Page 90 of Get Me to the Starting Line

Paige looks around when she has a free second and narrows her eyes. “What are you plotting back there?”

“Nothing,” all three of us say at once, inducing another round of laughter.

Paige rolls her eyes and then smashes a ball so hard it makes a thud on the other side of the cage, rattling the walls. She’s smug as she hands the bat to Isabel.

Ever competitive, my sister.

Sometimes I wish I’d inherited that gene as well, but I come to my senses quickly. With how Type A I am about everything else, being obsessed with winning is the last thing I need in my life.

“Does the Bechdel test allow talking about Levi?” Paige asks with a sweaty grin.

Isabel swings and misses. To be fair, she’s barely trying, half-assing her way through her turn. “I’ll allow it,” she says.

Snorting, I tell Paige about the doctor’s appointment coming up. I haven’t quite shared my fears in detail with her, but she likely suspects. Given how much she’s shown up for me over the past few months, she knows I’m worried about him.

When she senses I no longer want to talk about Levi’s speech issues, she changes topics.

“So, this stag and doe weekend ...” she starts, but I put a hand up to stop her.

“Not a chance. My lips are firmly sealed.”

“That’s not what I heard!” Isabel calls from inside the batting cage. She’s not even pretending to try—leaning against the wall as balls fly out of the launcher.

Dana tried to insist someone else take her turn but Isabel refused, claiming she wanted to keep things fair.

Such a troublemaker, that one. I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Just that Julien was rushed to the hospital looking dishevelled and not at all satisfied.” Isabel spins the bat around, accidentally nicking one of the free-flying balls. “Oh, I hit one!” she exclaims in surprise.

Paige ignores her, rounding on me. My protests go unheard. We’re never going to pass that damn test.

“What?!” Paige practically yells. The people from the adjacent cage turn our way.

“How the fuck did you find out?” I address my question to Isabel.

“I have a spy,” she says with a shrug.

“A spy?” Dana asks. She’s been around Isabel longer than Paige or me, so she’s used to her antics. There’s nothing Isabel loves more than dragging out a juicy story. I have to resist the urge to rub my eyes in frustration.

Or throw a bat at my sister’s future sister-in-law.

“I know lots of doctors at the hospital, they’re such gossips.”

Isabel leaves the cage and hands me the bat—not a safe move considering my violent imaginings.

“Wouldn’t that be a violation against HIPAA or something?” I ask, suppressing my intrusive thoughts to chuck the bat at her.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “HIPAA doesn’t apply in Canada. We have provincial Privacy Protection Acts, and no, consultations about potential cases don’t break those.”

“Doctors gossiping is considered a consultation now?” Paige asks with a smile.

“I mean, I billed them for it, so yes, it falls under solicitor-client privilege.” Isabel’s smile widens, making her look like the Cheshire cat. Dana laughs and high-fives her sister-in-law.

It’s not that I’m keeping it a secret from them, I just don’t know how to explain it. How do I explain we went from barely speaking to almost having sex within the span of an hour? I don’t even understand it.

Thankfully, the batting cage is an excellent distraction—I don’t have to look at them when I tell them.

“Julien and I were watching the Whales game—”

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