Chapter 3 #2
Bea sat cautiously. She had only spoken to her at length that one time, but she had warm memories of it. The Harvest Summit had been something of a juggernaut for Bea’s social debut into UR high society, and she’d prepared for judgment. Instead, Selene had made her feel welcome.
“Here for lunch?” Selene asked.
Bea nodded, then heard herself say more than she intended. “I’m under orders to eat more.”
Selene’s gaze swept over her, assessing in a motherly way. “You’re slimmer than when I last saw you.”
Bea’s fingers fussed with the seam of her sleeve, small restless movements betraying her.
Selene rose with a smile. “Let me get us both something we’ll enjoy.”
She tried to protest, but was waved away. Even though she’d never seen him do it, something in that mannerism was pure Rafael.
Shortly after, a waiter deposited two plates of spanakopita with bright, well-dressed Greek side salads. Selene thanked him with a smile, and eased back into her chair.
“Wow, this looks incredible,” Bea said sincerely. “Thank you.”
“Greek food is good for the body and soul.”
As Bea bit into the flaky pastry, Selene asked, “How are you finding your days now?”
Her voice had the tone of someone who actually wanted to know the answer. There was a kindness there, a readiness to hear more than the polite version.
“They’re…full of work, mostly.”
“What kind of work?” Selene asked, catching the oozing feta and spinach on her fork.
“I’m with Monaghan and Stowe. We help legacy families and ministries fund projects that impact women. The one I’m on right now is focused on women’s health, expanding access to preventative gynecological care through local clinics.”
“That sounds meaningful,” she said.
“It is.” Bea paused, then let out a small breath. “I love it, truly. And it’s…a safe place to disappear into. Numbers and strategy instead of everything else.”
Selene looked at her, gaze warm but steady. “I understand that.” A pause. “You miss him?”
Bea speared a black olive on her fork, surprised she didn’t feel defensive. She nodded slowly. “Even though I was the one who didn’t follow.”
Selene’s hand paused mid-cut of her pastry. “You can miss something and still know it wasn’t your future.”
Bea’s fingers curled around her napkin. She didn’t trust herself to answer—not without everything cracking open.
She wanted to pocket the line, save it for a time when it wouldn’t feel so raw to hear it aloud, or ask Selene to please not be quite so accurate over spanakopita. Instead, she chewed too long and hoped silence could pass for composure.
Finally she glanced up, unsure what to do with the feeling that Selene might actually understand.
Rafael’s mother.
The thought sat between them like a third place setting. Was she supposed to be talking about her life to Selene Griffin? Did it dishonor what she’d had with Gage? And if she did say something personal, would it travel straight to Rafael?
For a while Selene only watched her, head tipped as if weighing something. “You know, I saw the way my son looked at you at the Harvest Summit last year.”
Bea nearly choked on a piece of cucumber. Of course everyone had seen it, but she’d never expected to hear it from her. “I’m sorry?”
“You were with Gage then.”
Bea’s grip on her cutlery tightened. A dozen thoughts flitted through her mind. She didn’t know where to start.
“You have a very expressive face, kopela mou,” Selene said, lightly amused.
“I only mean to address the elephant in the room. I know there is…something there, at least from him. But I hope that won’t make you afraid to talk to me.
I’m happy to listen, if that helps. And I won’t report anything to him. ”
Her blue eyes seemed earnest. If Selene was telling the truth, it was an extraordinary offer.
Bea’s blood pressure eased down. “I appreciate that.”
Selene smiled. “Let’s eat our lunch and talk about something else. Have you ever been to Greece?”
In the space that followed, Selene slipped into a story about her sister’s disastrous holiday in Crete. Before Bea realized it, she heard herself laugh, guard lowered in spite of herself.
The email came just after nine.
Bea was curled up on the couch in a sweater. Lillian was in the kitchen, trying to recreate a platter of fruit and snacks she’d seen on Instagram.
Her phone buzzed once.
Tier 4 Severance Accepted.
Relationship: CRUZ, B. / KING, G.
Status: Closed.
He’d waited three days. She didn’t know why, or what that meant.
But it didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that the tether was gone.
She sat there for a long moment, screen still glowing in her hand.
Lillian walked over. “Bea?”
Wordlessly, Bea slid the phone into Lillian’s hand. Then she got up, went to the kitchen, and started the kettle.
The male cicadas were in full mating chorus, and Bea was one hum away from losing it. They’d been at it since sunset—relentless, desperate little romantics.
Bea shut the window to muffle the noise as her laptop started calling her parents.
Toronto answered: Umma in her robe, Papa in his winter sweater, a clock behind them declaring it too early for humans.
“Beatriz,” Umma said with a smile. “Show me your face. Are you eating?”
Bea sighed, but leaned closer, tilting left and right as if she were on display at a livestock fair.
“Color is better than last week,” Papa said, squinting.
Last week, she’d been hooked up to an IV drip with a nurse telling her to ‘relax.’ Her parents didn’t need to know that part.
“How are you?” Umma asked. “And don’t say fine.”
Bea took a sip of chamomile tea that had gone tepid. It tasted like nothing. Most things still did.
Gage had accepted the Tier 4 severance. Her parents wouldn’t understand the enormity of it, but she wanted to tell them anyway. Maybe they could carry it for a second.
But she didn’t. “Maris kept me on the Haven Project. It’s been keeping me busy.”
“Busy is good,” Papa said.
“Busy’s safe,” Bea said under her breath. Then, for their benefit: “It helps.”
Umma leaned in. “And your heart?”
“Beating. The wound is…starting to close.”
They didn’t speak, just looked at her through the screen with eyes that understood too much. It pressed against the hollow in her chest until it ached.
“He’s accepted”—she stopped, then forced the words out—“that we’re officially over. It’s…hard to explain, but it’s basically a formality in the UR. It’s done.”
“How do you feel about it?” asked Umma.
Bea traced her thumb around the mug. “I don’t know. It’s quiet. Like when a song ends but your head keeps humming the chorus.”
“That will pass, mija.”
“And if it gets too hard,” Umma added softly, “you can always come home.”
Home. It used to mean one place. Now it meant two.
“I know. And I’m grateful,” Bea said. “But I think I need to stay.”
Her parents went still, as if hearing the grownup in her voice.
“Forward was London with Gage, or here, without him,” she continued, slower now, almost thinking it through aloud. “I chose here. If I gave him up for this, then I need to see that choice through. I can’t keep walking backwards.”
Papa smiled, faint and proud. “Then that’s settled. Keep going.”
Bea exhaled, a little lighter than before. “I made a new friend,” she said, brightening. “She likes pastries and tells the whackiest stories.”
Umma smiled. “Tell me more.”