Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August 2020
Providence, Rhode Island

Beca was exhausted but fulfilled. Across the room of this restaurant—“The Slow Rhode” in Providence, a casual diner due to them agreeing that it didn’t have to be anything fancier—over the other patrons’ heads, she watched her wife return from the restrooms. Vivid blue eyes remaining on her as she made a beeline for their table.

Chloe’s face was glowing as if she had just applied a fresh layer of makeup, smiling back at Beca like nobody else existed but her.

This woman still had that special something that, after all their years of friendship since college, dating, and marriage, Beca’s breath would catch at the sight of her smile.

Upon their second encounter during Beca’s first year in college, Chloe had barged into Beca’s shower stall. (Yeah, Beca’s now-wife was a creepy weirdo, and Beca didn't know how to handle the situation, but she was grateful when Chloe did exactly that.) So, while in the shower and standing there stark naked, Chloe had told her—after a strange interaction and a duet of sorts—that she was “very confident about all this” and gestured down her gorgeous body.

And only THREE YEARS after secretly pining for each other and for Beca to realize her feelings, she ended her relationship with Jesse. And eventually, she and Chloe confessed their feelings for each other and left college as a couple.

Now, due to hormonal changes, Chloe was experiencing negative feelings regarding her postpartum body and the visible evidence of motherhood.

Although Beca believed her wife was still beautiful, Chloe relentlessly sought to improve her attractiveness in her wife’s eyes. Not that it was necessary, but every time she did this, Beca’s heart would race a little faster, and she’d give her an appreciative and somewhat sheepish smirk.

Not a single day had passed since then that she hadn’t reminded her of that fact—that Chloe was still and always will be beautiful no matter what because she was Beca’s one true love and the mother of their child.

It was a fantastic date night—the first date again since their daughter was born. They were still head over heels in love as they had been in college, and the evening felt like a throwback to their very first date.

“Babe,” Chloe said sweetly, kissing Beca’s cheek, “thanks for tonight. I had so much fun.”

“Yeah, about time, too. Next time, I swear , it’ll be a fancier date, like at Red Lobster or something.” Laughing nervously, Beca felt bad that they had only had burgers and fries for their anniversary dinner. Chloe deserved so much more…

“You know I don’t care about that stuff,” Chloe assured her, “as long as we have each other and enjoy ourselves.”

At least for Chloe’s sake, Beca could enjoy the evening and savor the moment they spent together while ignoring her work responsibilities for a few hours. However, as soon as they had left the restaurant, reality hit her with the force of a tropical cyclone, and she was back to square one.

Beca stared down the sidewalk, taking in the busy nightlife of Providence, and fought off the tension in her body to build and give her away. She hadn’t been getting enough sleep these past few days. And now, fatigue was catching up to her.

“You’ve been working too hard.” Chloe’s voice was chastising and worried. Of course, she’d noticed. “You should take it easy.”

“I know, Chlo.” With a sigh of exhaustion, Beca squeezed her wife’s hand to reassure her she was okay. That everything was fine. She didn’t have the energy to chew over this issue again—not tonight, at least. “I know…”

Closing her eyes and breathing evenly, the cool breeze helped Beca calm down. 

She jumped at the sound of several cars honking in the distance and saw a sports car racing through before the light changed at the intersection. Pedestrians sprang back, muttering obscenities and letting out gasps as the car sped off in the opposite direction, leaving behind the muffled blare of rhythmic beats.

Beca felt a shiver run through her body as her wife draped her arm around her to pull her closer to her. Chloe glared after the vehicle with an angry frown.

“Ugh, what a reckless jerk,” she cursed under her breath.

“C’mon,” Beca urged, turning slowly to pull at her wife’s arm. She tried to fight off the intuitive feeling that something wasn’t right. “It’s getting cold. Let’s get back to the car.”

