I was afraid the answer was going to be me, and I had worked out, at some level below language, that as long as I did not take the test the question stayed open, and as long as the question stayed open, the problem was not located anywhere in particular.

Except it was located somewhere.

It was located on my wife, in the kitchen, at family dinners, for eighteen months, because a question that is open in a marriage does not float — it settles on whoever is standing closest to it.

And my mother made sure it settled.

Loretta started, in 2012, with what she would have called encouragement.

A magazine article left on a counter.

A tea from a woman at her church.

A remark about a cousin who had conceived at thirty-nine.

By 2013 it was not encouragement.

She asked Carmen, at a Fourth of July thing, in front of my aunt, whether she had “had everything checked.” She asked it kindly.