Excerpt
Maria pulls Pinky off Annes lap and pushes the shredded bra against his nose so firmly that she can feel him struggle for breath. She has never before had a dog and does not understand the logic of this move but has seen it enacted once by a neighbor and it feels right.
"Maria," her mother says. "Stop."
But Maria does not stop. Not only is she certain this needs to be done, she is frustrated at her mother's doubt about said fact. She wonders at hormonal instinct. If she would have been capable of this before she was pregnant, if there are now chemicals in her system sent from the fetus, preparing her for discipline, chemicals that her mother no longer has. There are times when Maria has felt unjustly deprived of her youth, and lately they've been increasing. The present moment is one of them. Maria is not above feeling sorry for herself. Where are her lost afternoons? Where are her petty arguments over what movies to see, what shows to attend? She is too busy with medicine and proto-motherhood to find them. So smell the bra, Maria thinks. My mom is dying and my boobs are getting weird and I have to pee almost always. And I'm nineteen years old. So smell this bra, and understand right now that you cannot make my life any harder.