The call connected, and there they were.
Her mother’s hair was clipped back. Her father had that same faded mug in hand, the one she’d painted for him in fourth grade.
They were at the kitchen table.
“Bea,” Umma said her name, soft and warm, like something worn in.
“It’s late,” Bea said quietly.
“We don’t sleep until we see your face,” Umma replied.
Bea tried to smile. “It’s been a little insane.”
“We noticed,” Papa said dryly, lifting his mug. “Gage is trending. Therefore, so are you.”
She winced. “Sorry.”
He waved it off. “Don’t apologize. People talk.”
“But it might be affecting you,” Bea said, biting her lip. “The press, the mentions. Has anyone reached out? Anyone been…weird?”
“Your aunties keep calling. They say they were right about what they said at Christmas,” Umma said, rolling her eyes. “And some cars loitered outside, but left after Gage’s security talked to them.”
Her father’s eyes stayed on her. “Are you happy, mija?”
“Yes,” she said, automatically.
“Do you want this?”
She looked at the driver’s seat sun visor. The button for the hazard lights. The air-conditioning vent. “I love him.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he said gently.
Bea stilled.
Her father’s voice was steady. The same one he used when he used to braid her hair before a test, or help her fix her science project at midnight.
“I remember you refusing to follow the Lego instructions,” Papa said. “Said you wanted to make something no one else had. Is that what this is? Or are you being asked to move into something pre-built?”
A breath trembled out of her. “He’s not pressuring me.”
“But the timing is.”
Her mother reached out, rested her hand over Papa’s. “We were going to come for your birthday,” Umma said softly. “But if you’re not sure, maybe we won’t.”
Bea frowned. “Why not?”
“If we come, people will talk more. They will think the families are meeting,” she said. “We don’t want to make it harder for you.”
Bea pressed her fist to her mouth for a second. Then dropped it. “Yes,” she said, voice small. “I think…I think that might be wise.”
“I’ll tell Claire,” said Umma.
The pause lingered.
“He came to see me in person,” Papa told her. “On his way back from London. A few weeks ago.”
Bea blinked. “He did?”
