He was prone to faking sleep, and it wasn’t until she blew a noisemaker gently in his ear that his lips moved.

“You think our kid could be president someday?” His voice had turned rusty from all the celebrating.

This was the first time Xavier had spoken of anything as tangible as an occupation for their not-yet-born, imaginary child. In the morning sun, the thought of babies unmoored her. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” she said.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. We have plenty of time to map out that kid’s future.” He lifted one eyebrow. “What I do know, though, is now that we got a Black president, I’m taking chitlins to the office today.” After a few seconds of silence, he laughed, and she did, too, their heads falling back like dominoes from the force of it. Maybe she laughed a bit too hard in relief that he was no longer talking about children.

She poked his side. “You are ridiculous. You better leave your chitterlings at home,” she said, emphasizing each syllable for effect. “At least until the man takes the oath of office. Don’t mess around and get your Black butt fired now.”

They stayed like that for hours, giggling softly and smiling at everything and nothing, wrapped in each other’s arms, hungover with hope.

Two

Ruth

Days later, Ruth lay stretched out on the cold leather table of her gynecologist’s office with a paper sheet on her lap, legs dangled over the edge. She didn’t want to be here, but they’d made the appointment months ago. This day had been so far into the future that she’d almost forgotten about it.

“You know I came prepared. Just call me the iron man,” Xavier said, unfurling a paper bag and pulling out a banana, a can of cashews, and a bottle of iron supplements.

She laughed. “Silly. You know I can’t eat all that before Dr. Joshi comes in.”

Knowing she was having her IUD removed that day, she had already eaten beans, spinach, and a baked potato for lunch. Several of the health blogs she followed revealed stories of women who bled heavily, some for as long as ten months, after the removal of their IUDs due to hormonal imbalances. A last-minute iron intake may have been futile, but she had to try.

Xavier couldn’t be still and kept flipping the window shades, looking out onto the street, a goofy grin on his face. Flashes of sunlight made her shield her eyes. She half expected him to open the window and shout the news that they were one step closer to being able to get pregnant.

She forced herself to picture the life Xavier imagined for them—their new home filled with babies. A family needed to be rooted somewhere to flourish. It wasn’t impossible to see them raising a child in Bronzeville, even with the errant gunshot ringing in the distance. Living near a few blasts from bullets conferred a certain street credibility, proving you hadn’t completely sold out. Overgrown weeds in empty lots dotted her community, but the seeds of new Black-owned businesses sprouted, too. Somehow, Black people had reengineered gentrification there—rehabbing houses, stimulating the economy, and turning the place into their own mecca. The neighborhood reminded her of herself, a process of tearing down and building back up, making something out of nothing. The baby she’d have with Xavier one day could be her something.

“You’re in good hands already, I see.” Dr. Ranya Joshi, a slight Indian woman, entered the exam room. Her movements were small, too, and Ruth had been relieved when she first saw her gynecologist’s tiny, delicate hands.

“Okay, Doc, how soon can we get pregnant? We’re ready to make some babies.” Xavier rubbed his hands together like he was starting a fire between them.

“Look, let’s just get this over with. We can talk about fertility at my next appointment,” Ruth said. All this talk of babies still left her as cold on the inside as this table felt on her bare back.

Dr. Joshi laughed and opened her arms as if she were presenting them with a gift. “Well, you should both know there’s nothing to worry about. The IUD is like any other form of contraception. Once you stop using it, you can very well conceive on your first cycle.”

Ruth lay back and her slender fingers pressed on her flat belly. She pictured it swollen and taut the way it had been once. Back then, her body had resembled a string bean smuggling a basketball under its shirt.

She shivered at the memory. Her nakedness on the table made her feel like a slab of meat, a specimen to be studied and talked about, and she crossed her arms over her flowered gown, drawing her knees up to her chest. She thought back to when she was seventeen, with Mama and Eli looking down on her half-naked body in the bed, their faces tight with worry, urging her to push.

Every sensation seemed magnified now. Xavier’s hand squeezing hers. Then the speculum, hard and cold, entering her vagina. The tensing of her muscles. She had felt secure for years knowing the IUD was inside her. A shield protecting her from another pregnancy she wasn’t ready for.

It was funny how on paper you could feel prepared for something, yet on the inside you felt anything but. Xavier had recently been promoted to vice president at PepsiCo, and she worked as a chemical engineer at a consumer-packaged-goods company. Their financial adviser had assured them their investment portfolio was on track. And now that they’d bought a town house, they could build equity and take advantage of tax deductions. Almost every box had been checked, and the only task left incomplete was to grow their family.