A part of her mind flatly refused to think about the mountain of work waiting at home, the concert event she had to prepare in less than a week, the completion of the mixing of the recorded tracks for said event, or the submission of a rough draft first thing in the morning. Since she had promised Chloe a special night at home—just the two of them. There was a part of her mind that was freaking out because she had to let her wife down again.

On their wedding anniversary, no less.

Beca tried to calm the mounting stress level she was experiencing by shaking off her worries. Chloe would understand.

“Bec, why don’t you call in sick tomorrow and try to get some rest?” Chloe suggested as they walked down the street to locate their car; her hand was firm and secure, like a safety belt. “I’ll take Cathy to the park; you get the place all to yourself. And, I don’t know, maybe in the afternoon, we can do something fun together as a family,” she added sweetly, tilting her head in contemplation to the side and considering their more pressing option. “Or… if I get Aubrey to babysit again, maybe I’ll get to finish painting the living room.”

Their best friend, Aubrey, watched their fifteen-month-old daughter, so the couple could go out together.

“I’m not sure, you should put yourself through too much stress and do strenuous things, Chlo,” Beca said, “I mean, you’re still breastfeeding.”

Chloe scoffed at that, then burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it. “Taking care of a toddler falls squarely on my shoulders, Bec, and I do everything around the house and run errands, too. Are those not strenuous things?”

A pang of guilt swept through Beca. Because Chloe always made sure everything was taken care of when she got home from work. Beca would then do leftover tasks, such as sterilizing bottles, breast pump parts, and pacifiers, preparing baby formula for the next day, and stocking up their baby supplies, if necessary. That was nothing compared to what Chloe had to shoulder from the start with their newborn baby until now.

It wasn’t easy adjusting to parenthood when Beca started her job as an Assistant Engineer at Oceanside Records, Inc., while their home was a single construction site. At the same time, her wife had gone through postpartum depression while caring for their colicky newborn baby.

However, they were blessed with fantastic friends: Stacie, whose baby was a month older and would sleep through the racket of another crying baby in the room, supported them. Aubrey and her husband, Chicago, came over often. The other girls, Beca’s and Chloe’s parents, all flew in—separately, of course—for a visit, making the small studio feel cramped at times. They all chipped in to get their renovation done faster. Now it was only one wall left unfinished because months ago, a very hormonal Chloe desired a new wall paint.

Their current home was a tad smaller than their last. At the beginning, they needed to find a new place to live that was suitable for their lifestyle when they had just graduated from college and were searching for jobs. So, they asked Stacie to room together.

They lived for two years in Maryland, where they shared a two-bedroom apartment with Stacie, who worked towards her master’s degree in marine engineering. That way, the couple, as well as Stacie, were able to save for their respective homes later while sharing all utility expenses and the rent. And well, during that same period Beca and Chloe had then tied the knot. Nothing fancy. They eloped because they were young and crazy in love. No reception, no ceremony.

After Stacie got her degree, they all moved to Rhode Island in their respective new homes. Stacie moved to Providence, living the life of a fresh graduate with a master’s degree, and landing a job as a naval engineer to put her engineering training to work and meet exciting people.

The married couple, Beca and Chloe, eventually found a small moved-in ready studio in North Kingstown, RI—their current home—also on the east coast. Luckily, with a separate room for Beca to set up her office.

Being together and not knowing what the future would bring, they went for a compact and easy studio to care for, which they believed might be the right step for their lifestyle as newlyweds. They both had a stable income while budgeting for a studio, so it was easier to consider their monthly living costs on top of the rent.

Until Beca and Chloe decided to have a baby.

Despite Beca’s father paying most of the hospital and medical bills and Chloe’s parents paying off their utility bills and rent, they still had student loans to pay off. Even with Beca and Chloe’s combined incomes, the cost of living was still high to dare to want something that falls outside of basic survival. Especially if they had a baby.

