I’m so happy, Dad. Seeing Octavia being born . . . it was a miracle. I know, I know, it happens every day. It’s still a miracle.

 Congratulations, Daddy! Take good care of your little granddaughter and her big brother. Love you!

 Lauren

“Don’t think this is because you’re sick,” Jen said two weeks later. “I was always going to have a daughter with Lauren for a middle name.”

Lauren was babysitting; Jen needed a nap and a shower. Darius had taken Sebastian to the library with plans to visit Newport Creamery for lunch, and so Lauren was summoned.

She did not mind in the least.

Little Octavia fussed and cried and pooped (would Lauren ever look at pumpkin pie the same way?). Lauren put her in the baby carriage and took her for a walk to get her fresh air and vitamin D. The baby didn’t mind how slowly she walked; Octavia just made little snorting and grunting sounds, like a tiny and very adorable piglet.

“Congratulations,” said one lady from a park bench.

“Thank you,” Lauren said, smiling. “She’s my niece.”

Back home, she gave the baby a bottle, changed her diaper yet again. Lauren sat in the recliner and put her feet up, bending her knees so Octavia rested against her legs. They stared at each other. The baby’s eyes were so . . . special. Giant and wise, like she knew everything.

When Octavia yawned, Lauren couldn’t help grinning in delight like a good auntie. Then Octavia started to fuss, so Lauren shifted her to her shoulder and patted her back, making little humming noises. After about five minutes, the baby grew quiet, and Lauren shifted her to the crook of her arm for more staring, drinking in the baby’s sweet lashes, silky little eyebrows, pale brown skin, almost exactly the same shade as Sebastian’s. Her hair was fine and brown, and she had the sweetest mouth.

And then, a tear dropped on her chin. Lauren’s tear, because apparently, she was crying. Silently, but a lot.

This, she knew with an aching certainty, was as close to having a baby as she’d get. She knew. She knew. She would never be a mother. Never go through what Jen and Darius had shared in the labor and delivery room, never look at a baby and see Joshua’s eyes or her own ears.

The tears wouldn’t stop falling, and Lauren’s chest was jerking. She cough-sobbed, then got up with some effort, not wanting to wake the baby. She put her in the little bassinet and went into the kitchen to cry into a dishtowel. She wouldn’t have children, and she was going to die too soon, and Sebastian and Octavia might not even remember her. She was going to miss so much. She would leave Jen, her beloved sister, and these perfect, beautiful kids and her mom and Josh, oh, God, Josh, and it was like all her skin was gone and she was raw and terrified and wailing into the void of despair because, goddamnit, she was going to die.

Then Jen was there, hugging her, and Lauren lost it. She clung to her sister and wailed, and Jen was sobbing, too, because they knew. They knew. They held on to each other and cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left.

The baby slept through the whole meltdown.

They looked at each other, eyes red and noses stuffed, skin blotchy, and Lauren gave a half laugh. “Come on, sit down,” Jen said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I’ll make you some witch’s brew.” She went back to the kitchen and made some tea out of the Chinese herbs she kept on hand for Lauren . . . astragalus root and raw schisandra berries, because she was a great sister.

Lauren was still hiccuping when her sister came back. “Sorry,” she said.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Jen said, squeezing her hand.

They sat there in silence, listening to Octavia breathe. After a while, Jen said, “Let’s go to the movies one night soon, okay?”

When Lauren was a dorky adolescent, wearing overalls and a cropped T-shirt and too-short bangs with a beret, Jen had generously overlooked her fashion choices and would take her to the movies. Alone or with Jen’s cool friends, and she never skimped on popcorn and Reese’s Pieces.

“Okay,” Lauren said, her voice cracking.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” Jen said, putting her hand over her mouth.

“I’m glad I’m dying first, so I don’t have to live without you,” she answered. “Hand to God, I’m glad.”

“I could get hit by a bus. You never know.” And then they started laughing, that wonderful, ridiculous, unstoppable laugh, sitting there, holding hands, drinking weird-tasting tea. When Sebastian and Darius came in, Sebastian ran to Lauren and gave her a slobbery kiss, and everything was good again.

But they knew. Lauren would die young. Maybe she’d see Sebastian’s first day of school, but she wouldn’t see him get his driver’s license. She wouldn’t take Octavia shopping for bras and listen to her talk about friends. She wouldn’t see them for prom pictures or talk to them about college.

But hopefully, she’d see all those things from the Great Beyond, with her father. Please let that be true, that we’ll be together, Daddy. Surely we deserve that. Also, being a dolphin for a day. Do not fail me, Great Beyond.

She held Octavia again before she left the house, breathed in the smell of her head, kissed her impossibly soft cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.

Octavia answered by puking breast milk into her hair. It was, oddly enough, just what Lauren needed. Snap out of it, Auntie.

So she did. When you’re living with a ticking clock, you can’t be a loser. You can’t think about what you won’t get to see, what you’ll never have. Ain’t no one got time for that.

8

Joshua

Month two

April

Dear Joshua,

I love writing your name. Full swoony geek disclosure: I practiced writing it after our first date. In calligraphy. How dorky is that?