“Yeah. So my cousin the asshole—” “Brian or Carlo the plumber?” Riley clarified. “Different asshole cousin. The then cheerleader, now physical therapist who lives in Baltimore. She told us she’d teach us some Swedish phrases to impress Astrid,” Nick continued. “Oh boy,” she said, getting a glimpse of teenage Nick and Weber—gawky in braces and pubescent bodies—eagerly memorizing phrases written in a notebook. “Yeah. Needless to say, we weren’t actually saying, ‘You’re the hottest girl ever,’ and ‘I’m mature for my age,’” Nick said, clapping a hand to her shoulder. It slid right off as if she’d
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