Beca had told Chloe that it was OK for her to bear the expenses as long as Chloe would be fine to stay with their baby, but Chloe wanted to go back to work as soon as they got a space in kindergarten, and Beca had not been entirely on board with this idea. 

“And you could spend some quality time with your daughter,” Chloe elaborated on her idea, bringing Beca back to the present moment. “It would just be a day.”

“You know I can’t just call in sick if I need to get work done, Chlo,” Beca grumbled. “I can’t afford to lose this job. We need the money.”

Chloe sighed. “It’s about being there for our daughter. Not just for your job,” she accused Beca, releasing her hand as they stopped in front of their car. Beca looked for the keys to unlock the doors; she didn’t have the nerve to argue with her wife. “She should feel that her mom is there for her, too.”

Beca felt an internal jolt, a fresh twinge of guilt. Chloe was probably right. Maybe Beca had to work too hard to support their family, and as a result, she was rarely home and rarely got to spend time with their daughter. They desperately needed the cash, though. They couldn’t live off their parents for the rest of their lives and expected them to pay for everything. This wasn’t how things worked.

“I am there for her, Chloe. And I will always be there for her, and for you, this family, which is why I am doing this,” Beca told her wife firmly, that mounting stress level from earlier resurfacing and tensioning her entire body, making her feel a bit agitated. They reached their car, while Beca walked to the driver’s door. “I need to get my priorities straight, suck up to my boss and the clients, and avoid under-delivering.”

“What about disappointing your daughter?” Chloe threw in rather casually, as if their daughter came only second in Beca’s life.

“Chloe… We. Need. The. Fucking. Money!” The force of Beca’s exclamation caused her wife to flinch, making Beca realize she was projecting her anger and stress on the wrong person. After all, struggling financially at the moment wasn’t Chloe’s fault.

Breathing slowly through her nose, Beca said calmer, “Fuck! I'm sorry, babe.” She walked around the car and took her wife into her arms. She rested her forehead against Chloe’s. “I don’t know where that came from. Look, I’m stressed out. I have to catch up on so much work, but please, you have to understand. I’m trying hard to be a good mother and a good wife, but I need your support, too.”

Chloe wrapped her arms around Beca’s waist. “I’m sorry, too. You are a good mother and a good wife,” she reassured her. "And you can still tuck her in when you come home or sing her favorite lullaby to her. Like you usually do.” She dropped her gaze, smiling.

“Don’t apologize. Look, it won’t be like this forever. You’ll see. Just hold on a little longer until we get that mansion on an island that you always dreamed of.” With a chuckle, Beca reasoned it couldn’t hurt to indulge in a little dreaming.

“Mansion on an island, huh?” Chloe giggled, playing along. “And do I get to eat Red Lobster at my own pool?”

“Of course, every day until you get fat, my love!”

Chloe smacked her while laughing. And they shared a sweet, passionate kiss. “I love you, Beca.”

“I love you more. Let’s go home quickly, and I'll prove to you just how much I do,” she added coyly and gestured for her wife to get in their car. “There is still an hour until before we need to pick up the little princess.”

Chloe’s phone rang, and the screen displayed Aubrey’s incoming video call. Slightly anxious about the call since Aubrey wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t an emergency, Chloe swiped right to pick up the video call.

“Bree, what’s wrong?” Chloe asked. Beca stepped closer to see the screen her wife held up for them.

They heard their daughter throwing a fit nearby Aubrey's lap. "No! No! Ah-Bweeeeh! Miiiine!"  

“Guys, I got everything under control,” Aubrey said through the cacophony of screams, while something was jerking at her arm; the noise of their girl stubbornly screeching and her squeaky rambling when she didn't get what she wanted. “But someone wanted to say hi and refused to sleep!”

"Miiine!" Cathy demanded. "Mine, Ah-Bweeeeh!"

“Aubrey, is Cathy still awake?” Beca asked and turned the display toward her. Chloe wrapped an arm around Beca’s waist to calm her down.

