Bea swiped at her cheeks with her knuckles. Rafael’s expression softened, but he stayed silent, letting them fill the car with shared history.
Claire regaled them with more tales of feeling like royalty at the pointy end of the plane. Soon they reached Bea’s apartment.
Rafael came around and opened her door.
Claire hopped out behind her. “Thank you for the pickup. And the flight. And the emotional space.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned to Bea, pressed a brief kiss to her mouth. “See you at the First Crossing.”
Bea’s bones practically sighed.
Claire watched her watch him go. “You have it so bad for that man.”
“Shhh.” She wasn’t wrong.
Inside the apartment, Bea tugged Claire’s suitcase into place. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” Claire declared. “The downside about having a bed that good is you sleep through a plated breakfast.”
“Lil is joining us for dinner, but we’re doing lunch at my new obsession.”
They walked fifteen minutes through the streets of Northgate, stopping at a tucked-away Indonesian restaurant that smelled like barbecue, garlic, and some kind of higher purpose. She loved this place far more than was reasonable.
Claire inhaled deeply. “Oh yes. Feed my feelings.”
“Get the booth,” Bea said, nudging Claire toward the window seat with its mosaic tiles. “I’ll order.”
Soon the table overflowed: nasi goreng glittering with prawns, velvet-soft rendang, satay skewers, sambal potatoes, glossy greens, and krupuk.
Claire stared. “Is this…heaven?”
“Eat first,” Bea said. “Spiritual revelations can wait.”
They dug in, the conversation veering from wedding chaos to work gossip to life updates. Bea admitted the only reason the past month had been manageable was because Adriana was handling the wedding and Tita Tess was handling the house. She left out the part where, besides work and coordinating her family, it had left Bea with just one impossible thing to manage herself: the abstinence agreement with Rafael.
They ordered dessert and Claire put down her cutlery. The brightness slipped. “Marco and I broke up.”
The reveal wasn’t dramatic. Claire never was when it came to her real pain.
“I’m so sorry.” Bea squeezed her hand.
“Don’t do the face. I can’t handle the face.”
Bea schooled her features into something more neutral. “What happened? You made it past a year together; I thought things were good.”
“It just…wasn’t working anymore,” Claire answered. “He wanted more. I couldn’t give it to him.”
Something fragile lived beneath that tone. “What did he want?”
“What men inevitably want.”
“Commitment?” Bea tilted her head as Claire stayed mute. “You’re being cryptic.”
“I know,” Claire said, rubbing her forehead. “But if I crack this open I don’t know if I can put it back together again. And I refuse to be immortalized beside you in your wedding photos looking like an imported raccoon.”
“Claire—”
“Nope.” Claire lifted her palm like a stop sign. “Emotional embargo. Let me get away with it, Bey. For now. I’ll explain later.”
