—
Bonnie was resting when her sisters appeared in the doorway. Pavel was by her bedside, alert as a hound, watching her with anxious attentiveness while continually offering apple juice, which he seemed to be convinced, apropos of nothing, had magical restorative properties. Not even when Bonnie became the undisputed lightweight world champion, becoming the first woman fighter to unify the belts by defeating her opponent via unanimous decision in a grueling ten-round battle that is still lauded as one of the toughest fights of all time, had he been so wired. Bonnie had retired a few years later to become one of the most in-demand trainers for women fighters, so it had been some time since Pavel had worried for her physical safety. But it had been a long labor, not made easier by the reminder from the doctor that at forty, Bonnie was considered both a geriatric and a high-risk pregnancy. She had, however, managed to deliver as she’d hoped, without medication or intervention, leaning into the pain, as a lifetime of combat had her trained to do, and now she was both satisfied and spent.
Bonnie had been privately concerned that she wouldn’t feel whatever she was meant to when her daughter was placed in her arms, but she needn’t have worried. She was perfect. Her eyes were blue and very bright, like Bonnie’s father’s. The nurse laid the baby against her chest, and the child immediately looked up at her with great curiosity and stillness. In that look, Bonnie was undone by love. The baby’s face was red and creased and soft as velvet, with Pavel’s thick eyelashes and square nose. But her fingers were classic Blue, long and expressive. When she cried, she stretched her hands out in front of her like tiny exploding stars. When she slept, she wrinkled her forehead and frowned as if having deep conversations in her dreams. Bonnie could not take her eyes off her.
She glanced up as her sisters entered and beamed. Pavel leapt from his chair to give each of them a kiss and offer them apple juice, which they politely declined.
“I go get some more just in case,” Pavel insisted, heading to the door. “Give you girls your moment.”
Avery squeezed his arm in thanks. Of course, it was a moment, one of the most precious they would have. They were high up in a hospital room in the middle of the night, the city stretched beneath them at a quiet remove, the headlights of cars gliding up and down the avenues like shooting stars, and before them, safe as a hatchling in a nest, was their very own miracle. Lucky bounded to one side of the bed while Avery approached reverentially, staring at the bundle in Bonnie’s arms in awe.
“She’s here,” declared Lucky, her voice already full of love.
Bonnie nodded.
“She’s here.”
“I can’t believe we were all born in this hospital,” said Avery. “And now all these years later she’s joined us.”
“Not Lucky,” Bonnie reminded her. “She basically fell out of Mom at home, remember.”
Lucky made the rock-and-roll sign and grinned.
“Speed freak from birth,” she said.
“How could I forget; sorry, Lucky.” Avery smiled and turned back to the baby, marveling at her. “Have you called Mom?”
Bonnie nodded.
“Pavel did. She’s coming in the morning.”
Their father had been dead for four years now from liver failure. Their mother insisted on remaining alone upstate with her garden and chickens, but she visited the city more now that all three of her daughters lived there again. Avery had a guest bedroom for this exact purpose, though she wished their mother would make more use of it.
“Have you decided on a name?” asked Lucky.
Bonnie looked up at her sisters.
“We had one picked out, but then…it didn’t feel right. She came with her name, I think.”
“What is it?” Lucky asked.
Bonnie swallowed and placed a hand on the baby’s crown.
“Nicole,” said Bonnie. “Nicole Petrovich Blue.”
Lucky tried to say something but found she could not speak. As always, Avery had the words for both of them. She leaned forward and kissed first Bonnie, then the baby, on the forehead.
“Welcome to the great, wide world, Nicole,” she said.
The baby stirred and looked up at the three figures above her. She could feel their attention on her like light. They had many eyes, and they were all on her. Their mouths were big and bright. Now she closed her eyes. All dark. Now she opened them. The light was back on her. She opened her mouth and made a sound. Now her mother was feeding her. Her mouth was full. Yes, she liked this. A rush of warmth and sweetness. This was good. There was plenty and she was hungry. Now, suddenly, she was full. No more. She made another sound and the figures all laughed. Everyone was delighted by her. Soon, the baby’s eyes were heavy. The light went away. She tried to bring it back, but her eyes were too heavy. Now she could not see, only feel the figures around her. They felt like warmth. She was safe at their center. Something soft stroked her cheek as she drifted. That was good. She could still hear them, and she liked that. Laughter. What a good sound. She wanted to hear more, but she was drifting away. She would come back again soon. She would not be gone long. The darkness deepened. The figures circled her. This place was good. She would stay.
Acknowledgments
I dedicated this book to the two loves of my life: my sister Daisy and my husband, Henry. This story, and everything about me, has been shaped for the better by them.
Writing is an inherently solitary experience, so I’m grateful to all those who ensured the researching, editing, publishing, and just plain living parts of the process were not:
My agents, Mollie Glick and Emily Westcott, for their tenacity, graciousness, and support.
My editors, Sara Weiss and Katie Bowden, for believing so wholeheartedly in these sisters and providing me with the holy trinity for rewrites: unconditional support, sagacious suggestions, and space to find my own solutions.
My assistant editors, Sydney Collins and Lola Downes, for their enthusiasm and insights.
My boxing trainers at CMC Gym, Marcelo Crudele, Felix Martinez, and Alberto Solto, for helping me understand and inhabit Bonnie more fully, and for instilling in me the most important (and hardest for this chatty writer to follow) rule: LESS TALK, MORE ACTION!
My fellow writers in L.A. for their encouragement and feedback on the early drafts of this novel: Annabel Graham, Tess Gunty, Alexandria Hall, Zach Hines, Isabel Kaplan, Victoria Kornick, Claire Nuttall, and Jacquelyn Stolos.
My friends Albie Alexander, Frankie Carattini, Adam Eli, Lindsay Fishkin, Sean Frank, Sophia Gibber, Emily Havens, Alba Hodsoll, Kala Jerzy, Jess Jobst, Shamikah Martinez, Corey Militzok, Amanda Montell, Olivia Orley, Jonathan Parks-Ramage, Zoe Potkin, and Max Weinman for the endless walks, dinners, calls, laughs, and general loveliness that propelled me onward while writing.
My mother, always, for being my best and first reader.
My father, my sister, Holly, and my brother, George.
My therapist, Karen.
The sober communities in New York, L.A., London, and Paris for being my lighthouses.
The readers, the readers, the readers. To every person and bookseller who read, recommended, posted about, or championed my debut Cleopatra and Frankenstein, I am endlessly grateful for you.
