V V E SHOULD STOP THERE,” EVELYN Says. She’s right. It is getting late, and I suspect I have a number of missed calls and e-mails to return, including what I know will be a voice mail from David. “OK,” I say, closing my notebook and pressing stop on the recording. Evelyn gathers some of the papers and stale coffee mugs that have accumulated over the day. I check my phone. Two missed calls from David. One from Frankie. One from my mother. I say good-bye to Evelyn and make my way onto the street. The air is warmer than I anticipated, so I take off my coat. I pull my phone out of my pocket. I listen to my mother’s voice mail first. Because I’m not sure I’m ready to know what David has to say. I don’t know what I want him to say, and thus, I don’t know what will disappoint me when he doesn’t say it. “Hi, honey,” my mom says. “I’m just calling to remind you that I'll be there soon! My flight gets in Friday evening. And I know you're going to insist on meeting me at the airport because of that time I got lost on the subway, but don’t worry about it. Really. I can figure out how to get to my daughter’s apartment from JFK. Or LaGuardia. Oh, God, you don’t think I accidentally booked the flight to Newark, do you? No, I didn’t. I wouldn't have. Anyway, I’m so excited to see you, my little dumpling baby. I love you.” I’m already laughing before the message is over. My mother has gotten lost in New York a number of times, not just once. And it’s always because she refuses to take a cab. She insists that she can navigate public transportation, even though she was born and raised in Los Angeles and therefore has no real sense of how any two modes of transportation intersect. Also, I have always hated it when she called me her dumpling baby. Mostly because we both know it’s a reference to how fat I was as a child; I looked like an overstuffed dumpling. By the time her message is over and I’m done texting her back (So excited to see you! Will meet you at the airport. Just tell me which one), ’m