“I was with your dad when he got the call. Thought I’d tag along.” I attempt a smile. “Moral support.”
She considers this with the gravity only an eight-year-old can muster. “That’s nice of you. Dad needs moral support sometimes. He pretends he doesn’t, but I can tell.”
“Michaela,” David says, a warning in his tone.
“What? It’s true.” She looks back at me. “Are you going to wait with me while Dad talks to Principal Harrison? She said they need to discuss ‘security protocols.’” She makes air quotes. “That means grown-up stuff I’m not supposed to hear.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here,” I say. “You can tell me all about your latest mock trial.”
Michaela beams. “Can we talk about whether dolphins are smarter than dogs?”
“We can talk about anything you want.”
David stands, one hand still resting on Michaela’s head. “OK, then. You go with Uncle Logan and I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Take your time.” I gesture toward the chairs along the wall. “I’m dying to know the verdict on dogs versus dolphins.”
David’s mouth twitches—the first hint of a smile since the phone call. “Behave. Both of you.”
He disappears into the inner office, where I catch a glimpse of a woman with auburn hair and a concerned expression before the door closes.
Michaela climbs into one of the chairs, her legs swinging well above the floor. She pats the seat next to her.
“Sit,” she commands. “You look like you need to sit. Dad says standing when you don’t have to is a waste of energy.”
I sit. “Your dad’s a smart man.”
“I know. It’s genetic.” She studies me with unsettling intensity. “Why were you with my dad today? You usually only hang out when Uncle Dominic makes everyone.”
“I needed to talk to him about something.”
“What kind of something?”
“Grown-up stuff.”
She rolls her eyes. “Everyone always says that. It’s never as complicated as you think it is.”
“This might be.”
“Try me.”
I shouldn’t. She’s eight. This is wildly inappropriate. But there’s something about Michaela’s matter-of-fact demeanor that makes me want to test her theory.
“I like someone,” I say carefully. “But I did something that hurt her feelings. And now I don’t know how to fix it.”
Michaela nods sagely. “Did you say sorry?”
“Yes.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you explain why you did the thing that hurt her feelings?”
I hesitate. “Not... exactly.”
“Well, there’s your problem.” She says it like it’s obvious. Like I’m the eight-year-old and she’s the adult. “People can’t forgive you if they don’t understand. That’s what Dad always says. ‘Explain your reasoning, Michaela. Help me understand.’”
