Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Group Chat: Therapy Club
GEORGINA: My play opens next week.
GEORGINA: Please advise your opening night seat number so I may fling roses with precision
ISABEL: We are front row seats 26-29
GEORGINA: No partners?
NAOMI: No way. It’s girls night.
BEA: Can you throw snacks instead? The prices at the foyer bar are extortion.
GEORGINA: Skittles or M her parents hadn’t said a word yet about how their night with Rafael’s parents had gone, and the knot in her stomach gnawed worse than hunger.
“The fish are from a different world, too,” Papa agreed. “The perch we caught with Rafael was the length of my arm.”
“He’s mentioned that fish at least six times since dawn.” Umma smiled, dousing her lamb in silky eggplant.
“We’re going to St. Ives today, right?” Claire asked.
Bea forced her mouth to open. “I’ve got a GEP thing I can’t miss, but after that I’ll be done. I’ve logged you as visitors. Are you guys okay to entertain yourselves for a few hours?”
“Of course, Beya Slaya. I’ll look after Imo and Tio,” Claire responded blithely. “It’ll be like visiting Hogwarts.”
“I want to see the library you’ve bragged about. Compare our coding system,” Umma said.
“I just want to see it before you graduate,” said Papa.
Bea nodded, pretending to be chill. She was not chill. Not when her parents had spent last night at the Griffin household and no one was volunteering information.
“So,” she said too brightly. “How was book club, Umma?”
Umma’s smile was small but loaded. “Fun. Selene is basically as you described, but even more of it in person. And her friends aren’t pretentious at all.”
“Those are her not-gazillionaire friends. From before Griffin Ventures blew up.” She turned to her father. “What about you, Papa?”
“I had a good chat with Leon and another man, Lucian Stratton. Shipping magnate’s son, recently married.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “Shipping? As in…boats?”
“Global fleets that keep economies going,” Papa said dryly.
“Oh, and before we left, Selene invited us to dinner tomorrow night,” Umma added, as if that were normal.
Bea inhaled a rogue crumb of flatbread, and immediately began choking on her own panic. She coughed, eyes watering, while Claire thumped hard on her back.
“You said yes?” Bea rasped.
“Should we not have?” Umma asked, gaze sharp.
“No! I mean—yes. Fine. Totally fine!” Bea flailed a hand, nearly upsetting her glass of sparkling water. She picked it up, downed half.
Claire’s mouth was sucked inwards with suppressed hysteria. Her life was turning into a sitcom.
Her parents exchanged a loaded look. Then Papa said carefully, “Mija, with Gage…you told us you were together after six months. We only met him twice, and the second time, he was already asking to marry you.”
“That wasn’t on purpose.” Bea slumped in her seat. They’d been an ocean away. Distance and timing had meant they were always behind the curve of her first relationship.
“We know,” Papa said, putting down the lamb skewer. “If you’re considering this man…then while we’re here, we’d like to know him. Them.”
“And, just saying,” Claire cut in, mouth full of bread, “Rafael and his parents are very available for it.”
Bea glared daggers.
“But if he isn’t someone you’re considering, then we’ll stay out of it. You only have to say,” Umma added.
The table went quiet. Even Claire stopped picking at the salad, watching her like a hawk in eyeliner.
Bea’s pulse thudded. Her tongue felt thick, useless. The words clattered in her head but refused to form. Admitting her feelings to herself, to her friends, was one thing—but to her parents?
She wanted the very thing that terrified her, and that in itself was the problem.
What if her choice was wrong again? Or what if she was right, and he was more than she could hold?
But also…she couldn’t deny it anymore. Not with the way Rafael looked at her, and the way her chest ached when she was near him. Not with the way Claire and her parents had seen it in just a few short days.
The air pressed heavy, as if the jellyfish lights themselves were leaning in. Claire’s knee nudged hers under the table, propelling her out of inertia.
“He is,” she said quietly, gripping her bread. “I can’t seem to help it.”
Umma and Papa’s expressions were unreadable, but they both nodded. Claire fist-pumped like Bea had just announced she was running for office.
The words were out. There was no un-saying them.
In her head she heard his voice, all seduction and inevitability. That’s binding, little Bea.