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But her bangs are pointing in several directions, and faint lines from the pillow crease one cheek. She looks soft and rumpled and so pretty that I forget what I was about to say.

“We’re really going to the beach?” she asks.

“We are.”

She lights up. The reaction moves through me with a force I’m still not accustomed to.

“I need a better bikini. The black one is for the pool.”

“You have another.”

“A different color?”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m not a black-bikini person. It makes me feel like I’m attending a funeral poolside.”

I laugh.

“No funeral attire.”

“What color?”

“Purple.”

Her eyes widen. “You mean to tell me I had a purple bikini this entire time?”

“Elena.”

“You made me wear black while a purple one existed?”

“Go pee.”

“That feels deliberately cruel.”

“Less talking. More peeing.”

She points toward the door. “Out.”

I lean down and kiss the top of her head.

“Twenty minutes.”

She begins pushing me toward the door.

“Fine. Go before you waste any more of my twenty minutes.”

I let her shut the door in my face.

The lock clicks.

“Elena.”

“I don’t need you supervising!”

I laugh as I walk back toward the bedroom.

The purple bikini waits on the bench where I left it, surrounded by everything she could possibly wear for one morning beside the ocean.