“Well, we were pretty raw last night.”

“Wilder,” I chastise.

“What?” he says on a laugh. “The condoms are fifteen dollars a pack. I wasn’t paying that much to cover up when you’re on birth control.”

The only reason I know he knows that is because he’s seen me take the pill at night before I climb into bed.

He then looks Sanders in the eyes and says, “Fifteen dollars? Really, man?”

Sanders doesn’t even balk at the number as he says, “Capitalism at its finest.”

“How do you sleep at night?” Wilder asks.

“With my wife next to me.”

Wilder nods. “Smooth answer.”

“Thank you.” Sanders sets the ball and glove down and then folds his hands together. “You have three more full days left here. I want you spending them together, working out any other issues that might be plaguing you, and coming up with a plan for how to deal with them in everyday life, because when you return to society, I don’t want you to fall back into your old habits. I want this marriage to work. To thrive. So spend the next few days coming up with that plan, and at the end of camp, I want to hear that plan. Understood?”

We both nod together.

“Good. Now, for today, I want you to go on a date. I want you to plan it together and then see it through. It could be whatever you want. We have a booklet in the main building, where you can decide what that will be. But I want it to be fun. Think you can handle that?”

“I think we can,” Wilder says.

“Perfect.” Sanders stands, so we do as well. “I look forward to seeing what you picked. And remember, we’re moving forward, not backward.”

“Right,” I say. “Forward.”

Wilder takes my hand, and together, we walk out of the cabin and down the path toward the main building.

“I can’t believe you told him we had sex last night and this morning,” I say.

“Why? He’s our therapist. He needs to know that.”

“He’s our pretend therapist.”

“Feels pretty real to me. Also, just be happy I didn’t write on everyone’s cabin window this morning that we fucked, okay? Because if I had it my way, I’d let everyone know. I would have called in a marching band, some skywriters, maybe even a magician who would make me magically appear out of a box only so I could shout into a megaphone that we fucked.”

“That seems a bit over the top.”

“You’re right. Maybe a touch too much. How about this? Should I just say it in greeting to everything I see? ‘Good morning. How are you? Scottie rocked my world last night with her pussy. How was your night?’”

“Oh my God, stop it,” I say, pushing at him, causing him to laugh.

“It’s true.”