Yaya couldn’t set foot on that alien world, but right now her apartment seemed a dismal place to go. She’d taken her tiny place, shoved into the corner of her building, solely so that she could afford to live alone. Standing on the curb, that no longer seemed wise. The bed would be cold; no one had mussed its sheets in two nights. Dinner would likely be Chinese leftovers, if they were still fresh, eaten while watching cartoons on her phone and then topped off by a midnight scrape around the peanut butter jar.

She called Starts-With-D as northbound traffic crawled past the sidewalk.

There was a first time for second chances.

The phone rang three times and then chirped: “You’ve reached Doc.” Doc.

The name didn’t ring a bell and didn’t sound right. Surely she’d had a more memorable name than that, or Doc was a nickname. “Calling has become a lost art, but you seem to like it, so leave a message.” Another chirp.

Before Yaya could speak, her phone buzzed alive in her hands. She panicked, ended the call to Doc, and answered without stopping to check the number.

“Yolanda Betancourt.”

Yaya’s skin itched. “Yeah?”

“This is an important reminder,” an automated voice said. “Your next mandatory checkup for acute zygote manifestation syndrome is Monday, November 12th, at 11:15 in the morning at the East Newark Medical Station in Newark, New Jersey. Please arrive twenty minutes early, and thank you for your cooperation. AlphaBeta Pharmaceutical, making your world a better place!” The call ended.

Yaya bared her teeth at the phone. “I got the second opinion first, if you don’t mind.” Maybe they already knew that. She didn’t expect them to be any more helpful than Sunnyside Fertility when she checked into the Sibs station in two days.

With ABP’s call having faded, Doc’s number filled the screen. Third chance.

No, Yaya wasn’t doing this. She would go home, change her pad, and dig through her messy closet for something sharp to wear. She didn’t need last night’s stranger; she needed a new stranger, and a drink, and loud enough music to drown out the teeth song.

4

Lo-fi beats and ambient synthesizers welcomed Yaya through the neon-lit door at Pandora’s Aquarium. The gay bar had grown off the side of Bruen Street a few years ago and become one of Yaya’s regular haunts for its gentle yet busy atmosphere and meager dance floor. Blue lights lined the ceiling, coating the open room in a mellow calm.

Fulki stood alone behind the bar, which said the crowd wasn’t getting sloshed enough yet for her to call Danielle for reinforcements. Did knowing all the bartenders’ names mean Yaya had a problem? At least not one worth thinking about. Sleeping with a bartender, maybe, but that was a one-time occasion.

She stuffed her puffy winter coat and white scarf into a cubby by the door and stepped deeper inside. She wore a pastel lavender suit, black top, and gentle heels that helped her crest the halfway point between five and six feet. More than a drink, she needed to look this way, feel this good, especially after today.