Lucille

Lucille did not know what she wanted to do with her life but she knew what she did not want in it: a self-conscious husband, a gluten allergy, complacent children, children with sticky fingers, children who were born beautiful but grew into ugly adults, uninspired children.

Actually, Lucille wasn’t sure she wanted children at all; the risks of failure were too high and the reward wavered around decades of company (which she wasn’t sure she wanted) and emotional fulfillment (which she was sure she wanted, but not at the expense of her uterus). Other things she did not want: flat calves, menopause, hip problems.

A few things Lucille did know she wanted: a minimalist watercolor stationery set on which she would write beautiful letters to friends with whom she maintained long-distance amiabilities, a group of friends who would pop her occasional back zit and drink a bottle of wine with her at 2 in the morning, a fancy bike, the patience and stamina to ride the fancy bike, a Whole Foods income, joie de vivre but not overtly so, and a cat. And also: smile wrinkles, a marathon completion medal, a small chest (which, she was convinced, would lessen her chances of getting cancer. Smaller surface area, smaller risk. This would prove to not be so).