Page 120 of Lose You Twice

Her expression changes.

“Again?” she asks quietly.

I glance around the hall. “Can we not have a uterus-conference in public?”

She lowers her voice. “I’m serious. Didn’t you have one, like, two weeks ago?”

“Bodies are mysterious.”

“Wren.”

“What?”

“That’s not normal.”

Her words don’t offend me, because I know. I’ve thought them many, many times myself at two in the morning, curled around a heating pad, counting how many days it’s been since the last time. In bathroom stalls, trying not to panic because I bled through something again. In the grocery aisle, doing math around tampons, gas, and the twins’ field trip money.

I know it’s not normal.

Knowing something and having the time, money, and emotional capacity to handle it are very different experiences.

“I’ll make an appointment,” I say.

Harlow’s eyes narrow. “When?”

“When I have a spare second between my full-time unpaid parenting internship and my part-time towel folding career.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I disagree. Towel career is very funny.”

She doesn’t smile.

Damn it.

“It could be something,” she says. “PCOS, endometriosis, something hormonal⁠—”

“Or it could be that my body hates me.”

“Your body doesn’t hate you.”

“My uterus has filed several complaints.”

“Wren.”

The softness in her voice almost cracks me open right there in the hallway.

I look away first. “I’ll call. Okay? Not today, but soon.”

Harlow studies me like she’s deciding whether to accept a partial victory. Finally, she nods. “Soon.”

“Fine.”

“And eat something.”

“I had some coffee.”

“That’s not food.”