“Your exams are at the same time. Relax,” Claire said.
“Maybe I could fly in. Just for the ceremony.” Bea tapped her chin like she was plotting something she already knew was stupid.
“Imo, tell her she’s being insane.”
“Bea, don’t be silly. You stay in school. Papa and I will go. We’ll show you on video.”
Perfect. Claire’s big moment, filmed on parental iPhone at a 45-degree angle with bonus audio: plastic bags rustling and Umma whisper-commentating in half-Korean.
“Anyway, if youdofly in,” Claire said, smirking as she shook out a hoodie, “Gage might have to take the jet out and retrieve you again.”
Bea shot her a look but said nothing. Because in this timeline of the multiverse, that wasn’t even the most unlikely outcome.
“Is everything going well with him, Bea?” Umma asked.
“She’s got that face likeI miss him even though I saw him three hours ago. That’s how you know, Imo.”
“I do not,” Bea said. But she could feel the flush climbing fast, giving her away.
“Well your cheeks are going red, my baby,” Umma pointed out savagely.
“Honestly, I support it. He let me have the last piece of sourdough at brunch,” Claire said.
“Yes, he did bring me a very large fruit basket,” Umma added a little dreamily.
“You’renot dating him, Imo,” Claire teased.
“Different life, different timing—I might have given him a chance.”
“I regret merging this call.” Bea pulled her blanket over her face.
The women laughed.
Bea peeked out from the folds of her blanket, regrouped, and rerouted. “Have your parents retired yet, Claire Bear?”
“Apa? Never. They’re going to have to drag his body out of that fire station. Remember five years ago when he almost took down his superiors for suggesting he was too old to be Captain?”
“Oh, those were dark days,” Umma said, shaking her head. She reached for something off-camera. That cup of tea.
“He was foaming,” Bea agreed.
“Well, now he’s loving being an instructor. Seems yelling at rookies is deeply therapeutic.”
“Your mom told me last week she’ll move to part time,” Umma said, sipping.
“She says that every year, Imo.” Claire was facing the screen now, while knotting pairs of socks together.
“Maybe this time, she means it.”
Claire’s fingers paused. “I’m all grown up now, so whatever they do is fine.” She said it like a joke, breezy and offhand, tossed out like a line she’d rehearsed too many times to feel. But it hit Bea in the chest anyway. Because she remembered.
The way Claire used to show up after school and sit at their kitchen table like she was soaking something in; not the food, she had plenty of that at home, but the attention. The questions. The way Umma always asked how her day was, exclaimed over the drawings she’d made, talked her through homework questions.
Umma heard it too. Bea saw it in the way she reached for her mug but didn’t sip.
“You were grown up too early,” her mother said softly. “That’s not the same thing.”
Claire smiled, slower this time. “Maybe. But I turned out okay. Mostly thanks to this family.”