“Yes, she woke up thirty minutes ago and didn’t stop crying. She’s calmed down, though,” Aubrey assured them despite the audible screech in the background, and held the display down for the couple to see their fifteen-month-old toddler. Aubrey picked Cathy up to sit her on her lap, as the girl looked curiously at the phone. Her cherub face reddened from her crying, and her bright blue eyes were huge and glimmered with excitement when she recognized her mothers. “You tell your moms goodnight. Then it’s time for bed again, okay?”

“Ma-mi!” the toddler squealed and grabbed for the phone, opening her mouth to try to eat the phone. “Mama there! Mine!”

"Are you sure you can handle?" Chloe asked, concerned. "We can come and pick her up."

"She's only being stubborn!" Aubrey sighed.

“Here’s her bottle, honey,” came from beside Aubrey. It was her husband—Chicago—who held up a baby bottle to her. He waved at Beca and Chloe, greeting them, and looking exhausted as he yawned and then disappeared again from view.

“Cathy baby, mama and I will be back soon,” Chloe said affectionately, smiling at their daughter, “you listen to Aunt Bree and Uncle Go, and go to sleep, okay?”

The toddler squealed happily, smacking at the phone as if trying to grab for her mother. "Ah-Bwee! Mine! Da-ba!" Cathy squealed and tried reaching for her bottle. Aubrey gave her the bottle, which Cathy began suckling while staring at the screen, looking content.

“Goodnight, sweet girl,” Beca said strictly, as Cathy ought to be sleeping now, “be good. Mommy and I won’t be long. But you should be in bed!”

“You guys take your time. But I think she only woke up to tell you goodnight. Or she got hungry again,” Aubrey said as she held the phone away from Cathy’s grasp. “I’ll read her her favorite bedtime story and tuck her in.”

Cathy giggled, looking in awe when she saw her mother through the phone. She hopped on Aubrey’s lap excitedly, reaching for the phone again, the other hand clutching her bottle.

“Goodnight, sweet angel,” Chloe said, waving at the screen and blowing kisses, “I love you, see you later. Mwah! ”

Pulling the bottle from her mouth, Cathy mimicked her mother and blew kisses—a recently learned gesture. “Mwah!”

Beca laughed and made kissy sounds at her daughter, waving.

“Bye, guys, enjoy your night.” Aubrey gave Cathy a smooch on the crown of her red curls before she disconnected the video call.

They drove home down the interstate, Chloe grinning broadly and her cheeks flushed as she stared out the window, her hand on Beca’s.

“I can text Aubrey that we’ll be a little late,” Chloe suggested cheekily, squeezing Beca’s hand. “So, we won’t need to rush and can take our time.”

“Yeah, I know, babe, I get it,” Beca groaned at implication and clutched the steering wheel, “our sex life has been neglected lately and us always being exhausted that we tend to… rush … things.”

“I’m not complaining at all,” Chloe said, but Beca could tell there was more her wife didn’t fully tell her, maybe to avoid getting into another fight again. “I’m happy and content about what we can get. And it’s not easy at the moment. Sure, it was easier before.”

“What do you mean… before?” Beca asked warily. She checked the rearview mirror and set the turn signal to surpass another vehicle.

“Before, when it was just us,” Chloe proceeded with a sigh. “I mean, I love our little family. I just didn’t realize that we’d get less quality time together as a married couple. I love Cathy to bits, but I sometimes wish we’d have more time together, just you and me.”

“We can always ask Aubrey or Stacie to babysit,” Beca suggested. “And Aubrey’s, after all, Cathy’s godmother. And Stacie loves having two babies because she’s that crazy.”

“Yeah, but even then,” Chloe went on, sighing, “it’s always about us being parents and our obligations as parents. Was just thinking of ending maternity leave sooner…”

“So, this all comes down to the same issue again,” Beca grunted and didn’t realize she was driving faster than was allowed. “You’re staying home with our daughter, Chlo. She needs you. I can take care of us. You take all of the maternity leave you can get and be there for our daughter. I don't want Cathy to go to kindergarten at fifteen months and be raised by strangers.”

