Marriage didn’t seem to endear Mother Nature in my favor. Each month she rained on my parade. My spirit had grown weary from the roller coaster of ups and downs. Jean-Louis’s urologist gave him a clean bill of health. The problem was me. My husband wanted me to have it confirmed officially, but I didn’t need any laboratory or tests to tell me what I knew in my heart. I would never have a family of my own.

“You’re young. Give it time, ” Darlene advised. “The Lord will provide. He always does,” she said.

The two of us were a pair—both infertile. Her butter knife spread the moist cake layers into a thin slice as she put her guilty claim on seconds. Chocolate cake with vanilla frosting was the reverend’s favorite. He would expect to come home to at least three-fourths of his cake still standing.

“Can’t be genetic.”

Darlene forced a smile. She still didn’t like any mention of my other family. “No, probably not,” she added after swallowing a big bite.

Mama had six girls. Mya had one, and Jackie was gonna get knocked up any day now.

“It’s only been two years. Give it time.”

“Four. We’ve been married four years. January made four.” With one whisk of my finger, I claimed a dollop of creamy white frosting and sucked it clean off. My midsection had grown steadily each year of my marriage, swelling with emptiness.

“By then, you could be bouncing around here with your own baby!” Darlene was insistent on pretending to be hopeful.

“It’s not fair.”

“What does Jean say?” Darlene couldn’t bring herself to say his full name, and she pronounced it jean, like the denim. Each time it made me cringe. I’d imagine Jean-Louis sitting across from me, arching one eyebrow in disapproval. He thought it was obvious the correct pronunciation was John. Nobody named their son jean Louis.

“He made me an appointment to see a specialist.”

Actually, he’d made me three appointments. The first two I’d accidentally forgotten about. I was considering forgetting about the third.

“You should go. Have faith.” Her gaze shortened as if she were a little girl about to ask for candy. “You could have your sister go with you. How is Mya?”

“Fine.” It was a lie but a merciful one. Nothing good would come of me telling her the truth.

Darlene rose from her seat at the kitchen table and lumbered over to the pantry, returning with a fully gift wrapped box. “I picked this up from Marshall Field’s. It’s for the baby.” She’d hid it in the pantry, so the reverend wouldn’t find it. “Give it to her for me?”

The reverend never thought much of my sister. He thought she was unruly and ungrateful. She didn’t exactly change his mind by getting pregnant at sixteen.

“Sure.” I accepted the box and mentally probed my schedule for time to donate the gift to someone who would accept it.

A resounding beep filled the tight little kitchen, and my heart skipped a beat as I reached for the phone. Jean-Louis’s code popped up on my beeper. He must’ve been between patients. He hated to be kept waiting.

“Where are you?”

“At the reverend’s.”

Darlene was pretending not to listen, perfecting the curly ribbons of the gift wrapping with her big black scissors. She made a respectable effort to stay out of my marriage.

“Did you want something?”

“I will be home late.”

“Oh, okay. Should I leave your dinner out?”

“No.”

I didn’t know one woman who was as lucky as I was. I had a beautiful house, a husband who gave me money whenever I asked—I had a great life. Better than my mama ever had. Better than anybody I knew. I reminded myself of this as the garage door ticked up.

I pulled my Honda into our vacant three-car garage next to where Jean-Louis’s Ferrari would’ve been. He worked long hours to take care of me, so I tried not to complain. Twice a year he took me on vacation. Last year, we’d spent four days in Hawaii before he got called back to Chicago to see a patient. He was a very dedicated surgeon.

I’d thought seeing my house would’ve made Mama proud. I had only the best finishes: sparkling black granite countertops, mile-high cathedral ceilings, and Italian white marble floors throughout the first floor. It all felt very expensive and clean. At least it did to me. I thought she’d have been impressed. Maybe even admit she’d been wrong about Jean-Louis, but Mama had squinted her eyes and gritted her teeth as she took it all in. She hated it.

My sisters loved it. Nat and the twins oooed and ahhed appropriately. Jackie said it felt like a museum.

“I’m home,” I called to no one in particular.

There was a bedroom right off the kitchen I thought might serve some purpose once Mama got on in years. I’d decorated it with her in mind and envisioned complementing the garden-themed wallpaper and white wicker furniture with fresh-cut flowers every day. Mama would love it, and so would I. It was, after all, my duty as the oldest. Wasn’t like Mya or Jackie would ever think to do such a thing.

Of course upon seeing the room, Mama wasn’t the least bit grateful. She nodded and forced a smile after I explained its purpose, but the stench of her disapproval didn’t dare abate. She was determined to hate everything about my life.