I look up at my husband, who is shuckling intently. “Would we do this if we had a baby?”

T

he snow is coming down hard during Lakewood’s once annual snowstorm, and my car skids slightly as I pull over. I fumble for my phone and dial.

“Roizy? Hi… I’m by the corner. I’ll be by you in a minute.”

“Okay, no problem, I’m coming out!”

I’ve never been on this block before, and I squint through the driving snow for Roizy’s address. 915… 917… I’m looking for 921.

Just ahead, the porch light is on, and the familiar form of turban-clad Roizy stands in the entrance, halfway in the frigid outdoors.

I wave through the window, pull over, and hop out of my car without turning it off.

Roizy waves back. I jog up her walkway and up the steps.

“Hi, Chavy!” She hands me a small container. I look down. It’s a Lucite heart filled with red candies, a small injection needle taped to the front.

“It’s an injection of love,” she giggles.

My heart melts, and the anxiety of the last two hours dissipates. “Thanks so much! I needed that.”

“Needed the needle?”

I laugh out loud. “That, too! This cycle depends on it, actually. But the laugh. And the love!”

Roizy giggles again. “I get it,” she says.

And of all people, she does.