“Claire, when are you going to have babies?” Ellie asked. Five curious heads leaned forward and stared at Claire as if she were a zoo animal or an emissary from some nation of young, free-spirited aliens.

Claire swallowed her scallop. “I think I’m more of a cool-aunt type.” Sure, being around their babies all the time had caused the occasional twinge of longing in her ovaries, but it had also hammered home how much fucking work it all was. She still didn’t trust herself.

“Oh, you’ll change your mind,” Gwen said, “when you meet the right person.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said. “I was really into my single life, back when I was in law school and I dated all these guys who were just disgustingly immature. Like, peeing into bottles they kept beside the couch because they didn’t want to get up to go to the bathroom. So I was, like, ‘Ugh, no way I can procreate. Men are all children themselves.’ But then I met John, and I just knew. You just have to find your John.” Claire caught a glimpse of Meredith rolling her eyes.

“Stop being so smug,” Amara said. “Maybe Claire won’t change her mind. Not every woman has to be a breeder to have an interesting life.”

“Ooh, look,” Whitney said, quickly. “Our main courses are coming!”

* * *

—

That night, back in the room, Claire lay on her bed, wearing the Sycamore House bathrobe she’d found in the closet, with a mug of peppermint tea she’d made from the room’s tea-and-coffee supply. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on a more comfortable mattress,” she said to Whitney as Ellie’s and Meredith’s muffled, strained voices floated in from the room next door. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Of course!” Whitney said, finishing up an aggressive moisturizing routine. “My one complaint is that I wish they had a spa. I haven’t gotten a massage in forever. It’s amazing how carrying a baby around all the time can ruin your back.” She put down her lotion and leaned against the wall, trying to get at a stubborn knot in her shoulder, then jokingly shook her fist up at the heavens. “Damn you, Hope!”

Claire laughed, and Whitney paused, then perched herself next to Claire on the bed, sitting cross-legged, as if they were just two girls at a sleepover, which, in a way, they were. “I do hope we didn’t make you feel uncomfortable about having kids at dinner.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Claire said.

“Okay, good. Because obviously it’s not the right choice for everyone. And even if you decide it is the right choice for you eventually, you’ve got so much time. You’re, what, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-eight,” Claire said.

Whitney reddened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume! Twenty- eight is still so young—”

“Whitney,” Claire said, amused, as next door, Ellie’s and Meredith’s voices grew less agitated and melted into laughter, all seemingly right in their world again. “It’s fine.” Seeing Whitney flustered, so defenseless in her silk pajamas and night cream, put Claire at ease. “I just don’t know if I’m cut out to be a mom.” She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t exactly have the best example growing up.”

“In what way?” Whitney asked. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind,” Claire said, putting her mug of tea down on the bedside table. “I grew up in this megachurch town, and my mom and I had a fine enough relationship when I was little. But then my cousin Thea, who was basically my mom’s second daughter—you e-mailed with her about the playgroup job on the Harvard list; she’s a kick-ass lawyer now—she came out. Or I guess she was forced out, ’cause her parents walked in on her with a girl.”

“I imagine,” Whitney said, “that didn’t go over well in a megachurch town?”

“Bingo,” Claire said, remembering the look on Thea’s face when she’d burst into Claire’s kitchen that day. Thea was emphatically not a crier (even when she’d sprained her wrist bike riding with Claire, she’d simply bitten down hard on her lip and told Claire to bike back home for help), but in the kitchen, she’d been blinking faster and swallowing harder than Claire had ever seen her do before.

“My parents found out I like girls,” Thea had said, squaring her shoulders defiantly. “And before you say anything about it being wrong or bad, you should know that I think that’s bullshit.”

“But . . . but I thought you had a crush on Justin Timberlake,” Claire had said, trying to wrap her head around a new truth.

“Claire,” Thea had replied. “Come on.”

In the warmth of their hotel room, light-years away from that Ohio evening, Claire looked at Whitney. “Her parents were going to kick her out of the house unless she went to one of those ‘pray the gay away’ camps.” Whitney shuddered, and Claire nodded. “Yeah, exactly. And I promised her that she could come live with us. I mean, she was over at our house all the time. My mom loved her, and I was sure my mom would be able to convince my dad. Thea thought my mom would say no because she didn’t want her to corrupt me.” Claire rolled her eyes. “To turn me gay or something. But Thea was wrong.” Whitney leaned forward, as innocent and trusting in a mother’s love as Claire had been back then. “My mom said no, because she didn’t want to look bad in the eyes of the church.”

“Oh, no,” Whitney said, reaching out for Claire’s hand and holding it, her palm soft and warm.

“Oh, yeah. Thank God, Thea is the most resourceful person I know and managed to couch-hop her way to Harvard. And obviously this was way shittier for her than it was for me. But it was this lightbulb moment when I realized how selfish my mom was, and that if I ever did something that didn’t toe the party line, she’d choose the church over me too. It was more important for her to keep up appearances there than to do right by the people she loved.” Claire shrugged. “So, I can’t help thinking that if I ever had a kid, I’d probably still care more about myself and screw them up like she screwed me up.”

“Oh, Claire,” Whitney said, putting her arms around her and pulling her into a hug, with such kindness in her voice that Claire envied Future Hope for all the times she’d get to go to Whitney for comfort. Sure, Whitney could go overboard on the self-care, but Hope would never have to doubt her mom’s devotion. Claire’s disappointment in her own mother was something she thought she’d come to terms with long ago, but now, in Whitney’s arms, a lump rose in her throat.

“When I look at you, I don’t see a screwup,” Whitney said, stroking Claire’s hair. Then Whitney pulled back, putting her hands on either side of Claire’s face, looking her right in the eye. “I think you have such a huge capacity for love.”