Free On Grace by Susie Orman Schnall

up!” I say, giving her another hug and realizing I’d missed our friendship.
    When I get home, I spend an hour on WellInWestchester.com. I’m impressed with the quality of the articles, the edgy graphic design, and the amount of activity in their social networking areas. In About Us, I learn that Nicole Winters had a long career as editor-in-chief of Yoga Journal, but decided to create her own business so she could spend more time with her family. I write Nicole an email and attach my resume and clips. I say a little prayer and click send.
    I really hope this job works out. It seems to be exactly what I’m looking for. I just hope that Nicole isn’t discouraged that my most recent writing experience has been about school sustainability efforts for the Midland Elementary School Parent Teacher News . I imagine the other people she is interviewing are young and eager, and haven’t been out of the job market for the last eight-plus years. As I’m wallowing in self-doubt, my email inbox chimes.
     
    Grace, thanks for your email. It was nice talking with you this morning. Can you come to our office on Monday at ten o’clock to talk a bit more? I’m having all the applicants prepare a 300-word sample piece in line with the topics we discussed at LPQ. You can bring that with you on Monday. I look forward to seeing you again. Please confirm the time. Have a great weekend, Nicole Winters.
     
    Okay, I think. That settles that. She is considering me. I let out a little yelp and write her back to let her know that Monday at ten is indeed a good time. I get into the shower and let the hot water soothe my aching muscles as I think about a topic for my article.
     
    After I blow-dry my hair, I go down to the kitchen to prepare a quick lunch. The kitchen is the one room we redid when we moved in. Our home is a 1930s white clapboard Colonial with black shutters—the kind of house I always imagined New Englanders lived in when I was growing up among the split-levels and ranches in L.A. Darren and I fell in love with the house’s mature plantings, original dark-stained hardwood floors, plaster walls, and charming sunroom. Luckily, the previous owners had expanded the master bathroom and updated all the plumbing, heating, and electrical so the house was pretty much in move-in condition, save for a fresh paint job. But I hated the kitchen. Its dark (peeling) cabinets, ugly (peeling) grey vinyl floors, and avocado appliances (all of them) had decidedly not been updated by the previous owners. Considering how tastefully decorated the rest of the house was, I could only assume they weren’t the cooking types.
    When we bought the house, Darren and I agreed that because we were stretching our budget, we’d live with the kitchen for a couple of years and redo it eventually. So you can imagine how excited I was when I opened up Darren’s birthday present to me a few months later and found it was the business card of a kitchen consultant from Christopher Peacock, the high-end kitchen design company in Greenwich. Christopher Peacock is the Gucci of kitchens. I would have settled for the Gap. “Go nuts and have fun,” his card read. And that I did.
    I spent the next several months going absolutely nuts and having giddy fun as I selected white flat panel cabinets and drawers with chrome bin pulls, a white subway tile backsplash, hardwood floors to match the rest of the house, countertops of Calacatta Gold marble (which is white with grey and beige veins), and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances. I almost slept in that temple of beauty the first night after the installation was complete. Instead, I slept with my husband. The kind of sleep punctuated by moans, not snores. Lots of moans. Practically one for every gorgeous chrome bin pull.
    The phone rings as I make myself a pb&j and banana.
    “Hi, Gracie,” my mom says. I can tell she’s on her cell, and I picture her driving down Santa Monica Boulevard in her gold convertible