Chapter 9 #2
Selene’s story rose to mind: Rafael as a boy on construction sites, dust in his hair, already at ease among men like her father.
Muscular, blunt, working men. And then Nico’s voice, when she’d asked why he wanted to qualify as an officer during military service: I want to be someone people follow.
Not because they have to. Because they choose to. Like El Jefe.
Bea couldn’t stop watching.
It might have been five minutes, or twenty, but eventually Jaxon slid in beside her, two glasses of cider in one hand, buzzer in the other. “I ordered nachos.”
Bea wrenched her gaze away. She hadn’t been spotted, but it was best not to tempt fate. “Sounds good. Why don’t we sit upstairs? It’s quieter.”
He arched a brow but didn’t make her explain. “Lead the way.”
The first thing Bea saw when the call connected was Claire shoving aside a pile of laundry with the back of her arm. The second was Umma, perched at the kitchen counter with steam curling from a mug of tea big enough to drown in.
Bea narrowed her eyes. “Umma, is that my soup cup?”
Her mother looked down. “Yes. Very good for tea. I don’t have to refill as often.” She took an unrepentant sip, as if daring Bea to object.
“Every time I see the new hair it makes me smile,” Claire announced, sprawling backward onto her bed like a queen, socks mismatched, tea threatening to slosh.
Bea twirled the ends of her brown waves. “It’s not as hard to maintain as I thought it would be. But the roots are already growing out. I’ve got an appointment for touch-ups next week.”
Umma leaned closer to her own camera. “It looks good. But don’t dye too often, it’s not good for your health.” Her eyes crinkled. “Good to see cheeks again, Beatriz, not just bones.”
Compliment sandwich, maternal edition.
“Thanks, I think.”
Claire smacked her lips theatrically. “Okay, Beya Slaya, brace yourself. We’ve got news that is life-changing and world-shattering.”
“Give it to me.”
“We are coming. For your birthday!” Umma announced.
For a second, Bea thought she’d misheard. Then the words hit like confetti cannons. “You’re—what? Did I hear you right?”
“Nine days,” Umma confirmed. “That is all the leave Papa could get. But we will be there.”
Bea squealed so loudly she startled herself. She clutched the laptop to her chest, nearly tipping it sideways. “You’re serious? You’ve booked the tickets?”
“Imo and Tio even booked their hotels.” Claire grinned, propping her chin on her hand. “How do you feel about billeting me for a week? Not because I’m cheap. Because I’m entertaining.”
“Yes! Stay with me. I mean, I have to ask Lils of course, but she’ll say yes.” Bea was so happy, her heart felt ready to burst. “I can’t believe you guys are coming!”
“Me too! It’s perfect. Except…” Claire flung herself sideways across the bed like she was auditioning for a soap opera.
“We’re flying back literally days before the Arctic Monkeys play in the UR.
Do you understand the cruelty? I’m going to be on a return flight to Canada instead of front row, weeping. ”
Bea dropped her head back with a groan. “Don’t remind me. I couldn’t even get tickets. GEP stuck me in a workshop the day they went on sale, and by the time I made it to my computer they were sold out.”
Claire slapped a pillow over her face. “This trauma will be in my family for generations.”
“I believe the Monkeys will sing again,” Umma said sagely.
Bea and Claire sighed in unison, unconvinced.
Umma’s expression softened. “One day, Monkeys. In four weeks, Bea’s wonderful new world.”
That made Bea smile again. Nine whole days of showing them everything she’d been trying to describe through video calls and photos: St. Ives, the markets, the ocean, the beauty and whimsy in every corner. Introducing them to the friends she’d made here.
Her life. Her home. Him.
Wait.
Not him. Why am I thinking about him?
Unhelpfully, her mind darted back to last night: Rafael in that pub, chair tilting back so he could stretch his long legs carelessly under the table, laughing with men who looked like her father’s friends. She stuffed the image into a mental drawer and sat on it.
“I’ll plan it out,” Bea said, already reaching for a notepad. “I’ve got a couple of GEP things I can’t miss, but I can take time off work. We’ll do everything.”
For a while, they tossed around ideas, voices tumbling over one another. She scribbled notes like she was plotting a heist.
Transportation. That was the snag. Maybe she should finally get a car. Or would it bankrupt her to just Uber everywhere?
Toronto Bea said yes. St. Ives Bea wasn’t so sure.
Umma tilted her head. “Oh, Bea, your Auntie Selene—how is she? The lady you told me about. The one who makes you desserts. Did she read the books?”
Bea had told her umma just enough, navigating the landmine that lay around that particular friendship.
“She’s good. And yes, her book club is loving the shape-shifting Highlander series.”
Umma chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m a librarian. What must she think of me for recommending such books?”
“That you have excellent and eclectic taste, Imo,” Claire said, popping gum.