Page 63 of Drop the Mitts

“Please tell me Hope’s going on rides,” Curtis teased, slinging an arm around his wife’s shoulders. Their four kids ran ahead, riding the escalator up and down while they waited for their parents to catch up.

“Baby slide only.” Jenna gave Country a warning look. Hope kicked gleefully in her baby carrier, strapped snug against Jenna’s chest. Her little feet were bare, her fists balled at her cheeks, and every time she made a sound—a gurgle, a squeal, a determined raspberry—the entire group swooned.

“She’s smiling!” Rhonda cooed.

“No, she’s about to poop,” Suraj deadpanned from two steps back.

“Still adorable,” Emma chimed, glancing over her shoulder. “Honestly, she could throw up on me and I’d thank her for the honour.”

“She already has.” Country grinned. “You’re just immune to it now.”

Grace laughed along with the others, her fingers tightening on the strap of her tote bag. She couldn’t shake her nerves. Nobody here was looking at her with judgement, she knew that,but every time they gushed about Hope, it was another knife to her ribs. She didn’t know what the outcome of this case was going to be, and no matter how many people told her this wasn’t her fault, she still dragged that responsibility around like a sack of rocks. They might not blame her, but she would absolutely blame herself.

They stepped off the escalator and regrouped by the admissions desk. André, Sean, Tyler, Curtis, Country, Brett and the others stood in a loose pack near the entrance. André wore a charcoal-grey tank that clung to his chest and swim trunks that looked like they belonged in an Instagram ad. Grace wanted to latch onto that idea, but viewing André as vain or self-absorbed had been much easier two weeks ago.

He said something to Sean and they both laughed. It seemed to spur an entire conversation, but his eyes kept flicking over to her. Not overt. Just enough to make her stomach somersault. Grace pretended not to notice.

They paid, one by one, snapped their wristbands into place, then funneled through the changing room corridor. Grace stuck close to the women, losing herself in the chatter as the fluorescent lights gave way to the humid natural glow of the indoor waterpark.

The moment they stepped out of the changing rooms, a wave of warmth hit her. The buzz of the crowd, the squeals of children, the steady roar of water, and the smell of chlorine—all of it crashed around her like a sensory tidal wave.

Emma waved them toward a row of open lounge chairs near the tiki bar, just far enough from the splash zone. “Here’s home base,” she announced, already kicking off her sandals and unrolling her towel.

Grace slipped her bag off her shoulder and lay claim to a seat near the edge.

“Okay,” Rhonda pulled off her cover-up to reveal a cherry-red bikini. “Who’s doing margaritas with me?”

Kelty raised her hand without looking up from Hope, who was now kicking wildly in her little wrap, utterly delighted by the bright colors and sounds around them.

The guys didn’t even hesitate long enough to choose a lounge chair. One by one, they dropped their towels, kicked off flip-flops, and sprinted toward the wave pool like a pack of unsupervised teenagers. Curtis shouted something indecipherable, dragging his kids with him into the waves, and Tyler launched in after him. Brett and André jogged in, earning a whistle from the lifeguard.

André held up a hand in apology, but didn’t slow in the least. Grace caught herself smiling and clenching a hand to her chest at the same time. Was it pride she was feeling? Envy? There was a looseness to them, a weightlessness. They didn’t seem to give a shit about whether their bodies looked right or whether their hair got wet. They were having fun. Playing. She didn’t remember what that felt like.

Maybe she’d never truly experienced it. Even when she had the excuse to play, she’d been the kid hanging back.Just watching. Too worried about being slow playing tag on the playground, too worried about not knowing the rules, too aware of every inch of exposed skin. Even now, with a cut of suit she actually liked and legs that could run circles around her twenty-year-old self, that discomfort lingered in her ribs like a tight seam.

A low horn sounded, and Jenna tugged on her hand. “Come on. Let’s dip in. Pretty sure Hope’s going to be a wave junkie.”

Grace pulled off her outer layer and followed to the zero-entry slope, the concrete warm under her feet until the first hint of water kissed her toes. They found a spot just past the edge, away from the stream of kids tearing toward the water, and sat.The rhythmic pulse of the waves brushed against their thighs as they planted themselves in the shallow water.

Jenna propped Hope up between her legs, steadying her tiny frame as the baby squealed and reached gleefully toward the shimmering surface. Her chubby legs kicked, her hands splashed, and every so often, she turned and beamed up at her mom like she had invented joy itself.

Her mom.This was her mom.

Grace’s eyes burned, and she looked away until she could get a hold of herself. She sniffed and turned back with a smile. “She’s fearless.”

Jenna laughed. “She’s going to scare the crap out of us. She already tries to launch herself out of her little tub at home.”

Shouts lifted ahead of them. Country and Sean were double-teaming Tyler, trying to dunk him under the next incoming wave. André had joined Brett and Mike who were attempting to body surf, which mostly involved flailing limbs and juvenile howling.

“They’re like big puppies,” Jenna mused.

Grace nodded. “How are they not exhausted? All the time?”

Jenna laughed, then flinched as Hope sent water straight into her face. When Grace looked up again, André had peeled away from the group. He waded through the shallows toward them with water beading down his chest, his hair a little darker from the soak.

Grace stiffened. He stopped just short of them, towering above where they sat like some cocky sea god. He adjusted the waistband of his trunks knowing full well that his crotch was directly at her eye level.

“You look comfortable,” he said.

---