“She’s so cute,” Suhani says when Zack comes back.

“Cute enough for you to change your mind about wanting one?” Even though Zack has a lighthearted smile, Suhani can see something on his face that looks a lot like hope.

“Why?” Suhani says. “Do you really want one?”

For most of her life, Suhani could see herself having kids as equally as she could see herself not having them. She waited for a flash of longing or the classic pang of baby fever so many of her friends had. But it never came. Instead, her future was a split screen, and she thought either side had its plusses and drawbacks. Accumulating scholarly or professional achievements never took away the gnawing sense that something about her was inadequate, not normal.

And then what happened in med school only further increased the divide between the two options. A psychoanalyst would have many theories about why. Despite how much she’s accomplished, the one place where she constantly felt inadequate and unsure is when the topic of motherhood came up.

“If you do want one, we should talk about it.” Suhani reaches across the table and brushes his hand. “Really.”

“No, I mean, it crosses my mind sometimes, but it’s not like I need to have one at this second,” Zack says. “But I guess it would be good to revisit the idea sometime.”

“We should,” Suhani agrees. “Do you want to now?”

“No, no, definitely not now,” Zack says.

There are a few seconds of silence, which Zack breaks by saying, “So, moving on . . .”

Zack draws out “moving on” so it sounds like “mooooving on.” It’s one of his go-to phrases and the only thing he says with a southern drawl. His middle school health teacher, who also taught sex ed, said it whenever things got really awkward. Zack has used it ever since as a lighthearted way to change the subject.

“Have you seen Roshan around at work?”

The question is both so innocuous and so surprising that Suhani freezes. She pictures the unread text message on her phone. His number hasn’t changed since med school and she hates that she has it memorized, lodged in her limbic system.

“I haven’t seen him.” Suhani pictures Roshan’s bushy eyebrows, the earth-tone button-down shirts he always wears, his long face that’s darker from hours spent outside, building things and hiking with his old Australian shepherd. He has the interests of Aidan Shaw from Sex and the City with the aloofness of Mr. Big. Not exactly the portrait of a dream boyfriend. How could she not have realized that years ago? It still takes her by surprise how one person can go from being a stranger to being the most important part of your life, then back to being a stranger.