“IT STINKS. NO, IT’S even worse than that,” said Gaby to Seth. She had taken her cell phone outside her classroom. She knew that this was a call she needed to take, and that she mustn’t cut poor Seth short. She believed in always treating her children with sympathy when they had a problem, but never lying to them. She wasn’t about to feed Seth some fantasy like “Oh, someone else will buy your novel” or “Just think of it as a bad bump along the road to a Pulitzer.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” he said. “It’s just that Mariana was so enthusiastic. Everybody was loving it, she was saying. Everybody…everybody was. Oh, what difference does it make?”

“Well, wait. It does make a difference, Seth. The editor liked it. Other people at Knopf liked it. She recommended they buy it. Other people agreed. It just got screwed up somehow. So let’s not give up hope immediately. Of course, I’ll never buy another book from Knopf.”

“Hold on a second, Mom,” he said. And then Gaby heard Seth say, “Go right on back, sir. He’s expecting you. You know where it is, fourth office on the left.” A pause. Then, “Mom? You still there?”

“Seth, don’t get blinded by your disappointment. Be disappointed. Cry a little. Yell a little. Drink a few martinis. Then suck it up.”

“I know, but it’s hard, Mom. I had so much hope riding on this one. How dumb,” he said, and Gaby thought she could her son’s voice cracking. She remembered what her own mother used to say: “A mother is only as happy as her unhappiest child.” She felt as if poor Seth were lying on his shield in front of her.

“I’ve got to go. I’ve got an important receptionist’s job to do. And I will suck it up.”

“I love you, more than I love the goats, and you know how I feel about those goats,” Gaby said. “Remember, you’re my favorite son.”

“Mom. I’m your only son.”

They both laughed a small laugh, then said good-bye.

Seth glanced at the e-mail from Knopf one more time. Then he pressed the delete button. He would never buy a Knopf book again either.