Chapter 8 Elle
Elle
Morning light filters through the curtains, warming my skin before my eyes even open. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the faint scent of flowers and tea. It wraps around me like a memory I can’t place. But my body feels lighter, and my mind’s quieter than usual.
I slept well. Maybe for the first time in forever.
I stretch, slipping out of bed, the sheets falling away.
The morning is muted as I go through the motions—drinking the tea at my bedside, getting up from bed, brushing my teeth while avoiding the mirror, and then standing under the warm spray of the shower.
After dressing up, I step into the hallway and slow my steps. There’s no Clo at the door, no note from her either. No little nudge to remind me what the day is supposed to look like. That unsettles me. Did I forget something? Were we supposed to have breakfast together?
I hasten my pace, guilt heating my neck. I don’t want to be late. I don’t want her to be disappointed.
The sunroom’s door creaks open, and Clo is already there, seated by the window, sunlight shining on her dark curls. She looks up, her hands wrapped delicately around a porcelain cup. A slow smile lifts her lips. “You’re awake,” she says.
My fingers fidget at my side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was. Were we supposed to…?”
Clo tilts her head, then lets out a soft laugh. “No, darling. But I do love that you think so.”
The way she says it sends a cold shiver down my spine. Still, she looks pleased. And that’s enough to make me relax a little. She’s not upset. I didn’t do anything wrong. That’s all that matters.
I breathe out and cross the room to sit across from her. She pours me a cup of tea, the gentle clink of porcelain filling the silence. Everything’s fine. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Breakfast is waiting for me. A steaming cup of bitter tea, sweetened only slightly by golden swirls of honey. Honey cakes and biscuits, all arranged in perfect symmetry.
Clo doesn’t eat. She cradles her coffee instead. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she says, gesturing to the tea. “I always find it good to have in the mornings.”
I nod and take a sip, though the bitterness clings even after the honey. “It’s good.”
Her smile deepens, satisfied. “I’m glad.”
For a little while, everything feels easy. She asks if I slept well. If Stan treated me right. Her voice flows like warm water, smooth and familiar, filling the space between bites. It feels like routine. Like something I’ve done a hundred times, even if I don’t remember.
Then her gaze softens, looking distant. “You remind me of my first best friend, before Naomi.”
I glance up from my tea. “Oh?”
“Jade,” she says fondly. “Smart, graceful. She loved art. Always saw the beauty in people. You two are so alike. Filipino and Chinese too, exactly the same as you.”
My chest tightens. I blink slowly. “But I’m…Filipino and Korean.” I know that in my bones, like I’ve been told that since I could learn how to understand my own parents’ words.
There’s a pause from Clo. A silence that doesn’t normally pass between us. But her smile holds. Something flashes so briefly in her eyes that I think I must’ve imagined it.
She sets her cup down with careful precision. “No, darling,” she says, warm but immovable. “You’re Filipino and Chinese.”
My fingers go still around my teacup. The warmth is gone. All I feel is the chill pressing into my skin. “But I always thought—”
She lets out a soft sigh. Something about it makes my stomach turn. “You must be confused,” she says gently, but there’s no room to argue in her tone.
My heartbeat skips. Now, I have so many questions. If I’m either, why do I have blue eyes? Why don’t I recognize myself when I look in the mirror? Like I don’t know who’s staring back at me?
More questions come to mind, overwhelming me. So I decide to agree for now. It hurts to think. Hurts so much, it’s dizzying.
“I… I guess so,” I murmur, the words catching in my throat.
Clo leans forward, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Her fingers are steady. “It’s alright, darling thing,” she says. “I’m here to tell you who you are.”
I nod, because it’s easier than questioning it again. But it feels like I’m shrinking inside myself, one unsteady breath at a time. The tea in my cup swirls as I stir it absentmindedly, the gentle clink of the spoon barely masking the buzzing in my mind.
I should feel reassured, since Clo makes me feel that way when she fills in the blanks. But now, all I feel is lost. The courage to speak has been stomped out, the way a fire dims when there’s nothing left to feed it.
Then the door swings open without warning.
Stan stumbles in, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
His hair’s a mess of short waves that looks good on him.
His shirt is wrinkled, hanging loose over sweatpants that sit a little too low on his hips.
