Queen Move

Since when?

I’m not even sure I want kids, and my body is doing its best to take the choice away from me. I’ve been following the specialist’s instructions. The yoga, the pills and herbal teas, but I’ve had no tangible image of what I was fighting for.

Until now.

This is why I’m doing those things. This bundle of exuberant unconditional love bouncing on my lap is why I’m making room in my already overflowing life for the things they say may give me a chance to have a baby. The crushing weight, the possibility that I’m too late, that I can’t do it, that my body won’t let me, falls on me.

“T-t-take her,” I stutter, my tongue and lips tangling, my stomach roiling like I might be sick.

Kayla glances up from a stubborn tangle in Ida’s hair. “What?”

“Take Zaya.” I extend the baby to her, my arms trembling so badly I almost drop her. “I-I-I…just take her, Zee.”

“Put her down on the floor,” Kayla says, her frown deepening. “She can crawl, but what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” I carefully set Zaya down by a pile of stuffed dice. “I just… God, it’s hot in here. I need some air.”

“Go to the patio.” With her comb, Kayla points to a floor-to-ceiling wall of windows leading to a flagstone terrace.

I flee the house, the hot breath of anxiety panting down my neck. I step through the sliding door, close it hastily behind me and walk to the edge of their patio, stopping next to the aqua liquid glass of their pool. Humidity clogs the Georgia summer afternoon, and even when I draw in huge gulps of air, nothing cools me.

Is this a fucking hot flash?

A panic attack?

The warfare my body is waging, is it psychological, biological? Is hormonal warfare a thing?

I cannot breathe. Sweat sprouts at my hairline and on my top lip. I fan hot air into my face, pressing my lips tight against a scream scraping the inside of my throat. The sun is too bright and the sky isn’t wide enough, the clouds seeming to drop and loom over me. I need to run, but I can’t escape my own body. I’m tethered to this flesh and bone, and these ticking-time-bomb ovaries.

A chorus of laughter floats out to the patio on a song of childish joy, and it squeezes my heart until my lungs must be drowning in my own blood.

I don’t need this shit.

The door opens behind me. I stiffen. Kayla is the last person I want to see me like this. She has a fundamental lack of tolerance for weakness, and I’m weak as a lamb inside right now. I hate it.

She walks up beside me but doesn’t look my way, choosing to instead squint up at the sun.

“What the hell was that?” she asks, her voice a low, insistent shovel primed to dig.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did I ask if you want to talk about it?” Kayla is leader of the won’t-let-up crew.

“Zee, could you just leave it alone?”

“I don’t think I can.”

She takes my hand in a strong grip. I jump, startled. She’s holding my hand? I hazard a glance at her profile.

“What exactly are you doing?” I ask, a little laugh managing to squeeze past the rubber bands tight at my throat.

“We’re having a moment, Tru.”

“Did you schedule this? You know you can’t just make moments happen, right?”

“Well, I am. It’s happening.” She turns to me, not letting my hand go, and when I glance over at her, the real concern in my sister’s eyes dissolves my reservations.

“I’m sorry I freaked. I was…and then Zaya…and it just hit me. I haven’t dealt with it, I guess.”