I shrug. It hurts.

“Aurora.”

“Twice in one morning!”

“I’m serious. This is traumatic.”

“You know what’s traumatic? Is there anything worse than the moment before the disinfectant? You know it’s going in. You know it’s going to sting like a motherfucker. The anticipation. The worst.”

“Yeah, well, I’m over here, knowing I’m going to have to give birth, so . . .”

It’s been around five months since she told me, and I still can’t figure out how she’s feeling about it. Scarlett isn’t one for sentiment, so it’s possible she’s concealing her excitement behind her typical nonchalance. On the subject of babies, both of us have always been a lukewarm I-don’t-know-maybe. I wasn’t totally shocked, especially considering how long she and Matty had been together, but it also didn’t feel like good news.

It’s possible his absence was impending, and that’s why Scarlett was never keen to share sonogram pics and shop for onesies. She’ll talk about it when she feels like talking about it, if she ever feels like talking about it.

“My favorite sisters.”

Seth struts into the room in his white coat, clipboard under his arm, pen behind his ear, looking like the epic nerd he’s always been.

“Doc,” Scarlett says.

“Ashley wanted to come by, but she’s stuck at home with the little guy,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” I say.

“Me, too,” Scarlett says. “Thanks for asking.”

“I just really wanted to see you,” I say. “Bear was an excuse.”

Seth closes his eyes, something he often does when Scarlett and I are being ourselves. It’s a technique he’s developed over the years we’ve known him. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to fortify himself against our collective bullshit. His eyes were closed throughout the entirety of the maids of honor speech that Scarlett and I gave at his wedding. He married our best friend, and that lifelong commitment included us by default. He knew what he was getting himself into.

He opens his eyes. Courageously. “You’re very lucky.”

“Since I was a little girl, I hoped and dreamed I’d someday be the victim of a bear attack. And now here I am. Imagine?”

He shakes his head. “Minor cuts and scrapes. Could have been much worse.”

It was much worse. The pain echoes in my side. The sound, I can hear it clear as day. The bite. Teeth breaking skin. The initial gnaw. I was torn open, mercilessly. Easily. And the smell of it. The smell of animal. The smell of blood. The taste of it in my mouth.

I can question what I saw, but I can’t deny what I felt. A burning, raging hurt. It’s not what it was in the moment, but it’s still there writhing under the surface.

Yet somehow.

This morning, when they wiped away the dirt and dried blood, the damage wasn’t significant. A constellation of shallow cuts. It wasn’t a distinctive bite mark. It wasn’t a distinctive anything.

They said most of the blood was from my head, from where I hit my head, but even that cut, just above my hairline, was measly. Didn’t even require stitches.