Sarah’s in the head, cleaning vomit off herself. She’s never once gotten sick on this boat, but the same can’t be said for Nico Junior, who sprayed apple and carrot chunks all over her on the way out to the deep sea.

“We’re going to put a tarp over her next time,” I tell him.

Happy now that he’s emptied his breakfast down his mother’s shirt, he cups his hand over my nose and says the only word he knows. “Da!”

“Yeah. Da. Maybe we should just tie a bucket around your neck.”

“He’ll hang himself!” Sarah calls from the other side of the door.

“I’m joking.” I turn to the baby. “You know I’m joking, right?”

“Da!”

“He says he knows!”

I hear her harrumph through the door.

This will be our third trip out to sea on the resort’s yacht—and our last before shark season is over and we have to wait until next year. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind waiting a year or forever. Hanging around underwater isn’t my thing. For one, you can’t breathe. You can’t run. You can’t chase. You can’t even shoot straight down there. Every scuba lesson in the pool was an exercise in extreme self-control.

Living on an island resort freed Sarah to dive every day for months. Rylee, her instructor, has been hinting that when she has enough hours, she’ll hire her student to give lessons. But my wife just shrugs. She doesn’t want to be a scuba instructor. She wants to draw and paint in her little studio. She wants another baby. She wants to swim with sharks.

She can do all of it. Anything she wants. I’ll fuck her a thousand more times to give her the baby. I’ll run the resort while she paints and draws surreal landscapes. I didn’t think I could love anyone as much as I love her, until she stretches the limits of what’s possible and my love stretches with her.

The head door snaps open. My wife is clean and showered, puke-free, hair damp around her face, feet bare, covered everywhere else with a black wetsuit that matches the one I’m wearing.

Her body got even sexier after Nico Junior was born. She’s round and generous, fully herself in her body. She fits me better at the size she always should have been.

Little Nico plays with the flat tops of my ears, finding the ridged edges under my hair.

“Did Paul give the thumbs-up yet?” She reaches for Nico, and he puts his arms out as if he was waiting for his mother the whole time.

“He’s overconfident again.” I kiss her.

Nico mouth farts.

“You speak shark. Did you tell them to show up?” she asks.

“I left them a note on a lamp post.”

“That usually works.”