Emily let out a small laugh. “That sounds like something Ezra would say.” She wanted to tell her sister that she wasn’t a number, she wasn’t a statistic, she was a person. But she knew that Ari took comfort in numbers the way Ezra did. Even if it didn’t help, she knew Ari was trying.

Ari laughed, too. “I’ll get you a shirt: I love people who love statistics.”

Emily stopped laughing and was quiet for a moment, processing her fears, knowing she could share them all with her sister. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me, Ari. Maybe I’ll never be able to stay pregnant for more than seven weeks.”

Ari sighed. “It’s possible,” she said. “But it’s also possible that what happened in college is completely unrelated to what’s happening now. You fell out of a tree. You were taking painkillers. You were getting high. It’s not entirely surprising that you miscarried then. And that was at, what, six weeks? So a different time marker.”

It was five weeks and six days.

“What about now, though?” Emily asked, her voice small. “I did everything right. I feel like I studied and studied for a test that I somehow failed.” That was the part that scared her the most. She could do everything right and still miscarry.

“Maybe you just weren’t meant to have this particular baby at this particular point in time,” Ari said. “Maybe it’s like Mom said—everything that happens is exactly what’s supposed to happen.”

“But I want to be a mom,” Emily said, tears overflowing her eyes. “I want to be a mom now. I waited until Ezra was ready, and . . . I want to be a mom.”

“I know,” Ari said, gathering her sister in her arms. “I know you do.”

And while it didn’t change what had happened, just being in her sister’s embrace made Emily feel better. It made her feel like at some point she would learn how to live with this loss the way she had learned to live with so many others. And that, no matter what, she could count on her sister to be there, helping her along the way.

xvii

I went back to school after winter break, but nothing felt the same. I was grieving a loss I refused to acknowledge, and one I did—the loss of my ability to play piano, at least for a while.