Page 9 of The Summer Plans

“Sonofabitch,” I mutter as I bend down and clean the mess with a paper towel.

“That’s a bad word,” a small blond-haired boy says, startling me. “You need to pay the swear jar.”

“Sorry. I thought you were out on the beach with your mom. I’m RJ. You’re⁠—”

“Logan. I came back to get my book.” He holds up a book about sea animals. “Did you know octopuses have three hearts?”

“I think it’s octopi,” I correct.

“Actually, they’re both correct. You can also say octopodes.”

Blinking in shock, I rub a hand along my jaw. “I’ll be damned.”

“No swears.”

“Sorry. Darn.” Damn, I’ll have to watch myself. Normally my teenager rolls her eyes and calls me cringe. “How much do I owe you?”

“The first one is free since you didn’t know. But it’s five dollars per swear.”

“Got it.” I reach for my wallet when he stops me.

“You can just Venmo it. My mom can send it to you on her phone.” He runs out the patio door yelling “MOOOOM!”

Moments later, a sweaty, red-faced Summer dashes in, hot on his heels. “What is it, Logan? Is your blood sugar low? Do you need some juice?”

When she sees me in the kitchen, her eyes flash like she’s surprised I’m still here. But she quickly schools her features, her walls going back up.

“Can you give RJ the Venmo code? He said a swear.”

She pinches her brow, trying to maintain her composure, then turns and squats to address him. Her cover up slips off her shoulder, revealing her pink skin. Did she not put on sunscreen at all?

“You were yelling like it was an emergency. I thought you were about to pass out or something. You can’t scare me like that.”

“Are you diabetic?” I ask Logan.

Summer looks at me over her shoulder, answering at the same time as him. “Yes.”

“He’s type 1. Why?” Her eyes narrow on me in accusation, and it makes me wonder why she’s defensive about a simple question.

“There’s another rookie that joined at the same time as me, Sparky. He’s diabetic too. I’ve seen what he goes through managing his blood sugar, so I know a little about it.”

She stands, crossing her arms over her chest. The move is defensive, and it kills me that she feels the need to keep me at a distance. “Oh. Sorry. Not everyone is nice about it.”

“Why the f—” Logan clears his throat. “Why the heck would anyone be mean about that?”

“Not everyone understands that it’s hereditary. Some people assume it’s because I let him eat too much sugar or don’t control his diet or something. I’m used to having to give this whole speech educating people on the specifics.”

Well, fuck. “How is that anyone’s business?”

“When you become a mom, everything you do becomes everyone’s business. I can’t make a single decision about rearing my children without people criticizing it. If you don’t breastfeed, you’re a bad mom. Don’t put them to sleep on their tummy, but if they lay on their back too much, they’ll get a flat spot. Never let them sleep in their car seat, but what if that’s the only place they’ll sleep for more than thirty minutes at a time? And that’s just when they’re babies. It never stops. Everyone has an opinion about what you’re doing wrong, and for some reason people think a hereditary disease is something I should’ve been able to prevent with less sugar in his diet, and they have no issue telling me. Even strangers.” Her shoulders are bunched to her ears as her hands clench at her sides.

Closing the distance between us, I grab her hand and wrap my arms around her in a hug. She stands there stiff as a board for several seconds, then moves a hand up, patting my back robotically.

“What’s this for?”

“Seemed like you could use a hug.” I drop my head, wishing I could kiss her shoulder. Her too-pink shoulder. “Did you put sunscreen on?”

“Ughhh.” She presses her face into my chest, using it to muffle her groan. “Ouch.” When she pulls back, I notice how pink her face is too.