13
Embrace Thy Enemy—Because Drowning Them Is Illegal
We sneak into the resort early enough that Miss Betty won’t notice that I’m walking funny or that her son looks like the cat who ate the canary—beak and all.
Ryan crouches in the shower so I can wash his hair but also so I can do a few range of motion exercises the physical therapist gave us for when he “overuses the arm.” Last night’s activities might qualify as overuse.
He winces with one revolution of the shoulder joint. I stop. “No, it’s good. All worth it,” he says, blowing a raspberry on my naked belly.
“Do you think your mom will be okay with June 14?”
“Are you kidding?”
“s**t—Ryan—wait—when’s Sarah’s baby due?”
He stands. “Right around then, I think? But if she gets any bigger, she’s gonna blow.”
I rinse my hair, talkin
