The Language of Sisters by Amy Hatvany Page A

touched by this tender, yet unfamiliar vision. “Layla is definitely the last,” she said. “Four under five years old is about all I can handle, I think. If Bill Gates thinks running Microsoft is a challenge … ” She paused, looked at Jenny’s stomach, which, I supposed, if you knew what you were looking for, was beginning to announce her condition. “What happened ?”
    I sighed, rubbed Jenny’s arm. “Like I said, it’s a long story. But basically”—I lowered my voice so the children wouldn’t hear—“she was raped by a nurse’s aide at Wellman. We think she’s about twenty-two weeks along.”
    Nova’s pink mouth dropped open in horror, but she kept her tone low also. “My God. Is she going to have it?”
    I nodded. “My mother’s decision.”
    “And do you agree with her?” Nova asked.
    “I don’t know. At first I was sure it was a mistake. Now, not so much.” Tears stung my throat, I was so happy to finally have someone to talk to about all this. Happy that someone was Nova, who already knew me so well. There are people in this world you can be apart from for years, and yet when you come back together, it’s almost as though no time has passed at all. You find yourself falling right back into the same rhythm of friendship you shared before. I hoped with everything in me that Nova was one of those people. “This is our first appointment with Dr. Fisher,” I told her, “so hopefully I’ll get a better idea of what to expect.”
    Nova held my hand and squeezed it. “She’s a great doctor. Very much the patient’s advocate. She’s delivered all my kids except Isaac.”
    I looked over to the kids, their blond heads bent collectively over a stack of blocks. “Now, Isaac was your first, right?”
    Nova took her hand away from mine and pointed each child out. “Right. He’s five. Then there’s Rebecca, who just turned four last week, and James, who’s two. Layla here is six weeks.” She leaned down to smell her baby’s head.
    I whistled, a low, amazed sound.
    “Yeah, they’re a handful. But, man, I love them.” Her face glowed with a joy so obviously private I felt a momentary pang of embarrassment for having witnessed it.
    “Well, I have a child, too,” I said. “Moochie.”
    Nova looked confused.
    “He’s of the furry variety. No diapers, just kibble.”
    She laughed again in understanding. “And where is he?”
    “Back in San Francisco. My boyfriend is taking care of him.” San Francisco suddenly seemed so far away, a place where I had lived long, long ago.
    “Is it serious?”
    I shrugged. “We live together, if that’s what you mean.”
    “For how long?” she prodded.
    “A year or so.”
    “Sounds serious. Have you washed his underwear for him?”
    “What?” I giggled, and Jenny laughed, too, watching our conversation with obvious pleasure.
    “The underwear test. I told Ryan I knew I’d marry him the day I saw his dirty underwear on the floor and willingly picked it up to throw in the wash. Sure enough, two months later, he proposed.”
    “Well, Shane would rather die than let me touch his laundry. He’s afraid I’ll destroy it, turn his whites pink or something.”
    “Ah,” Nova said, nodding. “Trust issues.”
    The nurse appeared from the back again, calling out Jenny’s name. “Well,” I said, standing and turning my sister’s chair toward the door. “That’s us.”
    Nova hurriedly jotted something on a scrap of paper. “Here’s my number. What’s yours?” I told her, and she wrote it down, too. Then she continued talking. “Call me, okay? Ryan works the fishing boats in Alaska, and he’s gone for at least a month. I’d love to see you again. Catch up on things.”
    I took the paper and smiled. “Me, too.” I waved to her as I wheeled Jenny back to the doctor I hoped would convince me everything was going to be okay.
    •  •  •
    Dr. Fisher was a tall woman, elegant in a manner that suggested it wasn’t something she had to