Page 29 of Everything We Give

“Who’s the victim?” Erik asks.

“Me.” I choke out a laugh and rip open the Velcro closure on my left glove.

Erik slaps the bag. “I guess that’s one way to beat yourself up. What’s got you worked up?”

I shake my head. That’s a conversation between Aimee and me. I foresee groveling in my future.

Erik waves his fingers for me to give up the goods. “I just spent the last ten minutes praying I didn’t leave the gym today with a shiner. The least you can do is let me leave knowing why I risked my gorgeous face.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Can you get any more full of yourself?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Probably.”

I shake my head, tugging off the glove and tucking it under my arm. “I’m not turning this into a pity party.”

“Suit yourself.” He dusts my shoulder.

“What’s that about?”

“Whatever’s got the squeeze on you”—he holds up a fist and grips air—“shake it off.” He breaks into a falsetto rendition of Taylor Swift.

“Thank you for reminding me how much older I am than you.”

“Seven years my senior.”

“Enjoy thirty while it lasts.” I yank off the second glove and drop both on the floor. I shake out a towel and wipe down my face and neck. The acrid odor of old sweat that never washes out from gym towels burns the back of my nose. “Did you submit your Big Sur photos?”

“Yep. The article ran this morning. Which you obviously missed.”

I shoot him a guilty-as-charged glance and chug my water. The paper I brought inside after this morning’s run was last seen folded and unread on the kitchen counter.

“What about you?” Erik knocks his knuckles into my shoulder. “National Geographic, eh?”

Elation shoots up me only to nose-dive at my feet. “Al called with the assignment. He’s sending me back to Spain.”

“Fantastic. Your Rapa photos are brilliant. I knew they’d select you. When are you going?”

“I’m not sure I am.” I collect my gloves and phone and gesture for Erik to follow me to the locker room.

He gawks. “What do you mean you’re not going?”

“I might have a conflict.” As in an I-can’t-put-off-the-search-any-longer conflict. “I’ll explain later.” I have to get home and call Al.

“That better be a life-or-death conflict. You’ll never get another opportunity like this.”

My phone pings with a message from Aimee and I jump at the distraction. I read the text. Kristen has gone into labor, and as with her two previous pregnancies, she wants her friends at the hospital for moral support. Aimee’s worried about me. Another text pings.

Join me. We can talk there while we wait for Kristen.

Guess we’re chatting in the hospital cafeteria. I hope they’re serving humble pie.

“Gotta run,” I tell Erik. “The wife’s hailing.”

“My reputation is on the line, man. They’ll never let me refer you again. You better go to Spain.”

“I’m pregnant.”

As I drive to the hospital, I recall Aimee’s declaration from five years ago. Two words that packed a punch.

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