I think my jaw drops around six inches. “Figure skating?!”

I watch the palm trees swaying in the Florida breeze and sigh happily. “Are palm trees actually pretty, or do we just associate them with vacation and good times?” I ask dreamily.

Ma elbows me, Goldie pats my head in mock condescension, and Babby nods and says, “That is a thinking question, Bella.”

Which makes me feel bad, for like the two millionth time, that I had complained about her coming.

Here’s the thing: Florida Babby is fun. Since we’d arrived yesterday, Babby has come to the beach with us, treated us all to lunch, and shopped with us in Aventura for a full hour before pleading senior citizenship and settling onto a bench with a book while we finished up. Now, as we sip tea after supper, staring out at the postcard view, Babby is the only one taking my prattling seriously.

Goldie bids us all a goodnight and heads off to put Effie to sleep and to call Benny. Ma takes a stack of papers and her red “grading pen” and heads to the apartment balcony for some ocean air and Chumash test corrections. And that leaves just Babby and me, nestled comfortably on the huge wraparound couch, both of us in need of the pull-out leg rests.

“How you doing, partner in surgery recuperation?” Babby asks, winking.

I think about this. How am I doing…

“Physically, great, baruch Hashem,” I say. “A few lingering aches and pains but totally fine.”

It’s a bit awkward, honestly. I feel like I should have a funny story or something interesting to share with her, but all I can seem to think of are the lyrics to Yaakov Sheweky’s “We Are a Miracle.”

I rub my leg subconsciously. “And how are you, Babby?”

“I’m alright, baruch Hashem, thank you for asking.”

It grows uncomfortably quiet.