"So, are you thinking of having kids?” a family friend asked me when I was visiting my hometown of Washington, D.C.
Before I could reply, my mother did. “God forbid,” she said. “If Ester got pregnant, I would march her down to 16th and L myself.”
“16th and L?”
“Planned Parenthood,” I said, slumped down in the backseat of the car with a hand over my face. I was 26 years old; I had been married more than a year