“My God, she likes you more than me.” Mrs. Keller laughs. But it’s a dry, mirthless sound.

“I’m shocked.” Mr. Keller raises his eyebrows, stroking his chin. “It’s like she already knows you.” And Annie smiles because that’s exactly what it’s like.

The little girl reaches up and tugs at Annie’s curls. “Pretty,” she says, wrapping her tiny finger around a ringlet, giggling as it bounces.

Mrs. Keller was right. Love doesn’t even begin to encompass these feelings.

3

I spot Anneliese on a bench before she sees me. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, her shoulders tense as she pushes a stroller back and forth. She’s wearing tiny silver hoops, little wisps of hair curling at the nape of her neck. I wait a moment before approaching her.

When I finally round the corner, she greets me with a closemouthed smile, a small wave. In the stroller, a little girl, who looks about four, sleeps, her little lips coated with drool. “My niece, Lola. And over there is my nephew, Jordan.” She points to the monkey bars, where a little boy with the same brown skin and dark curls as his sister’s hangs from his knees, showing off for a group of other kids.

“Thanks for coming all the way here,” I say, making myself comfortable on the bench, its green paint so chipped I can see the wood underneath.

It is a microcosm of motherhood here, women huddled in clusters around the edge of the playground, shaking out Goldfish, handing over juice boxes, wiping away dirt from little hands. Voices modulate in even, high tones, an ambient sound against the harsh screech of swing sets, the squeals of the kids. Men are so absent, you would forget they existed at all.

“Oh, no problem at all. Jordan loves this playground. He’s very popular, as you can see.” We both look at him, going from rung to rung now, his face crumpled in determination as he reaches the end of the row. Anneliese turns her eyes back to me.

“I live with my sister, Gabriella. She’s in the middle of a separation from her husband and needed some extra help. That’s one reason I moved here. Besides needing the change. I’ve lived mostly upstate all my life.” She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The apartment is a little cramped with the four of us, but I get free rent and she gets free childcare. So either we’re both winning or losing depending how you look at it.” She laughs and it’s not a contemptuous noise, as I’d expect it to be. It’s melodic, rising out of her in the same rhythm with which she rocks the stroller.

“You must love kids.”