"I don't want to make this weird," I said.
"It's not weird," she said, a little too quickly.
"It's a little weird."
She almost smiled, a small, tired flicker of an expression. "It's a little weird," she agreed.
I looked at the dish towel in my hands, twisting the fabric. "We're adults," I said. "We were kids when—all of that. A lifetime ago." I looked up, catching her gaze. "And this—" I gestured vaguely at the kitchen, the low hum of the television, the three plates drying on the rack. "This is for Lily. That’s what this is."
Maddie looked at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine for a crack in the logic. "Right," she said.
"She needs people around her who knew Cassie. People who actually give a damn." I kept my voice as level as a spirit balance. "You give a damn. That’s obvious. So."
"So," she echoed.
"So we’re adults," I said again, because apparently, if I said it a third time, it might actually become the truth. "And we can be—we can do this. Whatever this is. Without it being?—"
"Without it being a thing," she finished for me.
"Right."
"Because we’re adults."
"Right."
She looked at the counter. I looked at the counter. From the living room came the sound of Lily's program, something with a lot of cheerful music.
"I think that's very sensible," Maddie said, in a tone that was perfectly level and gave absolutely nothing away.
"It is sensible," I said.
"Very mature."
"Extremely mature."
She laid the dish towel down on the counter, smoothing the fabric with a precision that felt intentional. She was close enough that I could smell the cold night air still clinging to her coat—close enough that I could have reached out and?—
I didn't finish the thought. I killed it before it could take a breath.
"Good," she said.
"Good," I said.
Neither of us moved.
Then Lily appeared in the doorway in her pyjamas, rabbit under her arm, and looked between us with the expression of someone arriving at a scene and drawing their own conclusions.
"It's been twenty minutes," she said. Her voice was flat, checking the receipts on our earlier agreement.
"Has it?" I said, my heart rate finally starting to settle.
"Yes." She turned her gaze to Maddie. "Will you be here next Friday?"
Maddie looked at me. I looked at Maddie. We were two "mature adults" suddenly paralyzed by the simple scheduling request of a five-year-old.
"We'll see," Maddie said.
Lily considered this with the attention she gave to things she'd already decided. "Okay," she said, and turned and went upstairs. We listened to her footsteps on the stairs, the creak of her door, and then nothing.