Twenty-One
Accidents Will Happen
Amber
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry this is happening to you!” Mika, Sylvie’s and Holt’s nanny, says for about the thousandth time during our conversation about my recently discovered fertility issues at Holt’s and Sylvie’s baby shower.
Tinkling music plays somewhere in the background, and we’re sitting together on a bench, sipping champagne, in front of what’s smells like a small lake, plants floating in water with an undertone of living fish. This is the “backyard” of Holt’s Connecticut home. Not a house, but a full-on estate, if the step count I lost somewhere between the huge echoing house and the humongous slope of grass behind it, is any indication.
Which is fine by me. After I asked for a private word, Mika was easily able to lead me to this bench, j
