Chapter Five Bee

Chapter Five Bee

Monday evening, December 11, 2023

Bee wasn’t used to having so many places to sit. It was a weird thought, but the only thing her brain seemed to be able to

latch on to after she’d passed out that morning, hibernating following her long flight across the country. She’d drafted a

text to her sister, deleted it, considered calling her parents, panicked, and then turned her attention to the absolutely

massive house that she could call her own, at least for now.

It wasn’t that space was foreign to her. Her parents, after all, had a small mansion that they had boasted about since Bee

and Bethany were in diapers. But living in the heart of the tech community, Bee had long since traded comfort for luxury,

convincing herself that a gorgeous view and an accessible coffee shop would more than make up for having precisely six feet

of space to move around in.

Okay—she was being a little bitter. She loved her studio. It was cramped and outrageously expensive, but it was hers, something she’d had to fight for the many times her parents had offered help with a mortgage on a larger place in exchange

for their many strings, or, God forbid, the handful of times they’d suggested she move in with Bethany . Bee shuddered. No, she would take her own place any time.

Still, it was nothing like Clover’s country house, with its cozy accoutrements: a foyer with a gold chandelier and clean wooden

stairs that led to Clover’s bedroom, a master suite with a balcony that overlooked the forest beyond and a claw-footed tub

in the bathroom. Though the house clearly had history, it was one of deep love and care. Every update seemed thoughtful, every

detail purposeful, every corner clean.

Past the stairs on the first floor was the living room, which had windows on every side, allowing light to pour in during

the day and now revealing starlight as dusk came. There was a TV mounted above the fireplace, against a backdrop of exposed,

weathered red brick that looked perfectly unpolished. The room was sectioned off by a family couch with the comfiest cushions

Bee had ever lay on, and behind it was an oak desk and a full wall of books, like something out of Bee’s childhood dreams

of stealing into Belle’s home at night and ripping out her library with a forklift.

And then there was the kitchen that Jimmy had recommended she spend some time in that morning. Bee didn’t really cook. Microwaving and ordering in were much more her specialties, but there was something about the sheer size of a kitchen like Clover’s—something that promised a generation of family memories, of high school study sessions around the table in the kitchen nook, of holiday dinners planned and prepared at the huge island in front of the six-burner stove. It was a chef’s kitchen, made wholesome with love. When she’d first seen it, her gaze had locked on to the catalog of height milestones scribbled on a wall beside the refrigerator.

Clover at three.

Clover at six.

Clover at thirteen.

In Bee’s family, appearances were everything, and part of the child-parent contract she’d signed out of the womb was making

sure she was never idle, or at least never seemed to be so. Starting in junior high, she’d been president of the debate club,

editor in chief of the newspaper, regional vice president of the honor society... an endless list of little feats to fill

her résumé. Her parents kept a record of her progress by tracking awards and titles.

Clover had simply had to grow.

And if Bee’s parents saw her now, lazing about and flipping through channels on Clover’s television—she had cable !—they’d probably send her a bill for the investment they’d wasted all these years. They were going to be pissed when they found out she wasn’t coming to their Christmas Eve dinner.

Sighing heavily, she reached for her phone. She had been keeping it on airplane mode as if disconnecting herself from incoming

calls and alerts would also shield her from the anticipation of her family’s ire, but now she turned it back on, pulling up

the text message to Beth that she’d begun drafting earlier that afternoon.

Hi sis, it read. Just wanted to let you know that I’m out of town. Won’t be back until after Christmas. Not answering emails till then. Love

you!

It was short and sweet and would absolutely get her killed. She deleted it and tried again: Hey Bethy ! It’s Bee, obvi. So... totally last minute, but I realized I needed a breather, and so I packed up my bags to take a quick

vacay in Ohio!

Ugh, no. Why was drafting a text message so much harder than writing ad copy?

Because you suck at both, her inner critic whispered into her ear, laughing. Bee groaned and fell back into the cushions of the couch. Maybe she could

ask Ayana to cover for her, suggest she’d struck up some deal between their companies and sent Bee on a covert mission to...

Bee let out another heavy sigh. Eventually, she’d just have to tell her family that she was gone. Whatever excuse she gave,

short of a terminal illness, would be met with fury, and she’d have to deal. She didn’t want to, but it’s not like she hadn’t

before. But she also didn’t have to do it right now .

That’s right, she told herself. No need to rush. It’s day zero; you just got here.

Instead, she decided to dial Ayana, which was the sane thing to do, given that her best friend was officially the only other

person in her life who knew she had left the city.

“Hey, girl!” Ayana’s perky voice soothed Bee’s anxiety almost immediately.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m alive and in Ohio.”

“Glad to hear it. How’s the Vacate so far?”

“Honestly?” Bee looked around the massive living room. “Utterly ridiculous. I haven’t had this much space in at least a decade. The house is gorgeous, and my swap-mate’s dad is seriously the sweetest. He lives in the apartment downstairs. And the farm manager ...” Bee bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to bring him up.

