“No. Yes. No.” Amelia kicked her sneakers off by the coat closet. I followed her down the hallway toward the kitchen, where Fritz was sitting on one of the counter stools, drinking another beer and eating a large bag of chips. She leaned her torso all the way forward onto the Calacatta marble of the island, her arms crossed to create a pillow for her head. After a minute of silence, she stood up and faced me again. “Lucia has decided that she is not the baby’s mother. That’s her decision. Whether she chooses us or another family, she has no right to name the baby. She has no rights at all regarding this baby.” Amelia stood uncomfortable in her body, almost as if it belonged to someone else.

Next to the open refrigerator, Natalie held a container of milk in her hands. Inside the refrigerator, at least ten bottles of champagne, lying sideways, covered one of the shelves. Perhaps they’d had a party recently or were going to have a party. One I hadn’t been invited to.

“Of course,” I said, “her rights will be terminated as a birth parent. After the baby is born.”

Amelia’s hands involuntarily flicked in the direction of the floor, like she was shaking water off them.

“Amelia,” I continued, “it’s just I sense ambivalence about her decision. I’m scared you might be hurt.”

“No one’s made any decision yet.” Fritz tossed the empty bag of chips into the trash under the sink and slammed the cabinet. “Not Lucia. Not us. And this conversation is bullshit.”

Apparently, Fritz and Amelia had little regard for Natalie’s presence in the room and how she might be processing their conversation. They prided themselves on being transparent with their child.

Natalie reached up high to pull a tall blue tumbler from one of the open shelves. She poured the last few ounces of milk into her glass. She looked exhausted.

“I have to invest in this baby,” Amelia said, her voice devoid of inflection. “I don’t have a choice. I have to invest in this baby.”

“No, Amelia,” Fritz said. “You will not force this down my throat.”

“Amelia,” I said, “you have options.”

I tried to envision an Amelia who was not overflowing with confidence.

Tears filled her eyes. It seemed to me that she was encouraging the tears. She didn’t have an answer for Fritz and, strategically, probably thought that crying was her best response. Not to suggest that she wasn’t impulsive and dramatic. She was. But, to achieve her end, I believed that Amelia could control her behavior. She and I were alike in that way.