She smelled of Jean Naté. “I bet.” She added white lipstick to her lips and stroked on eyeliner.

“At least you have long legs,” I said.

She pulled down her miniskirt. “Yeah. And as a result my skirts are more than four inches above my knees. And I’ve been sent to the principal for having too-short skirts. Twice.”

She wouldn’t accept any positives. I think of her now and her glow of confidence, her easy ability to weave her way through various roles and people. Beneath the smoothness and accomplishments she remains the insecure girl who lived in the Courtyard Trailer Park, fussing over her curly hair back then, fussing over her cellulite now.

Laurie says, “It seems so effortless. She’s, well …” Laurie shrugs, looking for a word. “Always capable.”

Then I realize what she’s saying. “It’s hard adjusting to being a new mom.”

She flinches slightly, and when she turns to me, I see her eyes wide and motionless, a deer caught in headlights. “I’m thrilled with Olivia, but …” She snags a piece of chicken and pops it in her mouth. “I guess I feel like I’m just her. There’s no me anymore. And I’m, well, tired. She still doesn’t sleep through the night and I try to clean up the house while she takes her naps. And I can’t make her happy.”

My hand is on her shoulder. “She’s been through a lot. Torn away from her roots and transplanted. She’ll settle in.” I wonder if the taking over of your body by the fetus prepares you for the taking over of your life by the baby. Adopting is a sudden wrenching. For both mother and baby. Not to mention the biological mother. I think about Sky and her test. If her pregnancy can’t continue, then perhaps she’ll adopt.

“Maybe that’s why she cries so much.”

“It’s only been a few months. So many, many changes for both of you. For you, too. No matter how much you wanted her and how much you love her.”

“Well, I guess that’s obvious. It just doesn’t seem obvious when it’s you.”

“It’s like Juliet. She didn’t learn to be the Juliet she is now all at once. It was one thing at a time.”