She didn’t know what to say to that. The typing bubble appeared again.
RAFAEL: You liked that peanut toffee last time. Want me to get it for you?
She hesitated briefly, but wasn’t about to cut off her nose to spite her face. Given what he was putting her through, he owed her candy.
LITTLE BEA: Yes please.
RAFAEL: Done. Why are you awake? It’s after 2 there.
LITTLE BEA: I was thinking.
RAFAEL: About what?
Her thumbs hovered, then moved before she could second-guess it.
LITTLE BEA: About us.
RAFAEL: Can I call?
LITTLE BEA: It’s easier for me to answer your question if I text.
RAFAEL: …
LITTLE BEA: Please.
RAFAEL: What are you thinking about us?
She typed something, then deleted it. Typed again, then deleted. Finally, she landed on:
LITTLE BEA: That I love you and that’s the only reason I’m considering this.
RAFAEL: Let me call.
LITTLE BEA: Please don’t.
LITTLE BEA: Did you know that me loving you would put me in this position?
RAFAEL: Yes.
LITTLE BEA: I hate that.
The dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.
RAFAEL: We’ll talk when I’m home.
“Ah. You’re early,” came a Filipino accent.
So was she. That was unfortunate. Bea had been hoping for five minutes alone to pace and catastrophize.
She emerged into the early autumn light to find a petite woman, barely five feet tall, standing with a tablet tucked under one arm. She looked to be in her late fifties, hair swept into a low bun that suggested she did not tolerate nonsense or humidity.
“You must be Ma’am Bea,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Teresa. But everyone calls meTita Tess.”
Rafael’s briefing surfaced immediately.
Lead residential designer for Griffin Ventures. Been with us forever. Knows my mother. Frequently speaks Taglish. Disconcerting in meetings.
Bea smiled and shook her hand. Tess’ grip was firm. “Hi, Tita Tess. Bea is fine.”
