I try to think of a way out of the question. Anything that happened at rehearsal apart from Miles: the scenes we rehearsed, new sets, anything, but all I can focus on is the way Miles and I swung our hands back and forth like we were the only ones onstage.

God, I hope I’m not blushing. I stab one of the baby chickens—the hens, whatever they’re called—with a fork. I guess I can go with something that’ll make them laugh.

“Actually, something funny happened at school on Friday. We were supposed to share in psychology, right? I don’t know why I keep doing it, because everyone is so stupid,” I say, trying to slide my meal onto a plate. “This kid kept asking what I call my parents, since I have two dads. And I kept ignoring him, because I feel like that’s a self-explanatory question.”

“Mone, it kind of isn’t,” Dad says, cutting into his food. “I could see where the kid would be confused—”

“I think he was being homophobic,” Lydia says. “In her defense.”

“Fine.” Dad presses his lips together. “I approve.”

Claudia snickers.

“Anyway,” I continue. “I finally go, ‘I call my parents Ebony and Ivory.’ And he told me I was racist.”

Pops snorts, a bit of water sloshing out of his cup. He glances at Dad. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of that.”

“You missed out!” Lydia says. “Claudia, you should’ve been there.”

“I guess so,” Claudia says, winking at me. “But I’m sure rehearsal today was better.”

God, she’s such a jerk. I had finally succeeded in thinking about something other than Miles for the first time in hours. Dad and Pops notice everything, so I gulp at my water glass to hide my reaction. I don’t need another lecture about remaining abstinent. I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.

“Oh yeah,” Dad says, glancing over. “What happened at rehearsal today?”

“Dr. Garcia, did you know Simone said she wants five kids?” Lydia asks, changing the subject. Thank God for her. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Five?” Dad scoffs. “I’ve never heard her say that.”

“Kids are cute and magical,” I protest. “I didn’t get the whole sibling experience, so why not make a statement by having a ton?”

“That’s not how it works,” Claudia says. “Seriously, dude. That’s not why people have kids.”

I ignore her. “And none of the black babies ever get adopted, so I can just be like an old cat lady, except with babies.”

I feel my phone vibrating, but I don’t have to check the screen to know who it is. Answering a text from Miles at dinner would be totally a bad decision.

But still. It would be rude to leave him hanging.

“Cute black babies become grumpy black teenagers,” Pops points out. “Trust me—we know.”