Gemma looked down at her own magazine and wondered what relationship advice she would give Kara.

She saw Kara swirling a new dress for her boyfriend, flushed and silly, saying “I love you” for the first time. She saw the boyfriend suddenly slamming kitchen drawers, his face ugly with rage. She saw herself striding into the kitchen, ignoring the boyfriend (just a boy after all, a gigantic little boy throwing a tantrum, there was nothing complex or mysterious about it), and taking Kara firmly by the elbow and marching her right on out of the kitchen. No, it’s not normal. No, it’s not your fault. Walk away now, young lady.

“But I’m wearing a new dress!” Kara would whine. “I want to drink champagne!”

He’s going to do it again, you silly little girl! He’s going to do it again, again, and again until there’s nothing left of you.

“Are you all right?” Cat waved a hand in front of Gemma’s face. “What’s the matter? You’ve gone all red.” She lowered her voice. “You haven’t wet your pants, have you?”

Gemma gave a yelp of laughter and Cat stood up decisively. “Right. I’m going to see how long this is going to take.”

A few minutes later, thanks to Cat’s stand-over tactics, Gemma was lying on her back, while a cheerful, blue-uniformed girl called Nicki rubbed a gooey cold gel across her stomach.

“It’s my sister’s baby,” she explained to Nicki, so she’d treat Cat like someone important. “She’s adopting it for me.”

Nicki didn’t even blink at that, which was nice of her. “O.K. then, Mum,” she said to Cat. She gestured up at the TV monitor on the wall. “Keep your eye on that screen.”

Cat smiled stiffly and crossed her arms awkwardly across her chest. She’ll be wishing it was her and Dan here, thought Gemma, making their cool little jokes, holding hands while they watched their baby. Perhaps she should try and hold Cat’s hand? Except Cat would be aghast, of course.

Nicki began to rub a little instrument back and forth over Gemma’s stomach as if she were giving it a gentle polish. “In just a minute your baby will make his or her first public appearance!”

“We don’t want to know the sex,” said Cat sharply.

“My lips are sealed,” said Nicki.

Cat dropped her arms by her side as a grainy, alien landscape emerged on the screen. “Oh look!”

“It looks like the moon,” said Gemma, not really believing this picture had anything to do with her body; they probably showed the same picture to everyone. It probably was the moon.

“Let me give you the guided tour,” said Nicki and she began to point out parts of the baby. The spine. The legs. The feet. The heart. Gemma smiled and nodded politely, fraudulently. It was nothing but fuzzy static. Change the channel, she imagined saying. Put something more interesting on. Cat on the other hand, seemed to genuinely believe she was looking at a baby. “Oh yes, I see,” she kept saying, and her voice was all shaky and full of some lovely maternal emotion that Gemma definitely was not feeling.

“Only one baby,” observed Nicki. “No twins.”

“Or triplets,” said Gemma.

“Heaven forbid!” chuckled Nicki.

That night, while Gemma did her house-sitting duties—chatting with the Violets, dusting dozens of tiny ornaments, listening to Mary Penthurst’s unappealing older sister, Frances, deliver her weekly phone lecture—another layer of her consciousness continued to consider the suddenly very urgent relationship advice for Kara.

“I was only saying to my friend today,” said Frances in her thin querulous voice, as if she were making this observation for the first time, “what an incredible amount of rent you must be saving!” It was a common complaint from the relatives of house-sitting clients, and Gemma knew exactly the right response—excessive gratitude.

“I know! I am solucky! Every morning I think, I am solucky!”

Frances grunted but was mollified and moved on to the garden. “You did plant Mary’s sweet peas on St. Patrick’s Day? She’s been doing that religiously for the last twenty years, you know! It’s a funny little ritual of hers.” Gemma said, “I certainly did!” and imagined Kara cowering on a lounge, while her boyfriend raged about the way she’d flirted with one of his friends. Everyone saw it, said the boyfriend. Everyone was so embarrassed for me. You acted like such a dumb, stupid slut.

Gemma felt a white-hot flame of rage ignite like a blowtorch. No, it’s not proof of how much he loves you! Please, sweetie, I know it seems hard, but just leave. It’s easy really. Stand up and walk out the door. But Kara just sat there, in a stupor of fear and shame and apathy, and Gemma understood.

“You’ve been remembering to air that musty back room?” asked Frances.

“Absolutely,” said Gemma.

When Frances finally wilted and hung up, Gemma called Kara.

“Have you got a new boyfriend?”

“No. Why are you asking that? Did Cat say something? She promised!”

“No, no! I just wondered. Look, Kara, it’s really important if you do get a boyfriend, that he’s really nice to you. O.K.? All the time. Not just some of the time. All the time.”

There was silence. “O.K.,” said Kara slowly. “Thanks, Gemma. Um. Friends is about to start.”

“Oh! Sorry. Bye then.”

She put down the phone and laughed out loud, imagining the condescending, “What a loony!” expression on Kara’s face. She would have plunked herself in front of the television and not given her step-auntie’s weird advice another thought.