Dad studied me.
“She’s scared,” I said, voice low. “She’s worried about her career. About disappointing them. About people turning her into a rumor.”
Dad’s expression changed, just a little. Mom touched his arm. He looked back at me. “That doesn’t make hiding better.”
“No. But it makes rushing worse,” I countered because it was the truth.
For once, he had no immediate answer. Mom picked up the bakery box and opened it.
“We came to bring cookies and check on Isla. We’re going to do that, and then we’re leaving.”
Dad looked at her.
She looked back. “Oli.”
He sighed. “Fine.”
We went back to the living room. Catherine’s eyes found mine immediately. Are you okay? I nodded once.
My parents stayed for exactly seven minutes, which felt like seven playoff overtimes. Mom asked Isla about her stomach. Dad asked Taylor if she liked the building. Taylor answered like a normal person, which was impressive considering she knew almost everything and was actively holding popcorn like a hostage negotiator. Catherine stayed calm. Which meant she was probably panicking under the surface. When my parents finally stood to leave, Dad pulled me toward the door.
His voice was quiet. “I’m not going to tell Cole.”
Relief hit hard enough to make me lightheaded.
“But you should. And if this blows up because you waited too long, you won’t be able to call yourself unlucky,” he said, which hit exactly where he meant it to.
I blinked.
Dad held my gaze for another second, then squeezed my shoulder.
Mom hugged Isla, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “Be careful.”
Then they were gone. For the rest of the movie, things settled. Not completely, but enough. Isla forgot the tension because she was ten and Moana was still more important than adult weirdness. Taylor made occasional comments about the crab being underrated. Catherine laughed more softly now, but she did laugh.
When the credits rolled, Isla popped up. “Taylor,” she said, “come see my new lip gloss.”
Taylor blinked. “I’m sorry, your what?”
“My grandma bought it. It’s clear but sparkly.”
“I have to see this.” Taylor looked at Catherine, then at me, then back at Isla. “Lead the way.”
Catherine stood and started gathering empty cups from the coffee table.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“I know.”
She picked up the popcorn bowl. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
I followed her into the kitchen because apparently, I had learned nothing. She set the bowl on the counter, then turned to face me. “Your dad knows.”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Is he going to tell my dad?”
“No.”
