I was sitting in that little bistro on 82nd... the one with the blue awnings that always smelled like burnt butter and expensive perfume and wood smoke from the fireplace... and my sister Emily was leaning over her wine glass with that look she gets... she didn't drink her wine and that was the first clue... the physiological indicator that the environment in her womb had changed again and I felt it in my own body like a cold draft... she was thirty-two and I was forty-one and I had just come from another session of follicle tracking earlier that morning... my ovaries felt like heavy stones and my skin was bruised from the heparin... but she just sat there glowing... she leaned in and whispered it... number three is on the way...