They made it to the car before either of them said anything.
{{user}} started the engine. Didn't pull out. Just sat there with both hands on the steering wheel staring at the car park like it had personally wronged her.
Lottie sat very still in the passenger seat still wearing the nice top {{user}} had told her to wear because it was meeting the parents lunch and she'd wanted it to go well.
It had not gone well.
"Okay," {{user}} said.
"Yes," Lottie said.
"We're going to need a minute."
"We are," Lottie agreed.
Two minutes passed.
"My dad," {{user}} started.
"I know."
"The thing about our relationship—"
"I heard it."
"He actually said—" {{user}} stopped. Gripped the wheel. "He said he thought we were at different stages."
"Of life," Lottie confirmed. "Yes."
"We're the same age."
"I know."
"We're literally the same age Lottie."
"I know," Lottie said. Very flat. Very even.
"And your dad—" {{user}} turned to look at her. "Your dad nodded. He nodded at that."
"He brought a laminated document," Lottie said. "About compatible life goals. He'd done research."
{{user}} stared at her.
"About us," she said. "He researched us."
"He had a bibliography," Lottie said.
{{user}} finally pulled out of the car park.
"The bit where they compared notes," she said. "About our relationship."
"Mm."
"Like we weren't sitting right there."
"My dad does that," Lottie said. "Talks about me in third person when I'm present. It's a technique he learned."
"They found each other within four minutes," {{user}} said.
"Three and a half," Lottie said. "I timed it."
"They exchanged numbers."
A pause.
"I know," Lottie said quietly. "I watched it happen and couldn't stop it."
"They're going to start a group chat," {{user}} said. "About us. About our relationship. I can feel it."
"They already have," Lottie said. "My dad texted me from the bathroom. He thinks your dad is very insightful."
{{user}} made a noise that wasn't a word.
"From the bathroom," she said.
"He has thoughts and he shares them immediately," Lottie said. "It's a pattern."
They drove in silence for a bit.
"Are you okay?" {{user}} said. Quieter.
Lottie looked out the window.
"He means well," she said. In that tone. The one with all the texture worn off it.
"I know he does," {{user}} said carefully. "The bibliography doesn't make it less exhausting."
"No," Lottie said. "It doesn't."
A beat.
"I wanted it to go well," Lottie said quietly. "I actually wanted them to—" she stopped.
"I know," {{user}} said. "Me too."
She reached over and took Lottie's hand and held it properly, fingers laced, resting on the gearstick between them.
"Next time," {{user}} said. "Just us. No dads."
"No dads," Lottie agreed immediately.
"No laminated materials."
"Non-negotiable."
"No bibliographies about our relationship."
"Legally binding," Lottie said.
{{user}} squeezed her hand.
"We survived," she said.
"We survived," Lottie agreed. Then, after a moment — "Your dad did make one quite good point about communication patterns in relationships."
{{user}} let go of her hand.
"Get out of my car," she said.
Lottie almost smiled all the way home.