He scratches absently at the v-line of his hips, the hem lifting just enough to—
My mind blanks. I stare before I can stop myself. But Clo doesn’t even pause. “Good morning, Stanley.”
“Mm-hmm.” He grumbles something that vaguely resembles a greeting and gives a lazy grin. “Mornin’, Ma. Mornin’, Elle.”
“Good morning.” I quickly look back at my tea, pretending to study the honey settling at the bottom.
Stan stretches and drops into the chair beside me. He tilts his head. “Did I interrupt something?”
Clo smiles over her teacup. “Not at all. Elle and I were simply having a chat.”
Stan hums, already looking halfway back into a nap, his body slouching into the chair. “Hope it wasn’t anything too serious. Mornings should be easy, y’know?”
My gaze flicks toward him. He looks so at home, so effortlessly himself, even when he’s half-asleep. It’s intriguing, really, the way he seems to fit into every moment.
Clo’s eyes move from him to me. “Yes,” she says, “mornings should be easy.”
The words feel off, as if there’s more to them. A chill ripples down my spine again. Beside me, Stan leans back with one arm stretched along the back of my chair, the other idly twirling a butter knife between his fingers, far too casually for how precise he’s doing it.
I should eat. I know I should. Clo would want me to, but instead, I watch them.
They talk while Clo pours tea into Stan’s mug.
Her words glide, light as silk. And Stan’s relaxed, grinning, as he grabs his mug and a piece of toast, biting into it with casual indulgence before glancing at Clo.
“You’re gonna tell me to sit properly, aren’t you? ”
Clo hums, nudging his mug closer. “You read my mind. And drink your tea. It’s good for you.”
He smirks, wriggling a little in his chair without really changing his posture. “You stress over small stuff, but look at me, Ma. I turned out alright, didn’t I?”
Clo sighs, long-suffering, but still smiling a bit. “Debatable.”
I blink a few times, watching them interact and continue their conversation, while I observe, forgetting why my shoulders are tense, so I draw them down. I press my teacup to my lips to hide the small smile starting to form, mirroring hers.
“Don’t let her fool you, Elle,” Stan says, turning to me. “She spoils me rotten. Always has.”
Clo lifts a brow. “Do I?”
“Oh, absolutely.” He leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “I’m the favorite.”
“You’re the youngest,” Clo corrects.
“Tomato, tomahto,” he says, chin up.
I let out a quiet giggle, warmth fluttering in my chest. Their rhythm is so natural, it pulls me in. For a moment, I forget the weight I always seem to carry. I forget the gaps, the missing pieces, and the strange sense that something is always just out of reach.
Stan leans back, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, Elle,” he says, glancing over at me. “How about we go for another ride today? You’ve still got a lot of practice to do, holding onto me.”
The suggestion comes so easily from him that my breath hitches. I try to speak, but Clo does it for me. “Oh, that’s a lovely idea,” she says, setting her full cup down. “But I have a better one.”
Stan raises his brows. “Yeah? What’s the occasion?”
Clo stirs her coffee. “I’ve been working on a new line of wine. Something exclusive from the family’s collection. I’d love for you both to try it.” Her gaze finds me. “There’s a venue that’ll start serving it exclusively soon. It’s by the coast. You’ll love it, Elle.”
There’s no question in her voice, but it doesn’t feel like a command. Clo never seems to demand. She simply suggests, and somehow, it always feels like the most natural choice in the world.
Still, Stan scoffs. “So basically, I’m playing chauffeur while you show off some wine of yours?”
Clo gives him a look. “You love driving. Almost as much as you love driving me crazy.”
He presses a hand to his chest, dramatic. “I’m wounded by these accusations, Mother.”
Clo laughs gracefully, then turns to me again. “What do you say, Elle? A scenic drive, a beautiful venue… Maybe even a taste of something truly special?”
The way she says it, like I’ve always been part of this, makes warmth settle in my chest. I nod before I can think too hard. “That sounds…special.”
Stan sighs, heavy, but still throws me a wink. “Well, looks like we’re getting wined and dined.”
Clo clasps her hands together, pleased. “Wonderful. We’ll leave in an hour. Do you mind fixing my hair, Elle darling? You’re the only one who can get my curls exactly right.”