September
The weekend before the wedding, I drive up to Mara’s. She makes iced tea and tofu burgers with the taste and texture of old carpet. We sit on the back patio in wide-brimmed hats and sunglasses, watching Storm bolt around the backyard. The house is a maelstrom of toys and princess costumes and strewn DVDs.
“You have no idea how often I’ve had to watch Moana,” Mara says. “Do you want to know how far I’ll go? Back in time so I can murder everyone who made that fucking movie.”
Watching my niece do just about anything these days is enough to make me spontaneously ovulate. “What a nightmare.”
“You have no idea,” Mara says again.
“Look, Mommy!” Storm runs up with a stick. “Look! It’s a stick!”
“That’s great, baby,” Mara calls back. “Stay where I can see you, please.” She pours herself some more iced tea. Instead of drinking it, she turns the cup in a restless circle. “Have you rescheduled the surgery?”
“No.” I let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I am too young to make a decision like this. I’ve royally fucked up a lot of other things this year.”
My sister half shrugs without looking at me. As if unconvinced.
I stare at her. “You still think I shouldn’t do it, right?”
She purses her lips, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t know. I—I don’t know.”
My sister never, ever changes her mind about anything. She still maintains Hanson is a good band because she believed that when she was nine.
This is different. I wait.
She picks up an orange and peels the skin with her fingers. It takes her a long time to speak. “There was a really long period when I thought I’d never get over Mom dying. I’d live with it, I’d get used to it, but I’d never truly move past it. It was in me, like . . . well, like a cancer. But lately I’ve started thinking that being a mom is my way to get past it. To heal myself. Being a mom makes me understand Mom, and it makes me feel closer to her, even though she’s gone.” The orange is unpeeled. She slices it in half with a paring knife, perfuming the air with a spray of citrus. “Storm is my life. I don’t want to be one of those annoying parents who says, ‘You’ll understand when you have kids,’ but you will understand if you have kids, Lace.”
I smile a small smile.
She cuts the orange into quarters. “And maybe I owe it to her. To Mom. To find out. If I . . . if Storm . . .” Her jaw tightens.
She’s considering it. I can’t believe it . . . but then again, I can.
Finally, Mara looks at me. Her face is raw with fear. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had it, and I gave it to her. To my daughter. I just don’t know how I’d live with that.”
I scoot next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. “But that wouldn’t be your fault, Mar. That’s just genetics.”
My sister shakes her head, crying quietly. Her voice is shredded. “What if my daughter dies of the same thing my mom died of? What if I made it happen?”
My eyes are wet, my throat tight. I want to say, That won’t happen. I want to say, You’re both safe. But I can’t say that. “When you get tested,” I say, “then you’ll know. We’ll both know, and then we can decide what to do next.”
Mara covers her face with her hands. “I can’t lose you, Lace. I can’t. I can’t do it again.”
“You won’t. I’m here, Mar. I’m right here.” I rock her gently, smoothing her hair, kissing her forehead. I’m so grateful that she lets me. “I love you, Mar. I’ll always be here.”
I hold my sister tightly. I never want to let her go.