My mom was good about a lot of things. So was Mormor, when she wasn’t throwing shoes or demanding vegetable service. I sat up in bed and swung my legs over the side, peering down at my feet. My toenails were blue with a pink sparkle. If I continued with this pregnancy—and I was feeling like I wanted to—I’d not be able to paint my toenails anymore, never mind see those feet for too much longer.

Fat Town, Population: Serendipity.

“So what did she say to you when you got here?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the idea of my imminent flesh expansion.

“Both of them assured me that you were okay, that they were taking care of you, but that you’d be super glad to see me. Which you were. You squealed a little.” Devi hopped out of bed, immediately bending over to right Mormor’s sheets and blankets. “I think they’re gonna be cool about it. It’s just a feeling.”

“I hope so.” I watched her work for a moment before clueing in that I might be pregnant, but that didn’t make me useless, so I folded the afghan into a neat square. “I’m thinking adoption, maybe?”

“That’s cool, if you don’t want it. It’d make some other people really happy.” She fluffed the pillows and peered up at me. Normally, she wouldn’t be caught dead in daylight hours without some makeup on, but she’d come straight from Bubbe’s, which meant she’d been clean-faced for over a month. I could see the ginger freckles on her nose. “But only if you don’t want it. You’re not obligated to give your baby up if you don’t want to. I can’t see your mom turning into a supervillain and selling your baby on the black market.”

“She wouldn’t, I don’t think. I’m just not sure yet? Adoption seems like a good idea, but what if I figured out I was wrong after I gave it away? That I did want it? There’s no take backsies.”

“So you gotta be sure.”

She was right, but I had no idea how to come around to that. A sit-down with my mother and grandmother would maybe give me some answers.

And, if not answers, an aneurysm.

Because Mormor.

“It’s simple. I’ll adopt it,” Mormor said ten minutes later, after I’d presented my thoughts on abortion versus adoption versus ultimately keeping the baby. Both she and Mom were very good through the listening, nodding and asking gentle questions to flesh out my thoughts on the matter. Mom kept rubbing her temple, and I was pretty sure I caught a waft of smoke in her hair, which meant she’d snuck off for a stress cigarette, but she was nice to me despite her strains. Mormor was direct and blunt and eminently Mormor-like.