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Hector beamed at her. “Happy birthday, Lola.”

She tickled the kitten. “What do you think, pal? You want to come live with me?” The kitten dug its talons into her dress, which she took to mean yes.

“I guess I’m a cat mom now,” she said. “Or what are we saying these days? A childless cat lady?”

The neighbors laughed. The kitten let out a high-pitched meow.

She zipped the kitten up into her jacket, where it nestled itself into a little ball, purring the whole elevator ride up to her apartment.

In the morning, after Giancarlo came by, she’d take it to a vet to make sure it was okay. Then she’d scour the city for the best pet products. A litter box. All-natural cat food. Some sort of scratchy tower so it wouldn’t destroy her couch. She’d name it something cute. Tabitha, maybe.

She’d set Zillow to show her pet-friendly apartments in Alphabet City, and when Giancarlo’s daughter sublet her apartment—as Lola knew she would; the loft was perfect, even for Goldilocks—she and Tabitha would move in somewhere cozy and start a new life together.

She lay on the couch and felt the kitten’s little body melting into hers. This tiny creature, so trusting of her that it had leapt into herarms. The kitten wasn’t afraid of love. Lola wasn’t either. On the contrary, she was wide open to it.

After a few minutes, she got up, gently placing Tabitha on the sofa. The kitten glanced up at her before curling up in the corner and falling back asleep.

Lola went to the window. The city sprawled out below, thrumming with the promise of a new beginning. She should probably go to bed soon, but she was too wired to sleep, too happy.

Then, remembering she had an assignment due Monday morning, she went to her sewing machine and resumed working on a ruffled blouse she’d be presenting for critique. It was a more complicated design than she’d ever tried, and she’d already had to start over a few times before getting it right. She still wasn’t sure this version would be the final one, if it would fall the way she wanted it to, if it would feel both classic and unique. But if not, she’d just start again. It was more important to get it right than to declare it finished just for the sake of being done. At any rate, she loved the process. She realized she was smiling to herself as she flipped the garment over to sew the other side.

She wondered as she worked what she would tell herself at twenty-two if she could go back in time and give herself advice. If she would tell herself to focus on a career that made her happy, not what was making her money the fastest; if she would tell herself not to date someone who wanted different things. But if she’d known all that in her twenties, she’d probably have less gratitude for where she’d landed at thirty. As it was, she knew how lucky she was, how hard-won the layout of her life was.

So, she thought, finishing the blouse’s left shoulder, she supposed that meant that even if she could, she wouldn’t change a thing about her life so far. Not even the hard parts. The hard parts had madeher who she was. She was at once stronger and more vulnerable than she’d been when she was younger. And she was so thankful for all the heartbreak that had broken down her walls and allowed her to rebuild herself as someone better. She hoped the rest of her life would be full of such opportunities for change and growth. She had a feeling it would be—as long as she was open to it.

And she was.