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Oh crap. Everything in my mind is obliterated. I try to think back to that moment, when I had decided in a hot rush of emotions to tell her the truth. “Er. Yeah, it was just—um, yeah, um.” She had looked so panicked then. What did she think I was about to tell her? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t possibly tell her before the launch of OneLiner. I don’t know how she might react, but it’s probably not going to be a happy reaction. I mean, sure, she’s amazing in person, but her chat messages are all about righteousness, and what I did was definitely not righteous in the least. She might choose to blow up the entire thing, tell the world that I tricked her, that my family deceived her. Done right before the launch, it might undo us all.

“It’s nothing,” I say, after a terrible silence.

She looks disappointed, but then her eyes widen and she grabs my arm and yanks me to hide behind a nearby cabana.

“What is it?”

She shushes me and points in the distance, where I spot two figures on the beach. Two women. I frown at their silhouettes. Are they supposed to mean something to me?

“Wha—”

“That’s my mom,” Sharlot hisses. I don’t know why she bothers trying to speak in a low voice; we’re far enough away that they can’t possibly hear us.

As though she hears what I’m thinking, she gestures for me to follow her. Still crouched low, we make our way toward the two figures as stealthily as we can, which is probably not at all stealthy. Fortunately, Shar’s mom and her friend don’t notice us. The crashing waves mask any sound of approach, and soon we’re about as close as we can be while still remaining hidden. We stand behind a large rock and I rake my hair out of my face as Sharlot peers out from behind the rock. Why are we even hiding? Next to me, Sharlot suddenly stiffens and lets out a small gasp. Curiosity overcomes me and I peer out above her head.

Oh.

Shar’s mom is kissing the other woman.

“Ah. Uh.” I have no idea what to say. I take a deep breath and hold it for the longest time. The kiss continues for an eternity. Civilizations are built and crumble back into dust and are replaced by the time they emerge for air. And when they do, my mind short-circuits, because I get a glimpse of the other woman’s face.

It’s Eighth Aunt.

George catches my hand and I realize I’ve been whispering, “Oh my god,” out loud and am getting louder. I clap a hand over my mouth and stare, wide-eyed and wild-eyed, at George. He goggles back at me, his mouth gaping open. We gesture frantically at each other, shouting soundlessly behind our rock. No words come out, but I think the conversation is somewhere along the lines of:

Holy shit?!

I know!

What the hell?

I KNOW!

WHAT DO WE DO?

I DON’T KNOW!

AAAAAHHHHH!

AAHGSFHGASJSH!

At some point, we decide we can’t possibly get caught by Mama and George’s Eighth Aunt, so we rush from the beach, clambering up the stone steps back to the main resort building.Once we’re far enough away from the beach that we can no longer see even a glimpse of sand, we stop and catch our breaths.

It’s only then that I realize we’re holding hands. When and how did that happen? Who caught whose hand? George seems to realize it at the same time and snatches his hand away like my fingers have turned into snakes, which is very flattering. Not. I try not to show how much that bothers me. And anyway, we’ve got a more pressing issue here.

“Oh my god,” I say again. I feel like I should probably say something more intelligent than that, but seriously, oh my god.

“Did you know your mum’s, uh—?”

Something about the way he falters rakes at my skin. “You can say ‘lesbian,’ George. Or bisexual.” The words come out so much more caustic than I meant them to that I almost apologize. Almost.

He grimaces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I mean, I’m just. I don’t—um.”

He looks so sorry that I deflate a little. “It’s fine. No, I didn’t know. I’ve always assumed that my mother’s straight.” The words burn me with guilt. Why had I assumed that Mama was straight? Now that I stop to think about it, it feels like a serious oversight, an assumption I made because I’m heterosexual and therefore everyone else is too. A lazy, harmful assumption. I mean, I even assumed she was into George’s dad! Why do I have to make a heteronormative assumption about everyone? This is definitely something I need to work on. I squeeze my eyes shut. Somehow, this realization has changed everything. When I think back tomy interactions with Mama, they’re all colored differently, all of them reframed with a different meaning.

George is looking as shaken as I feel, and it hits me then that he must be pretty surprised too, since it wasn’t just Mama on the beach. “You good?” I say.

He gapes at me. “I mean, yeah. Just a bit shell-shocked.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “It’s stupid, but I’m just looking back at everything I thought I knew about Eighth Aunt and realizing that I knew nothing about her. She never married, you know. I always thought it was because she never met any man good enough for her.”