Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bea sat curled on the couch in Mayfield Hall, legs tucked under a blanket, winter fogging the edges of the windows.
“Umma, tilt it down. No, the other way! I can see a guy’s bald spot and half the stage.”
Her umma whispered, “Sorry, sorry,” in Korean before the frame finally steadied.
A sweeping view of Convocation Hall came into focus.
She glimpsed its domed ceiling, its sandstone arches, the wooden stage draped in U of T blue.
Rows of students in navy gowns lined the floor, edged in white, faces flushed with summer heat and pride.
Bea squinted. “Is that her?”
“I think so,” her papa said, his voice close to the mic now. “Third row. You see the red heels?”
“Of course she wore red heels. Who else would match their shoes to their lipstick under a graduation robe?”
The central heating made the air warm around her. Her coffee had gone cold. Her exam started in less than two hours. She hadn’t even brushed her hair.
But Claire was graduating. After five years of dragging herself through structural engineering, she was about to walk the stage with First Class Honors and a triumphant grin.
Bea wouldn’t miss it for the world.
They watched as names were called, one by one, the class size small enough—maybe two hundred total—that the emcee didn’t need to rush. The Dean of Engineering handed out the degrees.
When Claire’s name echoed through the hall, Bea’s heart jumped.
“Claire Park.”
Her umma zoomed in just in time to catch Claire striding across the stage, confident and feisty in her scarlet heels, the gown swishing at her calves. Her dark hair was swept into a glossy knot. She looked like someone who didn’t believe in nerves.
She shook the Dean’s hand, winked at someone offstage, and gave the crowd a small, theatrical nod before turning the tassel.
Bea felt a sudden lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to see this.
Her papa turned the camera toward them. He was grinning. “She did the wink.”
Bea’s chest was tight in the best kind of way. “She came out of the womb winking.”
The camera jostled again as Umma panned across the row beside her.
“Claire’s family are here,” she narrated, as if Bea didn’t already know every face. “Auntie Mindy, fanning herself. Uncle Minho. Blake, Ryan, Matthew are right there—look at Blake’s boys, so big now.”
Bea watched through the applause, the speeches, the ceremonial anthem. When it was done, her umma turned the camera back to them.
“We’ll call you when we find her outside,” her umma promised. “Go get ready first.”
Bea blew a kiss. “Tell her I’m proud.”
Ten minutes later, after the world’s quickest shower, hair damp, hoodie on, her phone buzzed.
Incoming video call: Claire Bear
Bea swiped right, and there she was in red lipstick, sunglasses, holding a single sunflower and a glass of something bubbly.
“Dean’s list, Beya Slaya.” Claire grinned. “Did you see it?”
“I saw it.” Bea laughed. “You were magnificent. The wink was illegal.”
Claire spun once. “Not bad for a girl who cried through every second of sophomore year.”
“I’m so proud of you.” She swallowed dryly. “I wish I were there.”
“Don’t,” Claire said, more gently than usual. “You’re doing your thing on Fantasy Island. You’re where you should be.”
“At least my parents are there.”
“They’re stalking me with a camera, by the way. I looked at the lens three times on purpose.”
“Umma’s going to make a shrine.”
“Good. I deserve one.”
Bea smiled. “How do you feel?”
Claire’s sunglasses slid up to her forehead. “Like I just got handed a degree and twenty expectations I didn’t ask for. But also…happy.”
“You look it,” Bea said. “You’re glowing.”
Behind her, Bea saw Claire’s mother and father taking selfies, three tall older brothers wrangling children, their wives dressed in sundresses and heels, one of the nephews climbing a small tree before being tugged down by a sister-in-law.
“The whole clan came,” Bea beamed.
“Yep. They actually showed up.”
“Tell them I said hello.”
“I will,” Claire promised. Someone called her name. “Time to be fed and interrogated. Thanks for watching, Bey.”
“Of course.”
“Love you. Good luck on your exam today!” Claire hung up.
Bea was happy for her bestie. So happy. But also, she missed being in the photo.
Then she checked the clock. And scrambled.
“Pens down.”
Chairs scraped back. The air sighed with post-battle exhaustion, the exam edition that hit when all the adrenaline wore off and your brain felt like overcooked pasta. Bea flexed her fingers, easing the ache in her wrist, then stood and began gathering her things.
She made it halfway down the hall before she heard, “Bea.”
She turned.
Damien Ellis. One of her tutors. Mid-thirties, rumpled in a way that made him somehow both annoyingly handsome and academically suspect. He was probably halfway through writing a book no one would understand but everyone would cite.
They hadn’t spoken much. Her main interactions with him consisted of his red annotations on her work that cut clean and never overexplained.
“Walk with me to my office,” he said, already turning.
She fell into step beside him.
“You’ve done well this term,” he noted. “Consistently.”
“I’m trying,” she said.
It wasn’t modesty, she really had been. Scholarship students probably never stopped.
They reached the top of the stairwell and veered toward the faculty wing.
“You’re being nominated for the Graduate Enrichment Cohort.”
Her heart started pounding. “The fifth-year program?”
“Correct. So far, you’re ranked twenty-one out of three hundred in Economics and Finance.”
“Don’t I need faculty endorsement as well?”
“That’s why I’m talking to you,” he said, with the ghost of a smile. “Your endorser stands before you.”
They reached his office and he ducked inside briefly while she waited by the door.
Tried to tamp down her excitement. Pride. Possibility.
When he returned, he handed her a folder. Matte navy, crisp edges. Her name was printed in silver serif across the front.
NOMINEE: BEATRIZ CRUZ
GRADUATE ENRICHMENT COHORT
He closed the door, and they retraced their steps back down the hallway. “You’re still with Monaghan and Stowe?”
