I freeze, eyes wide, but Ryan just jerks his head toward the door. “C’mon, Spence. We have work to do.”
Thirty
You Get What You Give
Ryan
I push through the double doors into the community center, Spence trailing behind me. The murmur of conversation halts. Heads swivel in my direction. Bright eyes widen, and I’m met by a chorus of excited gasps. Someone claps. Then more—like the applause you get when you’re being carried off the field, beat-up but alive. I spot the Bettys. All three get up from their table. Betti, the spry one, is the first to reach me. She wraps her arms around me in a surprise tackle-hug that nearly knocks me off balance.
She pulls back, pats my cheek, and says, “I know you told us you were okay on our video call, but it’s not the same as hugging you. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Bette is next, wrapping me up in a gentler, vanilla-scented hug. “How’s the healing going?” she asks.
I shrug. “As well as can be expected.” I kiss her on the forehead.
A crowd closes in. Hugs. Handshakes. High-fives. But my eyes are on Betty, still standing by the table, arms crossed, trying to look uninterested. I know better. I bump Spence with my shoulder. He looks a bit lost and, honestly, it’s adorable.
“I want you to meet someone,” I say, grabbing Spence’s arm and towing him over.
Betty is in a flowy red dress that matches her hair, a thick white belt cinched around her tiny waist. Her nails: same red as the dress. Red-and-white polka-dot flats. White beaded necklace. I place my hands gently on her upper arms.
“You look beautiful today, B.”
She gives me a hard look. “I know.”
I laugh, and a little chuckle comes from Spence. Betty’s eyes are shiny with tears.
“Hey.” I squeeze her arms. “It’s okay. I’m alright.”
She pinches my side. Hard. “Ouch! Why is everyone beating up the injured man today?”
Betty fishes a tissue from the pocket of her dress, dabs her eyes. “Because we love you, you big idiot.”
Spence barks a surprised laugh.
Betty zeroes in on him. “And who might you be?”
Betti and Bette come back to the table, flanking her.
“Yeah, who are you?” Bette chirps.
I turn to Spence. “Ladies, this is my friend Spence. He’s been helping me while I recover.” They all stare openly, approvingly, appraisingly.
“Spence, these are the Bettys. Betti with an I, Bette with an E, and the Queen B, Betty with a Y.” I hold a hand over each of their heads as I introduce them.
Spence gives a stiff wave. “Hello. Nice to meet you all.”
Betty points at his shoes. “Those the new Gucci loafers?”
Spence’s jaw drops. “How do you know that?”
Betty snorts. “I’m old, not dead. I’ve been into fashion since before you shit your first diaper. Besides, I have plenty of time to keep up with fashion trends in this prison.” She gestures to her own outfit, proud.
Spence eyes her look, then shrugs. “Eh. I would have made a different choice with the belt.”
Betty narrows her eyes, arms crossed.
Spence matches her stance, unblinking.
