I laughed.

“I’m serious,” your dad said. “We need you.” Then he looked me straight in the eyes. “I need you. I hate being up there without you. You make it all magic.”

I laid my head on his shoulder. “We’ll see,” I told him.

I didn’t feel like I made anything magic. I felt like our world was unraveling and it was all my fault.

22

Emily was curling her hair, the music switched to jazz, when Ezra got home. The front door slammed and it made her jump.

“Ezra?” she called out. He didn’t usually enter the apartment that way. She wondered if it was the miscarriage that was upsetting him—or something else. Living with him often meant picking up on the tiny cues.

“Hey, Em,” he called. “Want a glass of wine?”

Reflexively she was about to say no, but then answered, “Sure. But aren’t we about to go to a fund-raiser with lots of drinks?”

Ezra came to the bathroom with a glass of cold white wine in each hand. “You look great,” he said, handing her one.

She looked at his face. It looked tired. His eyes were puffy. Was he that much more upset about the miscarriage than he let on at home? Was he crying at work, where she couldn’t see him?

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Rough day,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb.

“What happened?” She took a sip of the wine and then put it down on the bathroom counter so she could finish her hair. She wondered if one of his patients had taken a bad turn, or if he’d gotten into an argument with the hospital administration again about getting his patients into clinical trials. She hoped it wasn’t Malcolm.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

She looked at him, her eyebrows drawing together. Something was wrong. Something other than what they’d experienced together.

“Ez—” she started.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t try to shrink me.” He took a big gulp of wine. “I’m gonna jump in the shower. I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

Emily was taken aback. He’d never said that to her. Never implied that he saw her questions as intrusive. She didn’t say anything. Just nodded and looked back at the mirror, watching herself raise the curling iron to her hair, wishing she could walk through like Alice and spend some time in a world on the other side. It felt like the white knight was talking backward. Was the red queen off with her head?

Maybe there would be a mirror Ezra in there who would sit with her and hold her and tell her she could mourn as long as she wanted. Someone who would let his pain mingle with hers, bringing them closer. Maybe they could walk through the looking glass together.

23