“That’s too much garlic! Do you want them to breathe fire?”
One of her aunties laughed, passing a colander full of washed greens across the counter.
“Since when do you complain about garlic?”
Her umma huffed but didn’t correct her.
Her aunties looked up, noticed Bea, and descended like vultures.
“Alright, alright, let’s hear it,” Auntie Sarah declared, arms crossed like an interrogation was about to take place. “The golden daughter returns. Tell us, what’s the verdict?”
“The verdict on what?”
Auntie Melissa nudged Auntie Sarah with a spatula. “On the rich boyfriend, obviously.”
Bea groaned, lifting her tea to hide her face. “Whose rich boyfriend?”
Her umma made a snorting sound from where she was stirring a pot at the stove. That set off a wave of cackling.
“Aha!” Auntie Sarah pointed dramatically. “She’s got a man!”
Bea set her tea down a little too forcefully. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about, I don’t know, Christmas?”
“We’ll talk about Christmas after you tell us what tax bracket he’s in.” Auntie Melissa cackled. “St. Ives is basically a billionaire training facility. We all knew this day would come.”
Bea dragged a hand down her face. “Are you guys serious?”
“Completely,” Auntie Sarah said, grinning. “Come, you can tell us, Bea. We are modern aunties. We understand young people.”
From across the kitchen, her cousin Elias, twenty-one, loud, the most annoying of them all, sniggered. “We’ll get it out of her by the end of the night. She caves under pressure.”
Bea scoffed. “I do not.”
“Remember when you cracked after one round of Mafia?” Elias shot back.
Auntie Linda, who was elbows-deep in kneading dough, jumped in. “Oh, I remember. You can’t lie to save your life, Bea.”
Bea scowled at all of them before turning back to her umma. “Do you see how they treat me?”
Her umma patted her cheek in mock sympathy. “You went away too long, everyone saved up all their jokes for you.”
Bea narrowed her eyes. Her family was having way too much fun at her expense. “That’s it. I’m going back to school.”
“School’s closed, Beya Slaya,” Elias said smugly. “You’re stuck with us.”
Beya Slaya.The nickname her best friend, Claire Park, had crowned her with back in kindergarten, after too many recess performances to Beyoncé. It had stuck, especially once Claire taught her younger cousins to chant it.
“Elias! You’re supposed to call herNuna,” Auntie Sarah scolded.
“Soooorry, Noo-nah Bey-ah,” Elias drawled, exaggerating every syllable. “Can your boyfriend even say your name properly?”
Actually, yes. Yes, he could.
He’d said it perfectly from the very first time.
“Look at her, she’s glowing.” Auntie Linda smirked as she punched down the dough. “I mean, I’ve never seen our girl look this good. Either St. Ives has a secret underground spa, or she’s getting some real good?—”
Bea clapped a hand over her aunt’s mouth. “We are moving on.”
