“Ginger or mango.”
“Neither.”
“Those are the options, Stella.”
“I’ll have water.”
Bea sat down on the couch with her feet tucked under her, cracked open the mango, took a sip, and made a face that suggested the mango had personally wronged her. “More for me.”
“You don’t even like kombucha.”
“I’m developing a palate.”
“That’s not what a palate is.”
She took another sip. Made the same face. Stella reached over and took the bottle out of her hand, sniffed it, took a drink, and handed it back.
“That’s terrible,” Stella said. “Give me the ginger.”
“You said you didn’t want one.”
“The ginger is less terrible. Give it.”
Bea handed her the ginger. Stella twisted it open, took a sip, and settled into the chair across from her. They drank their terrible drinks and looked at each other across the coffee table.
“So,” Bea said.
“So.”
“Calculus.”
“You brought calculus.”
“I brought the book. I have zero intention of opening it.”
“Then why bring it?”
“Because it makes me feel responsible.” Bea set the bottle on the coffee table. “My mom is being weird about Sedona.”
“Big surprise there.”
“She said it’s my decision. But I don’t think she wants me to go.”
Stella shrugged. “She said you could.”
“That’s the kind of thing parents say when they actually mean something else.”
Bea paused for a moment, peeling the label off her bottle.
“What would you do? If you were in my shoes?”
Stella had been waiting for her to ask, but not quite like that. She’d expected the question to be about Sedona. This one was bigger.
She picked up a pencil from the side table and turned it in her fingers, set it down, picked it up again.
“I’d go,” she said.
“Really?”
