When Hillary stepped through our bedroom door a few minutes after 7, I was curled up on my bed like my new fetus sister was curled inside our mother, except I was weeping. For everything. For living in California; for the words Luc had said to me; for punishing my mother with silence while she had had fear and worry; for wanting to be held by my former poetry instructor more than wanting to make amends with my parents; for my parents’ forgiveness; for the beautiful, miraculous, devastating news that Maman was having a baby.
