Nicky gave a dry laugh. All four of them had gone to a Catholic middle and high school run by a group of nuns who were either oblivious or actively ill-suited to meeting the needs of children. They sat down now on a wooden bench under a shady ash tree and watched the ducks waddle around the pond imperiously. Twin toddlers, each dressed in bright overalls and mini Converse high-tops, ran toward a mallard, shrieking with delighted terror as it opened its wings and quacked irately at them.
Look at that, said Nicky, suddenly smiling.
So cute, said Avery dutifully, though, in truth, she thought they should leave that poor duck alone.
You know I got bitten by a duck when we were little? Nicky said.
You did? When?
In Central Park by the Turtle Pond. I was probably, like, four, but I hid it from Mom so she wouldn’t know.
Why’d you do that?
I thought I’d get in trouble. She was always so exasperated when we needed anything. I think I knew, even then, it was better to deal with it myself.
Avery nodded. She could imagine the scene exactly; Lucky would have been only two; Nicky, four; Bonnie, seven; and Avery, nine. A day out at the park with them would have been treated as equivalent to navigating a military assault course by their mother. Amazing, thought Avery, that at only four, Nicky had already understood the reality of their family, but of course they all had.
Well, if you ever get bitten again, said Avery, taking her sister’s hand, I hope you will tell me.
Nicky smiled sadly.
My kid is always going to be able to tell me, she said. Always. She looked at her and Avery saw the hope beneath her exhaustion, like the sun peeking through clouds. Anyway, Nicky added with a laugh. Fuck ducks.
Avery could have pushed her then, she could have asked more questions, but she didn’t. She sat on the bench holding her sister’s hand, watching the ducks glide across the glassy water with their ducklings in tow, and she stayed silent, happy just to be with her.
Of course, Nicky refused the hysterectomy. She wanted to be a mother more than she wanted to be free. Or, rather, motherhood was the form of freedom she chose; not a life without pain, but a life assembled around it, love coupled forever with fear, a paper dollhouse built around an open flame. That was why she had been taking the painkillers, to hold off one kind of pain to make way for a better one. And now here was Avery promising Chiti a child. But was it what she wanted? This dream Nicky had lived for? Died for? Could she love a child because her sister would have loved a child? Because Chiti would? Could that be enough for her? Should it be?
“Shit,” Charlie murmured beside her. Avery had almost forgotten he was there. “I’m sorry that happened to her. And to you. I-I don’t know what else to say.”
He gave her a nervous look and she was suddenly aware of his age. He was young. Early twenties probably, mid at most. What could he know of loss?
“There’s nothing to say,” she replied, her voice returning to its quality of crisp control. “It happened and I have to live with it. End of story. No reason why, no hidden lesson, no attitude of gratitude.” She almost spat the words. “She died and I’m still alive. Life’s random and unfair and sometimes it’s random and more than fair. That’s it.”
The yellow light was cooling to a dusty blue. Avery still marveled at how long the summer evenings were in London. In New York, they seemed to be over as quickly as a pop song, relinquishing themselves to equally hot nights, but in England the light lingered like a note held on and on.
“I had a brother who died too,” Charlie said.
Avery’s eyes darted to him in surprise.
“You did?”
“Yeah, of leukemia. I was still pretty young, so I didn’t really understand what had happened until I was older. I just remember my mum crying all the time.”
“That’s awful. Your poor mom. And you.”
“The thing that doesn’t change is that I still think of myself as one of three, even though it’s just been me and my sister since I was seven. It’s like this invisible limb no one knows I have, but it’s always there. It’s part of me.”
Avery nodded vigorously.
“Exactly. I feel exactly the same. Except I’m one of four—or I was. All girls. I’m the eldest.”
“Yeah, see, that’s really hard. And you’re older so you feel like you’ve got to be strong for the others, at least that’s how it was with my sister. I’m really sorry you’re going through that. I don’t get it, but I get it. You get it?”
Avery nodded.
“I do.”
Charlie glanced at her and smiled.
“Pretty weird, right? That we’ve both been through that? I knew there was something about you.”
Avery allowed herself the slightest smile. It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel special. She dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the heel of her ridiculous loafers.
“So, what about you?” she asked. “Do you believe everything happens for a reason? That there’s a benevolent God watching over us?”
Charlie ran his hand over the back of his neck and offered her something between a grin and a grimace.
“Recovery really robs us of the ability to make small talk, right?”
Avery gave a low laugh.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“No, it’s a good question.”
He looked up as a cluster of wood pigeons fled the tree above, leaving in unison, as birds somehow magically knew to do.
“I don’t,” he said quietly. “But I wish I did. I wish I had my mother’s God, actually. Not all the Jehovah’s Witness stuff she practices, that’s a bit much for me. But she believes in something that believes in her—or at least she believes it believes in her. And it comforts her, I can tell. I envy her that.”
