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times when I talked about relationships, child rearing, and insecurity. Which was every session.
    She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head in an unspoken question.
    I sighed and rubbed my palms down the arms of the sofa. “I’ll just explain the situation, make sure we both know it’s temporary, and go from there.”
    She nodded. “You are thinking for yourself, Molly.” She lifted her chin and met my eyes in a challenging gaze. “Try to do at least one thing in your everyday life each day that is a step forward, no matter how small. That’s your assignment for next week.”
    At least it wasn’t another list.
    “If there is a next week—I won’t be able to pay you, remember?”
    She waved her hand. “This is important, Molly. We’ll keep meeting and figure it out later.”
    The chill winds outside Dr. Lowell’s office building couldn’t be any worse than my mother, I thought optimistically. Could they?
     
    When I got back home, I picked up the phone and punched the numbers as if I were making reservations for the Bataan death march.
    She answered on the second ring. So much for hoping I could just leave a message.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, Mom. It’s me.”
    “Hi, honey.” She always sounded faintly confused, as if I had startled her in the middle of doing something. Possibly something worthwhile, like reading James Joyce, although knowing her, I bet she thought he was a lightweight, even though she named me after one of his characters. My mother was funny like that.
    “Did you hear the news? About Hugh’s company?”
    “Oh, what is it?” Her tone was hopeful. She’d always liked him. I felt a tiny morsel of glee at being able to knock him down a few pegs in her eye.
    Nothing like a Pyrrhic victory, right? Even if it meant no health insurance. “Apparently he lost his job a while ago, he’s been working freelance for them. And now they’ve folded.”
    “Oh, that’s a shame.” She clearly did not realize the import of what I was saying. I pressed on.
    “So that means he won’t be able to send me money anymore. Lord only knows what the divorce agreement will say.”
    “Oh.” Her voice changed. She knew what was coming, I could tell. And was dreading it. Nearly as much as I was dreading asking.
    Silence for a moment.
    “Can you loan me some money? At least until I get a job? Just for Aidan’s insurance.”
    “What are you going to do?” Mom had always doubted my ability to make a living. I had to prove her wrong.
    “I’m thinking about substitute teaching. Maybe try to get my teaching certificate. The hours would be good for us, for me and Aidan, and it’d be something I think I’d like.”
    “That sounds like a great idea, honey.” She sounded surprised. Heck, I was surprised. She was not known for her supportive qualities.
    “So . . .” I trailed off, hoping she would follow my lead so I wouldn’t have to ask again.
    “I can’t lend you the money.” Her tone was flat.
    My stomach fell.
    “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she continued, “but I just don’t have it.”
    Not have it? This from the doyenne of Short Hills, New Jersey?
    Our silence hung for a moment between us—me wanting to ask what the hell she had done with the money, and her obviously not willing to explain. And then, of course, I felt like a petulant, needy girl for even asking, but to ask and then be turned down was something I hadn’t even thought of.
    “Oh.”
    “I wish I had it, honey, but, well, I don’t.”
    “Well, all right, then,” I said, infusing my voice with as much of a cheery tone as I could, considering the only person I could possibly ask for financial assistance had just said no.
    “I should go take care of the dishes or something,” I continued, desperate to get off the phone.
    “Okay, honey.” My mother’s voice was a little wistful, not something I’d ever heard from her before. I felt even worse than before. I wanted to stay on the phone with her, but I needed even more to go