott scoops up Zoe in his arms, Maura takes my hand, squeezes it and quietly says, "Take care of yourself."

"You, too," I say.

When the door closes behind Zoe and her parents, I say aloud to myself, with as much sarcasm as I can muster, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life. " It's a cliche I've always disliked—as much for the obvious truth of it as the pressure it creates to have a productive, fantastic day. So naturally, I decide to do the opposite. I throw in the towel and crawl into bed, not even bothering to take a shower first and wash the hospital and Tucker germs off my skin.