She nodded.
“They can partner with you on your capstone project. Or you can find another company if you prefer.”
Bea nodded again, her mind racing. She ran her thumb along the edge of the folder as they descended the stairs.
“What happens if I can’t do it?”
Like if I was…I don’t know, seventeen hours ahead and in the wrong hemisphere.
He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “As long as you didn’t just flunk what you handed in, you’re on track.”
“Hypothetically speaking,” she added quickly.
His mouth twitched. “Then someone else gets very lucky.”
She nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You earned it. And not because of your boyfriend. Just so we’re clear.”
Her head snapped up in surprise. His smile was small but not unkind.
They stopped where the path diverged. “Just remember not to coast through the rest of the year. Nominations can be pulled,” he said, before turning left.
She watched him go.
“But yours won’t be,” he added over his shoulder.
Bea and Gage were tucked inside a bubble tea bar off the main strip of St. Ives town. Pale walls, steamed windows, soft pop music overhead. Two uni students were playing cards at a corner table. A couple sat pressed together by the window. She and Gage had claimed the high-top against the wall.
She stirred the pearls slowly, watching them swirl like ink.
“So…my tutor told me I got nominated,” she said, “for the Graduate Enrichment Program.”
“You didn’t tell me you’re in the top ten percent.”
“I try not to look. If I track it too closely, I’ll spiral.”
She felt his pride. It lived in the way he leaned in just a little, how his eyes held hers. Like she’d done something remarkable, but then he’d always expected her to.
“I know I won’t get to do it,” she said, taking a sip, chewing on the tapioca pearls. “But it feels nice to be nominated.”
It wasn’t just a nomination. It was proof. That she wasn’t orbiting someone else’s future—she was building her own.
The bell over the door jingled.
“Bea!”
She turned.
Nico jogged up, all long limbs and hoodie sleeves half pushed up his forearms. His hair was still damp from a swim or a shower. A little breathless, but grinning.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, not unhappy to see him.
“I just met El Jefe for a bit, then saw you in the window.” He looked at Gage and stuck out a hand. “Hi. I’m Nico.”
Gage rose to shake it. “Gage King.”
“I thought so. She’s told me a lot about you.”
Both men sat down, one on either side of her.
“Do tell,” Gage said, mildly amused.
“She said you don’t drink coffee unless it’s served with a capital gain,” Nico said, clearly delighted to spill. “And that your eyebrows twitch when people talk during previews at the cinema.”
“Sounds like you’ve been well informed,” Gage observed, glancing at Bea.
“You remember when she went away for the summer?” Nico added, tone shifting like this was man-to-man now. “I warned her about that one. That you wouldn’t like it.”
“I appreciate that.”
Something in the way Gage looked at him changed, oh-so-subtle, but it was there. Like Nico had just leveled up without realizing it.
“Do you want one?” Gage asked Nico, nodding to Bea’s drink.
“Yeah, I love them.”
Gage went to order for him.
“You didn’t get me a birthday present,” Nico accused, turning his brown eyes to Bea.
She scoffed. “You didn’t invite me to your party.”
“It was at a paintball range. You would’ve cried.”
She considered that, sipping. “Probably true.”
“See, I knew it. Girls don’t have the pain tolerance for paintball.”
She pointed the drink at him, straw and all. “Don’t make me explain childbirth, Nico.”
He made a face. “Please don’t. I’d rather do math.”
Bea laughed. “I’ll bring your present at tutoring next week.”
“Snacks?” He lit up.
“Socks,” she corrected.
He rolled his eyes and slumped dramatically onto the table.
Gage returned, handing Nico his drink. They drifted into basketball talk: team stats, coaching changes, some half debate about overseas drafts. She didn’t say much while they talked, just sipped her tea and watched. Nico was energetic, funny. Gage was cool, but present.
He didn’t just tolerate the conversation, he kept it moving. Let Nico be loud. Let him tease. But still slipped in the right question when Nico veered off, like he’d been around enough boys to know how to keep one anchored.
If London weren’t looming, maybe this was what life could’ve looked like. Two people she loved, folding into each other’s worlds.
And then, right there—mid-sip, mid-smile—came the thought. The kind that stuck.
Gage would be a good dad.
He had a way of making the room calmer just by being in it. Even Nico, who was basically caffeine in human form, seemed steadier next to him. She didn’t say it out loud, but it stayed with her.
One more reason to love him.
“Oh,” Nico added, as if remembering something, “El Jefe said to say hello.”
Bea almost inhaled her tapioca. “Uh, thanks, tell him I said hi, too,” she said weakly.
Gage’s expression didn’t change outwardly.
Nico stood, polishing off his drink with one exuberant inhale. “Alright, I gotta go. My mom and dad are taking me to a movie tonight, but I’m like ninety percent sure there are no explosions.”
“Tragic,” Bea said.
“Bring me snacks next week.” He pointed at her.
“You’re getting socks.”
He looked at Gage. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” Gage said. No handshake this time, just a nod. The kind that meant something.
Bea sat back, watching him disappear. “He likes you,” she said softly.
“He’s a good kid,” Gage replied. “You’ve done well with him.” He reached out, put his hand over hers. “You’ve done well in everything, sweetheart.”
Who would’ve believed it? That she’d be in the top ten percent at St. Ives. That she’d be sitting here, across from him, with the kind of future people whispered about.
Bea looked down at her cup. At the pearls she couldn’t quite reach at the bottom.
She didn’t say, it feels like I’m giving something up.
She just said, “I wish I could do the program.”
And he said only, “I know.”