Sharaun and I are in bed watching a show on Netflix.

It is a dramatic moment; we are just about to learn an important new clue about the possible identity of the killer.

Through the bedroom door enters Keaton, our almost-fifteen daughter.

“I have an announcement!” She proclaims, holding both hands up near-head height in a stop-listen-this-is-important display.

“Hang on let us pause the show,” says Sharaun, “This is an important part.”

“My announcement is important, too,” says Keaton.

Show paused, killer temporarily safe from our discovery, we both turn our attention to Keaton. “OK, what’s up?,” asks Mom.

Lowering her hands a little, but not fully, she pushes the air forward with each word, as if to emphasize them, or maybe to help push them from her to us.

“I am in a romantic relationship with Andrew.”

Sharaun and I shoot quick smiling glances at each other as we launch into genuine, non-condescending, laughter.

Keaton follows-up quickly, she’s smiling now, too, seeing our reactions. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell you!” Small pause… “He already told his Mom!”

“Well, thanks for letting us know,” we say (or something close to that, I can’t really recall but I remember not saying “congratulations” as it felt wrong).

Two weeks back at school face-to-face and already be-boyfriended.

And there it is.

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