I glance up nervously and find Dawn biting her lip. It momentarily pulls all my focus.

“That is absolutely fucking adorable,” she says.

My cheeks burn, and I reflexively reach up to cover my face with my hand. In doing so I get flour all over my forehead. Excrement. “My mom’s a nerd,” I mumble, subtly swiping at my face.

Dawn leans forward across the counter. “Do you have a replacement for the f-word?”

I dump warm water and instant yeast into the mixing bowl. “Intercourse,” I say to the bowl.

Rich, deep laughter bubbles out of Dawn. It’s one of those laughs that’s so fun, you can’t help but join in. I giggle with her. I guess it is kind of funny.

Dawn is beaming at me now. “I’m using that from now on, your mom’s an intercourse-ing comedic genius, Siri. Do you say”—she puts on an angry voice—“Intercourse you.”

My face heats as I nod through a bout of silent laughter. “Yeah,” I admit.

“Do you just yell INTERCOURSE when something really shit happens?”

I have to consciously stop myself from hunching over as my abs convulse so I don’t hurt my back. “Sometimes,” I breathe quietly.

Dawn pushes the second wine glass across the counter to me. “Wow, this is the best thing I’ve heard all week. When something’s really great do you ever just scream”—she stands up out of her seat and holds her glass up in the air—“INTERCOURSE, YEAH!”

I shake my head now, tears of laughter building in my eyes.

“It’s so sex positive!” Dawn bursts.

We’re both howling. When I regain my composure, I start kneading the dough, now sporting a grin I can’t quite manage to tame.

Dawn watches me across the table. “You look so different now compared to earlier—in a good way.” She points at me with her wine glass.

I’ve changed into the most “me” outfit I could find: a white sleeveless shirt and black yoga pants Jamie had in the back of her closet.

I shrug, trying not to look too flattered, but I’m secretly stupidly excited that she thinks so. “I tried to dress more like myself.”

She raises a shoulder. “It’s not just that. You look more comfortable.”

My smile widens. I focus on pushing this giggly energy into kneading the dough.

“Do you not like wine?” Dawn asks after a moment. I glance up at my untouched wine glass.

“I’ve never actually dabbled in wine or alcohol at all because I’m an athlete…”

Her expression warps into a knowing smile. “Ah, that makes sense.”

I pull over the garlic and crush into it. “What makes sense?”

“That you’re an athlete. You look like one. You have really nice arms.”