“Well … it’s a long story and it wasn’t my intention to have them while you’re here and I’m sorry—but they’re staying the night.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine. I mean, of course.”

“They’ll leave tomorrow morning. It was a last-minute thing.”

“You don’t have to explain. It’s your house, and, I mean, it looks like there’s room for everyone.”

“There is, basically. We’ll get a little creative.” Kiki shrugged. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Of course.”

Kiki sat up and stretched her neck, readjusted her position; Sylvie squirmed and went back to feeding.

“I had such a hard time,” Sarah found herself saying.

Kiki looked at her, puzzled.

“With nursing. In the beginning.”

“I thought you nursed Leda until she was two.”

“I did.” Sarah shrugged.

These were the kinds of memories she’d never imagined could fade, but they had. So many others had emerged between then and now that were more visceral and so much more important. No matter how Leda screamed and no matter how exhausted Sarah was, Sarah had wanted her close at all times—this was a pleasant, easy recollection, even though at the time she’d felt so desperate, so in love and yet falling apart. Matthew would invite people to stop by for a drink, for coffee in the morning—“Just come by whenever,” she’d hear him say before hanging up the phone. “Everyone needs to leave,” she’d whisper to Matthew, too soon after the guests’ arrival. She’d take Leda into the bedroom and shut the door, her gaze shifting between the ravenous pissed-off baby and her ravaged nipples. She often conjured the soft parts with longing, but it wasn’t all soft. It was pie for breakfast, it was up all night; it was leave us the fuck alone.

But even all of that—it seemed sweet now. Innocent. She’d been twenty-four years old.

Kiki was twenty years older than that.

Even though, at forty-four, Kiki was technically an older mother, and even though she did have noticeable shadows under her eyes and more freckles and lines, nothing seemed old about Kiki. She was petite, stacked, with skinny arms and legs—the kind of figure that everyone wants in high school and can become dumpling-like with age, but Kiki’s extra baby weight and time only served to make her seem younger.

When Sarah had been pregnant, people cited all kinds of great reasons to be a young mother. She’d grown more and more excited as her pregnancy progressed, smiled broadly when complete strangers offered their blessings. She’d been a young mother; young! So full of promise! Had she been more energetic as a new mother than Kiki was right now? Doubtful. Would she get to have more time with her daughter as an adult or get to have grandchildren for longer? She could not consider these questions.