“I ripped,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Lauren said.

“I ripped during the birth. The doctor I had doesn’t like to do episiotomies anymore, and he didn’t do one.”

“Epeeze-whats?”

Her sister sighed. “Episiotomies. You know, where they cut the vagina to make it easier to give birth.”

“No,” Lauren said. “I did not know.” She sat down, suddenly feeling light-headed.

“Wel , the birth took forever and the numbness started to wear off down there and I could feel the tearing, and I said, ‘We should do something,’

but no one would listen.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Lauren said. She wondered if her sister was stil drugged up. She must be, Lauren thought, otherwise she would never be discussing such things. Her sister was so embarrassed of everything that once, when they were teenagers, and Lauren asked her if she could borrow a tampon, Betsy turned bright red and cal ed Lauren a pervert.

“They had to stitch me up, which I felt al of,” her sister went on. “I bet it’s a mess down there. I can’t even imagine. And now we have to be careful of infection.”

Lauren looked at her niece, who was red and sort of busted-looking. Her head was pointy and she looked like she had some pretty bad acne.

“It wil go back to its normal shape,” her sister said.

“Excuse me?”

“Her head. It’s just in a cone because it took her so long to make it out of the vaginal passage.”

“Right,” Lauren said.

“Listen, Lauren, can you do something for me?”

“What?”

“Can you take a look down there and tel me what it looks like? I’m imagining Freddy Krueger’s face right now, and it would real y help if you could tel me that it’s not that bad.”

“You want me to look at your stitched-up vagina and describe it to you?”

“Don’t make it sound gross,” her sister said. “Come on.”

Lauren pressed her lips together. She and Betsy had shared a room for fifteen years, and every single night, Betsy had turned to the wal when she changed into her pajamas. Lauren used to wonder if Betsy would ever let a boy see her naked. She’d honestly been surprised when Betsy had announced that she was pregnant.

“Please, Lauren? Please? Before Mom and Mrs. King get back? Please? I don’t want to ask Jerry to do it. It’s too humiliating.”

Betsy started to cry a little bit, her nose running and dripping down to her mouth. It made Lauren want to vomit.

“Oh my God, fine,” Lauren said. “Let’s just do this.”

Months afterward, when Lauren’s niece had turned cute and roundheaded, and Betsy had gone back to her prudish ways, Lauren teased Betsy about this moment.

“My vagina feels dry today,” she would say out of nowhere.

“You’re disgusting,” Betsy would say.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are we not al owed to talk about our vagina’s moods? I was under the impression that this was a safe space,” she said, gesturing to the car. Lily babbled in the backseat.

“You know what, Lauren? Don’t be a bitch. I had just gone through thirty hours of labor and they should have done a C-section and they didn’t, and I hadn’t been alone with anyone I could talk to about it.”

“It’s fine,” Lauren said. “I’m total y cool with it.”

Once when they were walking down the street and saw a dead pinkish slug on the ground, Lauren hit Betsy on the arm and pointed to it. “Look at that. Did that fal out of your vagina?”

Betsy narrowed her eyes. “I hope when you have a baby, your vagina tears into a mil ion pieces,” she said.

“Wel , thanks to you, dear sister, I’m not sure I wil ever have a baby.”