“You got me,” Emily answered. She was glad she’d been able to keep her voice steady when saying that, because all she could think about was the unfairness of it all. That she and Ezra had everything they needed to take care of a baby and they didn’t have one, and then here was Tessa whose boyfriend was making it clear that they weren’t ready for a baby, and perhaps didn’t even really want one but had one regardless.

While Tessa kept talking, Emily wondered if this job made her take herself out of the equation too often, tamp down her own thoughts and feelings and opinions too much. She was always waiting for other people to decide how they felt, giving them space and helping them figure out their own minds, and ignoring her own. She’d been trained to be objective, to be patient, which were good traits in general, but she wondered if sometimes it put her in a strange role in her marriage. The way she’d been trained to interact bled into her relationship with her husband. It created a situation in which Ezra expected her to be a wife who comforted him, and usually she could be. But sometimes, when she was the one who was hurting, she didn’t have the emotional strength to comfort him. She couldn’t be anything more than a wounded woman who needed comforting herself.

29

That night, Emily got home from work and set out all the ingredients for fresh pesto: basil, pine nuts, olive oil, pecorino, garlic, salt, pepper. Even though she still felt raw and wounded, she wanted to make an effort. She looked at the pasta maker, wondering if she had time to hand-make pasta.

It was already six, so she decided to go with boxed fusilli, and put water on the stove to boil. She texted Ezra: Hope your day went well. What time will you be home?

She picked the smallest leaves off the basil so the pesto wouldn’t taste too minty and put them in the mortar and pestle they’d gotten for their wedding.

So sorry, Em. Hala just asked if I could take her call tonight—her brother flew in to surprise her for her birthday. So I said yes. Her night call goes straight into my call tomorrow, so it looks like I’ll be sleeping here tonight. Really sorry. See you tomorrow.