Chapter One
Monday
The directions at the arrivals gate are confusing, and Maggie takes this personally, as if LaGuardia Airport is trying to
thwart her. She hasn’t seen her daughter in weeks and has no patience for circling for the right place to pull over. The curbside
is a sensory overload of honking horns, rolling luggage wheels and traffic marshals wearing neon vests shouting at drivers
to keep things moving. It’s too much to handle on only one cup of coffee.
To her right, a stream of yellow cabs jostle for position alongside a logjam of sedans and black SUVs. A police officer raps
on her driver’s-side window. She lowers it and a rush of crisp autumn air fills the car. “This is a no-standing zone,” the
policeman says. He’s handsome, and it irritates Maggie that she notices.
She can’t leave this spot. Piper will be out any second. But from the look on the officer’s face, she’s about to get a ticket.
Really, Maggie has no one to blame for this 7:00 a.m. stress bomb but herself: Piper had insisted she could just get an Uber,
but Maggie wouldn’t hear of it. There are few things left to do that make her feel useful. And they have so little time together
anymore. But Maggie has an idea to fix that: a three-day weekend at a rustic knitting retreat. If Piper will say yes.
Maggie’s eyes sweep the curb, and she spots Piper’s familiar long-legged stride heading toward her. “She’s here!” Maggie jumps out of the car and waves her arms wildly. She doesn’t care if she gets a ticket. Piper is home!
“Mom,” Piper says, running into her arms. The embrace feels like a giant exhale.
The officer barks something at her, and Maggie ushers Piper into the car. She avoids a ticket—probably because of Piper. Grown
men lose all reason around her stunning daughter. Piper is nearly six feet tall with white-blonde hair and remarkably big
blue eyes.
“Thanks for picking me up,” Piper says. “But honestly, next time Ethan will do it. He always offers.”
Maggie ignores the comment as she steers into the queue to exit the airport. Ethan is Piper’s boyfriend of the past three
years. Maggie has nothing against Ethan, but she does think her daughter is too young—and has too much going for her—to be
tied down in a serious relationship. Maggie learned the hard way that nothing could derail a career like the distraction of
a romance.
“It’s my pleasure,” Maggie says. “Now tell me all about the trip.”
Piper’s been in Milan the past two weeks modeling. Her return to Manhattan is for walking in a runway show tomorrow night
for the designer Betsy Toledo. Her career is so glamorous; Maggie can’t imagine living Piper’s life. At her age, Maggie struggled
to make ends meet in a studio apartment alone with a two-year-old. Piper’s twenties are the opposite: Freedom. Money. The
world is her oyster.
“I’ve told you pretty much everything,” Piper says. Then, with a little smile, “Except last week, Ethan flew out and surprised
me,” she adds.
“He was with you in Italy?”
“For a few days, yeah.”
Maggie feels a flash of annoyance. It was a work trip. Modeling is a brutally competitive business, and it’s difficult enough
for Piper to fight her way to the top. She really needs to set some boundaries.
“Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate that he showed up?”
“I invited him to come. It was my idea.”
Maggie has to dial back her negativity. It doesn’t matter what she thinks. She doesn’t want to sound like her own mother.
She shudders at the thought. So she keeps her mouth shut while Piper spends the remainder of the hour drive to the Upper West
Side talking about all the romantic things she and Ethan did in Europe. Barely a mention of work, something Maggie is more
curious about. But it’s her job to listen, and she does, and then before she knows it, they’ve reached Ethan’s apartment building
on West 82nd Street.
Only when Piper opens the passenger door to step out does Maggie realize she forgot to ask her about the knitting retreat.
Early-morning clouds have rolled in by the time Maggie gets to her job at an Upper East Side clothing store called Denim.
The boutique is on a quiet block just east of Lexington Avenue in the sixties. It used to only sell high-end denim (hence
the name) but over the past thirty years has expanded its inventory to include expensive cashmere in muted colors, cult designer
jewelry and the occasional handbag.
Since the neighborhood clientele have proven themselves skittish in the rain, Maggie unpacks some knitting from her bag to
pass the time.
“Good morning, Maggie,” her boss says, breezing in fifteen minutes later. “I have some news!”
Elaine Berger is more like family than an employer. Maggie’s known her for so many years, Piper calls her “Aunt Elaine.” She fills a void left by the absence of Maggie’s own mother.
Elaine pats down her damp hair, a silver bob never a centimeter longer than her jawline. Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes are always
behind the thick wall of her glasses, of which she always keeps an extra pair on a chain around her neck. Her nose is prominent,
balanced out by strong bone structure. The word handsome comes to mind. Handsome, and chic: The only jewelry she wears is a Tiffany triplet ring and a Cartier watch on a leather
band.
Maggie is forever grateful that she walked into that particular store on that particular day in the summer of 2000. Up to
that point, not a single employer had been willing to overlook the fact that Maggie was seven months pregnant. Elaine offered
minimum wage plus commission, and she’d jumped at the opportunity. It would be a temporary job until she figured out something
permanent. Twenty-three years later, she’s still here.
“What’s the news?” Maggie asks, unable to imagine what it could be.
“I’ve gotten you a ticket to the Betsy Toledo show tomorrow night.”
Scoring a ticket to a New York City fashion show is a near impossible feat. In fact, Piper’s been modeling for two years now
and it’s never happened. But Elaine, who made a fortune as a banker in the 1990s (the clothing shop is mostly a hobby) sits
on a lot of prestigious boards throughout the city. One of them happens to be for the venue hosting tonight’s show. Elaine
knows how much it would mean to Maggie to get to see her daughter walk.
“Elaine! I don’t know what to say . . . except I hope you’re coming with me.”
Elaine shakes her head no. “I could only get one ticket. But I’ll be waiting eagerly to hear all about it.”
Maggie gives her a hug, thanking her, telling her she can watch the show on a livestream.
“I’ll do that,” Elaine says. “It’s a big night for our girl.”
Maggie smiles. The biggest.