“Uh-huh?” Ayana prodded.

“He’s cute,” Bee said simply.

“Oh, really? Because it sounded like you were about to say he was foine .”

Bee laughed. “I mean, he’s definitely easy on the eyes. But that’s not why I’m here.” She settled into the cushions of the

couch. “I am not in the market for a vacation boo.”

“Why not? Summer doesn’t have a monopoly on flings.”

“I am on hiatus.”

“Fine. I accept your hiatus. Actually, speaking of men you’re not at all interested in—guess who I just saw on the invite

list for the Christmas Eve Eve party?”

Bee rolled her eyes so hard she felt the muscles strain. Roger. They’d dated off and on since she moved to San Francisco, and it took only the fourth time of him cheating on her for her

to realize that she was wasting her time. “I thought he quit tech so he could manage his father’s yacht business.”

“He’s high up at a new VR company now. My assistant must have added him on accident.”

“Gross.” The idea that she’d have to hobnob with him at future tech events nearly made her gag, but she sucked her teeth instead. She’d never been in love with Roger, and it was safe to say he had never been in love with her either. But he had represented everything that she was expected to want: well-mannered, attractive, successful. Every excuse he made when he was caught texting another woman, or out partying late with a pretty colleague, or having dinner with “a friend” was one she had been all too willing to accept, if it meant she got to keep the fantasy of their romance for anyone who looked at them. At the very least, he’d been nice to her, even if he’d never been good to her.

“I’m not exactly thrilled to rub elbows with him either, but business is business, I guess,” Ayana said. “Just be thankful

you get to spend your holidays across the country.”

“Oh, I am. Very much so. Thanks for the encouragement, by the way.”

“Always. I’m rooting for you. Hot farm manager or not.”

Bee laughed. It was good to remember who she did have, even when it felt like she was entirely alone. Her memories flickered

back to the fateful Christmas when her parents had first suggested that she and her sister should work together. The one when

they’d told her that writing for fun was a waste of time. When Beth had readily agreed to partner with her, Bee thought it

was the first sign that the relationship they’d let unravel during their late teens and early twenties was on its way to being

stitched back together.

Now Bee was terrified to text her.

She looked up at the ceiling and decided to think about Ayana’s business instead. “How’s the planning for the holiday market?”

Ayana was all too excited to switch gears, and Bee welcomed the comfort of work that had nothing to do with her.

When they eventually said their goodbyes, Bee let her phone drop. Finally feeling somewhat content, she reached for the remote beside her and flipped through the channels until she landed on her favorite Christmas film, which featured Tori Spelling and Tia Mowry battling for top spot in a caroling competition. She allowed herself to sink into their ridiculous rivalry for the next thirty minutes, only startling out of her comforting haze when she realized there was singing that wasn’t coming from the TV.

... when you’re sleeping / He knows when you’re awake .

Bee turned the TV down and rushed to the window, pushing back the curtains she’d drawn earlier.

There were carolers walking down the street, dressed in what Bee’s mom would call their Sunday best, in a variety of green

and red. It was dark out, but whoever was leading the small procession—a little blond boy—was carrying what looked like an

electric lantern. Behind him was a mix of teenagers and adults, just a handful of both, singing a medley of Christmas classics

that immediately made Bee feel like she was in the heart of her very own Hallmark film.

She looked around for her coat and her boots, then dashed out the door. It was only when it slammed behind her that she realized she didn’t actually know what she was doing—it was neither Halloween nor Mardi Gras. One did not throw candy or beads at carolers. But as she headed toward the street, she noticed others coming from their houses, wrapped in coats and blankets, gloved hands holding cups of something steaming and, Bee imagined, decadent. Some leaned against one another as their own voices murmured along to the chorus. Even Knox, she realized, was standing across the way, chatting up a happy-seeming family.

She took note of his relaxed posture: one hand in his pocket, the way he threw back his head and laughed when one of the older

boys said something she couldn’t hear. She had to admit—even in the dark, the man was easy on the eyes.

When he saw her, he smiled and raised a cup of something in a toast. She blushed and waved back.

“Figured you’d need these,” a voice behind her murmured. She turned as Jimmy ambled up to her, a pair of gloves in his hands.

“Heard the door to your place slam and figured you came out to see the town’s famed carolers.”

“Famed?” she asked, thanking him as she accepted the gloves. Her fingers were, in fact, freezing.

He nodded. “Yeah, we love ’em out here. Look forward every year.” Though the carolers had stopped on the street, allowing

the neighbors to crowd in just a bit more, he was already turning around and heading back to his apartment. “Enjoy yourself,

Miss Bee,” he called behind him.

She turned her attention back to the carolers, to this neighborhood she was a part of, however briefly. It wasn’t going to

last, this little dream she’d found herself in. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t fall in love with every single moment of

it.

She just had to give herself permission.