"I don't know. I don't care."

"She's lying. I can always tell when she's lying," Jackie said from the kitchen floor, where she was crawling after Laylah, who was in dogged pursuit of Esskay around the big oak table. The baby squealed and grabbed her mid-section, as if to mount her for a quick race. Esskay galloped away, rolling her brown eyes at Tess. What have I done to deserve this?

"What does the dog say?" Jackie prompted. "What does the doggie say?"

"Mooooooo," Laylah replied, all dimples and eyes as she grabbed for Esskay's collar. Tess was sure that Laylah knew what the doggie said, but she was already carving out her own identity, preparing her perfect mother for life with someone determined not to be so careful and circumscribed.

"I get confused about your recent romantic history," Jackie drawled. It was as if she had caught Tess taking Laylah's side in her mind. "Is Crow the one who came after the one who was hit by the car but before the one who's now in prison?"

"Crow was a dream, the sort of good guy that women always claim they want," Kitty answered for her. "If Tess hadn't been so preoccupied with Jonathan, she might have seen that. But deep down, she was too busy mooning over him to see what a gem Crow was."

Mourning, not mooning. "How's life on Shakespeare Street?" Tess asked, hoping to change the subject. "I mean, other than the free babysitting that you get by living a half-block from here, how do you like city life after the 'burbs?"

"Lot of folks keep asking me if I'm lost," Jackie said, pulling Laylah into her lap. "What they mean is, they wish I was lost."

"Fells Point is still pretty white," Kitty said sympathetically. "But it could be worse. I heard a black woman over in Canton had her mailbox blown up the week she moved in."

Jackie tried to wipe Laylah's face clean. Since arriving less than an hour ago, the baby had managed to shuck the pink shoes that matched her jumper and lose one sock. She was a mess, she was gorgeous, her face so full of joy that it was contagious. It made Tess smile just to see her.

"At least my Lexus is the right color," Jackie muttered, but her features softened when Laylah patted her cheeks with baby hands, as if imitating her mother's futile motions with the washcloth.

"Who wants whipped cream on their pie?" Kitty asked. At last, something everyone could agree on.

"So what do you think?" Kitty asked Jackie as soon as Tess's mouth was full. "Is Tess really interested in Crow, and pretending not to be? Or do you think she's in love with him, and being stubborn out of some misplaced pride?"

"I don't know if she was ever in love with him. I wasn't around then. But she's definitely not finished with him, you know what I mean? Sometimes a man is like, well, like this piece of pie when you're supposed to be on a diet. You stick your fork in it, you break it up, you move it around on your plate, you put all this work into not eating it. You're still obsessed with it."

"Really?" Kitty was so taken by this analogy that she stopped in midbite. "I've never felt that way about a man. Or a pie, for that matter."

"Well, Aunt Kitty, you've never left so much as a crumb behind." Tess had tired of being discussed in the third person. "Although it's been what-almost an entire month since you've ‘dated' anyone?"

Kitty shrugged. "Just not interested, I guess. As long as we're using food analogies, you could say I've got a bad case of Jordan almonds."

"Huh?"

"I used to love Jordan almonds," she said matter-of-factly, as if Tess should know this. "I ate them every day. Then one day, I never wanted another one."

"Are you saying you never want to be with another man, or that you've finally gotten tired of the himbo parade that's been marching through your life?"

Kitty held out her plate to Esskay and let the dog lap up the traces of whipped cream. When she spoke again, her voice was slow and careful, as if she were making a confession.

"A new UPS man took over the route today. He came in with a shipment of books, wearing his shorts, although it's a bit late in the season for that. He had the nicest legs. You know how I like men's calves. Single, he made a point of letting me know, and very keen to see the Fritz Lang double bill at the Orpheum. I was two sentences away from having a date with him, if I wanted one. But I didn't, and I don't know why."

"I swore off men, even before I had Laylah to worry about," Jackie said. "When I was trying to build my business, I felt as if I were a battery and they drained all the energy out of me. Now I'm a single mother and all the energy is drained out of me. Even with help-and all the support I'm getting from you guys-I'm exhausted most of the time. What would I do with a man, even if I could find one? And what would a man do with me? Watch me fall asleep in front of the television at nine o'clock?"

Tess said nothing. Her recent abstinence from men-from love, from passion, from all entanglements, however wrongheaded-had felt like a twelve-step program. One day at a time, and she was always aware in her mind of just how many days that had been. She liked men. They used to like her.

"I don't seem to meet guys anymore," she said. "Is that because I turned thirty?"

"You're healthier," Kitty said. "Mentally, I mean. You don't give off that damaged vibe you used to have. There's a large class of men with a homing instinct for women who are vulnerable, and that's why there was always someone lurking, ready to take advantage of you."

"You're not damaged, and you've always had your pick of men," Tess pointed out.

"I'm at the other end of the spectrum-true indifference. They start off thinking I'm the perfect woman because I want them only for their bodies, then end up saying I'm heartless. If you only knew how many men had accused me of objectifying them, or using them for sex."

Kitty laughed, pleased with herself for being such a cadette. Laylah clapped her baby hands and laughed with her, while Jackie just shook her head and snorted: "White girl craziness."

It was one of Jackie's favorite expressions, but Tess thought it didn't apply here. Different pathologies for black and white women, but pathologies all the same. Valuing the men who didn't value you. Settling for vicarious power, instead of grabbing your own chunk of it. Worrying about the size of your butt. She had a sudden yearning to sweep Laylah up in her arms and tell her that they'd have it all worked out by the time she was a grown-up.

Jackie picked up the clipping that Kitty had left on the table. "He is kind of cute. I hope you're going to call him, make sure he's okay."

"I am not. Let him call me if he wants to talk. My home number hasn't changed, even if it's unlisted now."

"You know for a fact he sent this?" Jackie had switched to her professional persona, the steely-eyed Grand Inquisitor who had built her fund-raising business into such a hot property that clients ended up auditioning for her.

"Well, no, but he's the only person I know in Texas."

"The only person you know you know in Texas. Besides, what if he really is in a bind? I know you, girl, you'll never forgive yourself if something happens to that boy."

Kitty nudged the portable phone toward Tess with her elbow. Tess ignored it, pouring herself another glass of wine. "If I were to call-if-do you think I would do it here, within your hearing?"

Jackie and Kitty smiled smugly at each other, while Laylah made another pass at Esskay, squealing in delight when the dog ran away and slunk under the table, whimpering piteously.

"What does the doggie say, Laylah?" Jackie asked automatically.

"Meow," Laylah said. "Meeeee-ow."

Not even an hour later, Tess sat on her bed in the third-floor apartment above the store, Esskay nestled beside her, yet another glass of wine on her bedside table. Almost eleven o'clock. An hour earlier in Texas, and a Friday night. He'd be out, of course, performing with his band, lots of Texas girls staring at him hungrily. Texas women were reputed to be better-looking than women from elsewhere. She imagined a super-gender with hard bodies, harder hair, tanning-bed tans, and those taut neck cords that come from years of expert bulimia. Barfing sorority girls with credit cards, convertibles, and eager, grasping mouths. Girls who kept a man out late, assuming he got home at all.