"Emily. You are pregnant. There are certain thing you can't do."
"And this isn't one of them."
"How in the world are you even supposed to play with a eight month old baby in your belly?"
"Damon , it's whiffle ball. Not football or wrestling or uneven bars ."
"Still. I don't think you should do it."
"Yes."
"No.
"Yes."
"No."
"You're dumb."
"I think you mean protective."
"No. I definitely mean dumb, dummy."
They paused to see half the picnic staring at them, most of them looking like they were trying to hold back smiles. Razor yelled from across the yard.
"You know how most people like you two fight like old married couples? You two don't. You fight like five year-olds."
They stared each other down, trying to stay mad, but failing as they burst into laughter.
"He's right, you know," Emily said. "We do fight like little kids."
"And just like I was little," Damon sighed, "I'm afraid to stand up to the pretty girl. Play. But be careful."
"I will, Damon ."
She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, and the whole picnic awed.