“Lawrence always says he has no idea how we ended up having your baby,” Kayla says wryly, smiling over Ida’s volcano of hair.

“My baby? What do you mean?”

“Zaya. She looks just like you, Tru. You have to see that, right?”

I glance back to Zaya on my lap. Dark, curious eyes stare back at me. How did I never notice that Zaya has my eyes?

She reaches for one of the curls resting on my shoulder, pulls it and releases, letting it spring back into place with a bounce. She squees and does it again and again as if that is the funniest thing. She’s the most beautiful little girl with her satiny brown skin and slobbery smile. How does Kayla not give her every single thing her heart desires every day? I would. I’d be that mom.

I’d be that mom?

Since when?

I’m not even sure I want kids, and my body is doing its best to take the choice away from me. I’ve been following the specialist’s instructions. The yoga, the pills and herbal teas, but I’ve had no tangible image of what I was fighting for.

Until now.

This is why I’m doing those things. This bundle of exuberant unconditional love bouncing on my lap is why I’m making room in my already overflowing life for the things they say may give me a chance to have a baby. The crushing weight, the possibility that I’m too late, that I can’t do it, that my body won’t let me, falls on me.

“T-t-take her,” I stutter, my tongue and lips tangling, my stomach roiling like I might be sick.

Kayla glances up from a stubborn tangle in Ida’s hair. “What?”

“Take Zaya.” I extend the baby to her, my arms trembling so badly I almost drop her. “I-I-I…just take her, Zee.”

“Put her down on the floor,” Kayla says, her frown deepening. “She can crawl, but what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” I carefully set Zaya down by a pile of stuffed dice. “I just… God, it’s hot in here. I need some air.”

“Go to the patio.” With her comb, Kayla points to a floor-to-ceiling wall of windows leading to a flagstone terrace.

I flee the house, the hot breath of anxiety panting down my neck. I step through the sliding door, close it hastily behind me and walk to the edge of their patio, stopping next to the aqua liquid glass of their pool. Humidity clogs the Georgia summer afternoon, and even when I draw in huge gulps of air, nothing cools me.

Is this a fucking hot flash?

A panic attack?

The warfare my body is waging, is it psychological, biological? Is hormonal warfare a thing?