Page 167 of The Wild Card

“There’s no timeline,” Emmie manages, turning slightly pink.

“There should be a timeline. I’m not getting any younger, Emmie. I want to be a fun grandma, not an old grandma.”

“You’re fifty-eight.”

“Exactly! The clock is ticking!”

I glance at Emmie, who looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole. Robert is suddenly very interested in his mashed potatoes. Gavin is smirking into his beer.

“We haven’t discussed timelines,” I offer carefully.

“But you want children?” Linda pivots to me with laser focus. “You see yourself as a father someday?”

“I—” I think about my conversation with Dr. Reyes. About wanting things. About deserving them. “Yeah. Someday. I do.”

Linda’s entire face transforms into something radiant. “Robert, did you hear that?”

“I’m sitting right here, Linda.”

“He wants babies!”

“He said someday,” Robert manages.

“Someday is soon enough for me.” She clasps her hands together. “Oh, this is wonderful. You two are going to make the most beautiful children. With your eyes—” She points at me. “And her smile—” She points at Emmie. “They’ll be absolutely gorgeous.”

“Mom, can we please talk about literally anything else?”

“Fine, fine.” Linda waves a hand. “We don’t have to talk about babies.” A pause. “But you are being safe, right? Unless you’re not being safe on purpose, which is also fine—”

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying, if you wanted to speed up the timeline, I would be very supportive—”

“We’re being safe!” Emmie’s face is approximately the color of the cranberry sauce. “Good grief, Mom, we are not discussing our birth control at the dinner table.”

“Why not? Sex is natural. It’s beautiful. It’s how we got you, you know.”

“I don’t need to be reminded.”

Linda smiles, looking wistful. “Your father and I had a very healthy—”

“OKAY.” Gavin stands abruptly, his chair scraping back. “I’m going to get more beer. Anyone else need more beer?”

He flees to the kitchen. I consider following him.

Linda, undeterred, turns back to me. “All I’m saying is, when the time comes, you two shouldn’t wait too long. Emmie’s got good childbearing hips—”

“Mom, I swear to God—”

“It’s a compliment! Robert, tell her it’s a compliment.”

“It’s a compliment,” Robert says dutifully, though he’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“See? Your father agrees.” Linda picks up her wine glass. “I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. Both of you. And if happy includes a few grandchildren for me to spoil, well—” She shrugs. “I won’t complain a drop.”

Emmie drops her head into her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“This is family dinner,” Robert corrects. “There’s a difference. Barely.”