“What is it?” I ask. She takes a deep breath. “Do you ever just want to run? Like strip all of your clothes and speed down a street, using all of your strength, no one stopping you but yourself?” It sounds freeing, but I can’t say it’s a thought that’s ever crossed my mind. After two minutes of pathetically running, I’d face-plant or grow out of breath—baby or no baby. “No,” Rose says definitively. “I don’t run. I walk quickly.” This has been her motto since she discovered high heels. To Daisy, I say, “In theory it seems kind of nice.” She springs on her feet like she’s ready to take off. “All
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