“So,” I say to Drew. We’re sitting at the bar, ginger ales in hand—Coach has set down a no-beers-from-this-point-on rule—and Drew’s trying to be supportive. Good man. “So,” Drew says back then takes a drink. “Ivy’s pregnant.” It’s almost worth my current anxiety to watch him choke and spew ginger ale all over the bar. The bartender gives him an annoyed look then walks over to wipe up the splatter with a rag.
