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her red hair in barrettes. “Joe wanted a day with the baby, and I needed some adult time,” Sally explained. Her skirt was tight and orange, and she wore plastic jelly sandals. As we sipped coffee and ate bagels, Sally's phone rang. It appeared her phone was broken, and she could use only the speaker attachment.
    With Girly crying in the background, Joe told Sally that there was another offer on our dream house. We needed to name our best price right now, he said, and the owners would decide in the next five minutes.
    I felt flustered. The next five minutes? Neither Joe nor Sally knew whether we should raise our price or not. “They could have a lowball offer,” said Sally. She added, “Or they could have a higher offer.” She took a bite of her bagel. “Yum,” she said.
    Greg had done some calculations on his laptop (he loved Excel spreadsheets) and concluded the house was worth less than the asking price. We decided to hold firm, and headed out with a list of addresses, waiting nervously for Sally's phone to ring. “Might as well keep looking, just in case,” said Sally. The flight back to our rental apartment and my dogeared copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting was at 4 P.M.
    On Scullers Cove Court, we entered an airless house where someone collected Hummel figurines. “This would be a great house for an older couple with no kids,” mused Sally. She stood in the hallway, telling us about Girly, and how she didn't like tummy time, but how Sally had to make her do her tummy time. It was so stressful, said Sally.
    Back in the minivan, we parked outside another (gigantic) house. “Whoops!” said Sally. “Y'all? It looks like I locked my purse inside that other house? And my phone's in it, and my Palm. And it's locked, oh, whoops! And we can't look at any other houses, cause my realtor key is also—”
    “In your purse,” Greg finished.
    Sally thought fast. “How about I drop y'all off for a nice lunch?” she suggested. “And I'll go get all this worked out? And y'all can have a real nice lunch?”
    “It's ten-thirty,” I said. “I don't want lunch. Our flight leaves in a few hours!” I was a wreck, admittedly.
    “Oh, whoops,” commented Sally.
    At the hotel concierge desk, Sally made some calls. Greg stared at his nice new shoes. The night before, we had made each other crack up by saying, “Diet Dr Pepper!” and “Girly!” Now, nothing seemed so hilarious.
    Sally finished her whispered calls and approached, looking a little less spry. Again, she made the case for an early lunch.
    “What about the house?” said Greg loudly.
    “Oh, right,” said Sally. “I did talk to Joe. We lost the house. But how about I run get my keys, and … a nice, you know, lunch?”
    I listened vaguely as Greg discussed the situation further, learning that we had been outbid, and it was over, though we could make a backup offer. When the calls were made and what phones worked and where various keys ended up, we were too exhausted to clarify. I would never stand in that beautiful kitchen, eating an ice-cream sandwich in my bathing suit.
    I went upstairs and changed my Maxi Pad and swallowed my pills. I took off my oversize sunglasses and lay down. Reflexively, I put my hands on my stomach, but then remembered, and let them fall open.
    We spent a long afternoon looking at other homes. We tried to convince ourselves that a too-small house with a crazy water feature was even better, all things considered, but as Sally dropped us off at the airport, a sinking feeling was already settling in.
    “Don't forget,” said Sally, as I climbed from the van, “the perfect home is out there.”
    “Okay,” I said. Four days before, a technician had moved her wand on my skin and looked at an image on the screen. The doctor was sure everything was fine. The ultrasound was just a precaution. Greg told me he could see the baby's face—its eyes—but when the doctor explained that the baby had never grown more than a few