SASHAS
he started making up reasons to leave the house—a lunch, a hair appointment, drop by the studio—any excuse to get out and secretly eat barbacoa tacos from a truck near a construction site. The babies were raving mad for dead flesh. Like Mia Farrow’s character, innocent and unsuspecting, in the movie, Rosemary’s Baby, Sasha couldn’t stop dreaming about it.
Each morning, when the sun warmed her face, she promised herself, “Today, I will stop this behavior. I won’t feel angry, ugly, or edgy. I will not partake in animal torture for food. I will go to the studio, teach prenatal class, say hello to the girls, get a fresh juice and not stop on the way home for steak or burgers. I can up my protein intake in shakes. If I ask Lynn along, I won’t be able to make any detours.” But after her
