Page 37 of 32 Days in May

“Do it. Let’s see if you’re as cute as Emmett when you puke.”

I laugh. “No way. This’ll be some real Exorcist shit.”

“Hey, look—” Marco leans over to point and his arm finds its way around me and Emmett. He points out at the open, calm water. “Dolphin.”

“Oh my goodness. Emmett, look—” A pod of tails break through the surface, one after another, catching the late, low sun.

Emmett gasps and twists around in his seat to get a better view. He’s suddenly feeling agile and awake. “Dolphin,” he gasps. Pure joy.

I pull my phone out of my bag and begin snapping a thousand pictures of Emmett pointing and laughing and clapping, leaning backward to get the best angle. I’m leaning deeper and deeper into Marco’s chest but he doesn’t move. He keeps his arm idling around me, fingers resting on the metal rail. He’s laughing softly, chest vibrating against my back while I yell, “Smile!” over and over.

“Keep your phone still,” he chastises me, tone playful. “Can you take one that isn’t blurry?”

“I’m going for something avant-garde. Abstract. Dadaist.” I tilt the phone and snap a sideways picture of Emmett with the extra-long zoom on. Marco’s hand is in the corner, barely visible, and I catch myself thinking about how nice his fingernails are.

“Let me do it,” he says, engulfing me in his arms, hands coming over mine. His lips are right next to my ear now. His grip is firm without being forceful, and the smell of him—human and smoky, with a hint of something petal-soft—overwhelms me. I’m releasing my breaths slower, slipping microscopically into his embrace. “See,” he nearly purrs, his voice low and gravelly in my ear. “Hold. Steady.”

I wonder if the blond woman is watching us, and I wish I could see what she sees. I want to know how I look leaning backward into Marco’s chest, his chin resting against my shoulder. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen what I look like with someone’s arms around me, let alone someone like Marco. Someone who calls me baby and pops my Diet Coke open before handing it over. There’s a slickness in my stomach that drips down, snaking through my abdomen into my thighs. Something inside that’s foreign, long dormant, waking up.

Emmett suddenly tries to stand on the bench, gripping the railing with both hands. “Easy, buddy,” I say, lurching out of Marco’s arms as he also immediately adjusts his hand to steady Emmett, chin grazing my exposed shoulder.

Now I’m aware of how close we’ve been. How any micro-movement would make it so obvious how close we are, hurtling us head-first into self-awareness and then an acknowledgment that maybe we want to be this close. Or that Marco wants to be this close and I don’t have it in me to move away.

My skin goose-bumps and he must notice because I can hear him doing one of his little laughs. I ignore him, focusing all my attention on keeping Emmett from slipping between the railing and the ledge of the boat, soaking in the look on his face as he watches the pod before anyone else. Bill will get on his PA soon announcing the dolphins’ arrival and everyone will rush over, shrieking. We’ll be surrounded on all sides by bodies and noise.

But for right now, only we know about the dolphins.

After the raucous and highly successful dolphin sighting, Bill says we can finally head back to toward solid land. The sun is setting and the early-May warmth has evaporated, sending almost everyone inside the boat’s main cabin, a large room outfitted with old, moss-colored carpet and muck-crusted windows. Marco asks if I want to go inside, but I can’t imagine trading our perfect seats for anything, let alone a stuffy, noisy room.

Now the deck’s all ours. Emmett lies down on the bench, resting his head in my lap, and falls asleep tucked under my cardigan. I’m texting with Jen, sending her picture after picture of her son pointing at the dolphins. She’s apologizing profusely, no matter how much I reassure her that Emmett is actually an angel—the type of kid that tricks you into thinking you want your own.

I have to ask, she pivots.

Yes, I write back immediately, he is the guy from dude’s ranch

Omfg. I knew it!!!!! Vinny Baldacco!!!! Wait are you two dating???

I bite my lip to hide a treacherous little smile. It’s a long story.

Marco’s on the other side of the deck, staring out at the ocean. He’s put himself on whale watch duty for me. After Bill threw it in reverse, I’d made a small comment about how I’d really hoped we’d see at least a sliver of whale.

Marco had shrugged. “It’s not too late.” And then he planted himself across from me, staring out at the horizon. The wind is ruffling his hair, blowing it backward and sideways away from his face. Every once in a while, he raises the camera from around his neck and snaps a picture.

For now, yes, I say to Jen. I tuck my phone into my tote bag and rest my head on the metal railing, letting my eyes fall partially shut. I don’t want to miss a second of this calm, but I can feel the day catching up to me. Exhaustion seeping into my bones along with the happiness, making me feel heavy and drunk.

I blink my eyes open slowly and there’s Marco—standing in front of me, camera held to his eye as he maintains his balance with tensed legs.

“Don’t move,” he instructs me.

I groan. “Why?”

“Because there’s a whale right behind you.”

“Behind me?” I lift my head and he lets out a stream of eh, eh, ehs like I’m a dog.

“Almost got it.” The camera shutters once, twice. “Perfect. Quick, look now, before she’s gone.”

I turn just in time—just as a tail breaks through the water’s surface, bringing with it a burst of water. Elegant and enormous, big enough to produce a rainbow, sun rays catching and exploding from marigold into prismatic Technicolor. The air smells like summer. I press my forehead to the railing and watch the whale as she grows smaller and smaller, as we speed farther and farther away.