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hour ago we were sitting in the doctor’s office?
    Somer had finally insisted they go to a fertility specialist. She was tired of waiting for nature to take its course, fed up with opening a bottle of wine every month as her consolation prize for another negative pregnancy test. If they knew what their problem was, she reasoned, they would be able to do something about it. She suspected it was her fault. Kris came from a big family, and each of his brothers already had a couple of children. Somer was an only child, though her parents never discussed the matter.
    This afternoon in the doctor’s office, they were given the diagnosis she had been dreading. It was her fault. Premature ovarian failure . Early menopause. It all made sense now. For the past year, she’d been having irregular cycles: missed periods followed by heavy ones. She thought it was her hormones fluctuating with the symptoms of early pregnancy, but all this time, it was her reproductive system slowly grinding to a halt. Within another year, the doctor said, her menopause would be complete. By the time she reaches the age of thirty-two, she will no longer have the ability to bear children, the one thing that defines her as a woman. What will I be then? She has spent her whole life competing with the boys, compensating for her femininity, tempting fate it would seem.
    “Have you given any thought to what we discussed?” Kris asks. “Adopting? My mother says the orphanage can move quickly—maybe even less than nine months,” he says with a lopsided smile. He’s been intent on this orphanage in Bombay where his mother is a patron. The process is supposed to be quick if at least one prospective parent is Indian and can show proof of sufficient assets.
    “That’s not funny.” She lays her head against the cushions. “You’re giving up on us.”
    “No, honey, I’m not…”
    “Then why do you keep bringing this up? We can keep trying. The doctor said—”
    “—the chances are extremely low.”
    “Low, not impossible.” Somer pulls her hands back into her own lap.
    “Honey, we’ve tried everything. Dr. Hayworth said you’re not a good candidate for that new in-vitro technique, and even if you were, I don’t want them experimenting on your body. Honey, look at what this is doing to you. This isn’t good for us. Look, you want to have a family, don’t you?”
    She nods, digging her fingernails into her palms to hold off the tears.
    “So, you can either keep killing yourself to get pregnant with very low probability of success, or we can start the adoption process, and this time next year, you could be holding a baby in your arms.”
    She nods again, biting her lower lip. “But would it feel like my baby?”
    “Look, there are all kinds of families,” he says. “Blood doesn’t make you a family. Do you really want our kid to have my huge nose or be left-handed?” He smiles, as he usually does to get his way, but she doesn’t feel like playing along this time.
    “You’ll be an amazing mother, Somer. You just have to let it happen.” Kris moves closer, trying to peer into her eyes, as if he might find an answer there. “What do you think?”
    What do I think? She doesn’t know anymore. “I’ll think about it, okay? It’s a lot to take in all at once,” she says, gesturing at the brown envelope. “Right now, I’d like to go for a run, clear my head a bit. Okay?” She stands up without waiting for a response.
     
    S OMER JOGS DOWN THE STEPS OUTSIDE AND IN THE DIRECTION of the green expanse of Golden Gate Park. She doesn’t feel like running, but she had to get out of there. Kris has been talking about adoption for months now, and she’s been putting him off. She knows she has to consider it, but it’s hard to abandon the idea of having her own child: carrying a baby, giving birth, nursing, seeing herself reflected in her own child. How can I give all that up? It’s easier for Kris. He’s not the one who has failed.
    She