My dad picked it up. “That’s why we were wondering . . . if your friendship with Freya, is uh . . . more like, umm . . .”

My mom rescued him. “Is your relationship with Freya sexual?”

“Jesus,” I snapped, “You guys are sick.” But my face turned three shades of red, revealing my guilty conscience. I couldn’t forget that I’d lurked outside, watching Freya make love to Brian, and Max make love to Jamie. Freya’s kiss still lingered on my lips, still kept me up at night, along with vivid fantasies of a romantic future with her. But my relationship with Freya wasn’t sexual; it was more complex than that.

“You know we’re accepting of your orientation,” said Gwen.

“We wouldn’t necessarily expect you to have a traditional, heteronormative relationship,” my dad added.

But my mom fell apart. “You’re not emotionally mature enough to be involved with a grown woman! A married woman!”

“She’s eight months pregnant, for Christ’s sake!” Gwen shrieked.

“She’s using you!” my dad bellowed. “She doesn’t even pay you for your photography!”

Somehow, I remained calm. “I don’t expect you guys to understand.”

“We’re trying to, Swallow!” My mom was on the verge of tears. “Tell us what the hell is going on with you and that woman.”

But they’d never get it. So, I strolled away from their chorus of protests.

• • •

My bedroom was off-limits to me. Eckhart, who started his day at 5:00 a.m. was down for his morning nap, so I went outside and walked toward the beach-access road. As I sauntered, breathing in the pungent tinge of goat and pig feces in the cedar-scented air, I thought about leaving home. About moving in with Freya and Max. I hadn’t forgotten that Freya had been incensed when she’d found me squatting in her pottery studio, when I’d witnessed her attack on Max, but everything was different now. Once she knew that I knew what I knew . . . she would want to keep me happy. And close.

When I reached the beach, I sat on a driftwood log and texted her.

When should we do the pottery video?

She replied instantly.

Now. Before my stomach is too big to get near the wheel.

An afternoon shoot would have given me the opportunity to use my new studio lights, but I didn’t want to linger at home. It was only a matter of time before my parents regrouped, launched another attack on my “abnormal” friendship. Their words would have no impact, of course, but they would irritate me. The harmless but annoying buzzing of the male mosquito. I texted back.

I’ll be right over