Prologue
MILLIE
Fertility.It’s something of a curse in my family.
I’m sure a lot of people who’ve had to deal with the curse of infertility probably wouldn’t appreciate me saying that, and to them—or anyone else—I mean no offense.
But anyone who’s heard about my family, that is, thematernalline of my family, would agree thatcurseisn’t too strong of a word. I come from a long line of remarkably fecund women. And I’m not about to offend a whole other subset of people by claiming that any of my maternal ancestors were the result of animmaculateconception, but something supernatural (and I’m just stating for the record here that my term for it iscurse)has to be at work.
Either the women in my family have been graced with wombs that are teeming with eggs like a caviar sturgeon, ripe and ready for that magical moment three hundred sixty-five days a year, or we have all had the uncanny ability to attract the most virile of virile men who spread sperm—indestructible, everlasting, and navigationally superior sperm—like mean girls spread gossip.
I could probably go back ten generations to make my point, but let’s just take three. Starting with Great-Grandma Mildred, whom I happen to be named after, but that’s a different family curse. Great-Grandma Mildred had two sets of twins—the first, boys, the second, girls—separated by three babies, all born in the span of seven years.
That’ssevenkids in seven years.
The poor woman wasn’t even twenty-five by the time she had the last one. I’m not sure what put a stop to it, but either my great-granny’s uterus fell out or she started sleeping with a hot poker to keep Great-Grandpa Hubert on his side of the bed.
Granny Matilda—whom my little sister Mattie is lucky enough to be named after—didn’t have it much better, even with the invention of the Pill in the 1920s. She used to say Grandpa Ernie just had to look at her across the dining table, and she’d be with child.
That must have been some look. Two boys, then a set of twins—also boys—then my mom, and finally, my Aunt Pru. At least Granny Matilda spaced hers out a little better than Great-Grandma Mildred, but that just meant she was changing diapers for more than a decade.
Mom turned up pregnant with me when she and Dad were sophomores in college. They’d been dating for all of three months. Mom knew about The Curse, of course. It was part of family lore. She had even warned Dad. They figured the Pill and condoms would be enough.
They figured wrong. Medical advances are no match for the supernatural. And a week after seeing the plus sign on that pregnancy test, they tied the knot at the parish courthouse.
I’ve always thought that decision said everything about what they felt for each other. I mean, they’d barely known each other for a whole season. I can’t imagine that kind of certainty, but they always had it.
And back then, they didn’t have much else. No money, that’s for sure. I remember us eating Toasted O’s for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for a whole week while Dad was in med school and Mom was between waitressing jobs.
Mom once told me that during those years, they’d relied on three different kinds of birth control. They weren’t about to take any chances with the three of us in a tiny apartment. But as I’ve said, I don’t think birth control actually matters. Maybe The Curse took a break. Or maybe my parents were just too tired to do it back then.
But midway through Dad’s surgical residency, The Curse returned with a vengeance, and we got the twins, Harry and Mattie. By then, I was ten, and mom had gone back to school and finished in interior design.
Money was still tight, but I remember Mom and Dad being insanely happy when they found out our family was growing, so I was happy too. Mom told me they’d never wanted me to be an only child. The twins just showed up a little earlier than they’d planned since Dad was still just a medical resident and Mom was a student.
And three was supposed to be the magic number. I got this piece of information when I started dating in high school. The twins were about six at the time, and one Saturday, Dad took them to the skating rink, and Mom and I went shopping.
That’s when she told me about The Curse.
Of course, she didn’t usethatword. That’s mine. If I remember correctly, she called it anuncanny potential for procreation.At the time I thought she was just trying to scare me away from sex.
And I might still think that if it weren’t for Emmett.
Emmett is my eight-year-old brother—who was born six years after the twins and five years after my dad’s vasectomy.
I don’t care what anyone else calls it. That’s a curse.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my brother. And the twins. Harry, Mattie, and Emmett are the greatest. I’d literally do anything for them. And while all of my parents’ pregnancies were unplanned, I never thought for a moment they were unwanted. It’s the powerlessness I take issue with.
The life-altering powerlessness.
My parents never seemed to mind this haplessness, this state of being at the mercy of the fates. But they had each other, and they were so in love. I don’t think it really mattered what happened to them as long as they were together.
And they were. Right up to the end.
Maybe that would make any curse bearable. I wouldn’t know. For me, The Curse has just struck the once, and it was the most unbearable time of my life.
Chapter One
