“This isn’t a chill situation,” I said.
“Clearly.”
“Isla.”
“What? I was just going to text Mila.”
“That’s the problem,” I said.
Her nose wrinkled. “Why?”
I crouched in front of Isla, choosing every word carefully. “Catherine and I have been dating in secret,” I confessed.
Isla’s eyes widened, but not with hurt. I had seen that look before. It usually came right before a question I was not emotionally equipped to answer.
“Secret dating sounds dramatic,” she said.
“It has been,” Catherine muttered.
I glanced up at her.
She shrugged. “It has.”
I looked back at Isla. “The reason it has been secret is because Catherine’s parents don’t know yet.”
Isla’s face changed. “Oh.”
That was when she understood at least part of it. “Cole and Holland don’t know?”
“Not yet,” I winced. I was not setting a very good example for my daughter.
Isla looked at Catherine. “Are you in trouble?”
“No,” Catherine said after a second. “But it’s complicated, and we need to tell them ourselves. Not through a text. Not through Mila or by accident.”
Isla nodded slowly. “So, I can’t tell Mila yet.”
“Sorry but it would be better for us if you didn’t,” I said.
Isla studied us both for a second, then sighed like we had created a real inconvenience in her social schedule.
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” Catherine said.
“Bug,” I said, “can you sit on the couch for a minute? Catherine and I need to talk in the kitchen.”
“Adult whispering?”
“Yes.”
She walked into the living room and flopped onto the couch with the lip gloss still in her hand. A second later, Moana’s menu music started again. Catherine and I stayed in the kitchen. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she leaned back against the counter and covered her face with both hands. “Your daughter is terrifyingly perceptive.”
“I know.”
“She handled that better than either of us,” she said.
“Tell me about it.”