“They won’t be strangers. It’s their job to take care of children,” Chloe retorted. She looked out the window and fiddled with her wedding ring. It was a habit she had whenever she was nervous. “I just thought it would help get the pressure off you. I’d get my full income as a vet. And I’ll paint the rest of the living room; it’ll help me feel more productive that way. And pay off our debts.”

“Chlo, no, please,” Beca insisted.

“So, I don’t get a say in this?” Chloe snapped. “Why am I even surprised?”

“Wha–What’s that supposed to mean? We agreed you stay at home with the baby until she was at least two.”

“But I didn’t expect we’d be struggling financially.”

“So, maybe I’m not a good provider,” Beca snorted sarcastically and felt tears sting in her eyes. “Because we’re in this situation.”

“Beca… no, that’s not what I meant, silly,” Chloe sighed, taking Beca’s hand into hers. “I just wanted to help.”

Beca turned to look at her, smiling, “You’re already helping me by being there for Cathy. Let me take care of the rest…”

“Promise me?”

Beca turned her gaze off the road. To look into her wife’s expectant eyes. A wide grin formed on her lips as she said firmly, “I promise….”

A bright flash of light came moving in their direction, accompanied by a deafening honking that rang in Beca’s ears. It wasn’t until Beca looked ahead that the truck was barreling down their lane.

The next thing she knew, she was hitting her head and having all the breath knocked out of her lungs. Chloe's hand slid through hers, and the passenger seat on the smashed and shredded side of the vehicle was abruptly empty. The blunt force of the collision yanked the passenger out of the vehicle entirely.

Above all else, Chloe was no longer there.

The vehicle flipped across the road before coming to rest on its roof. Beca felt a trickle of liquid on her head. She felt her whole body burning and in pain.

Where was her wife?

“Chl…” Her tongue had a metallic taste. When Beca cocked her head to speak, all that came out was a gurgling sound. A gaping hole where the passenger seat had been.

Chloe was gone. 

*

Rhode Island Hospital
Providence, Rhode Island 

The first thing Beca noticed when she came to, hours or perhaps only a short moment later—she couldn’t tell—was the white, unfamiliar ceiling above her head. Her body pained all over but was limp at the same time, and she felt thoroughly disoriented. In tandem with her heart’s uneven beating, there was a beeping noise in her ears, resonating in the room where she was seemingly staying. From her peripheral view, she realized she was hooked to an ICU monitor that indicated her vital signs. A collar restrained her neck, and tubes protruded from her nostrils. As her breathing sped up, the beeping increased as a result, alarming someone who rushed to her side and brushed her hand gently.

“Francis,” the person said softly over Beca’s head to another figure across the room, “Beca’s awake.”

Frightened and traumatized, Beca felt relief to see her dad with her stepmother, Sheila. He shook all over, maybe uncertain where he could put his hand, given that Beca was in a physically fragile state. Unkempt and with circles under his puffy eyes, he looked like he hadn’t showered in days. Sheila comforted him by putting her hand on his shoulder while looking down at Beca with a sorrowful smile.

“Beca, I thought I’d lost you!” Francis said, his voice breaking. For a man whom Beca had spent years condemning for abandoning her and her mother when she was a child, a man who had been strong and egoistic enough to turn his back on her, he looked like a mess with tears in his eyes and being in a state of emotional distress. “Thank God! Thank God you’re alive.” He kissed her forehead tenderly, the only spot that didn’t hurt her. She returned a smile in appreciation.

She attempted to open her mouth to speak, to ask questions, but the brackets in her mouth and her collar restrained any movement.

“Your mother’s on her way,” Francis said soothingly, “her flight’s been delayed.”

Feeling slightly frantic because she needed her questions answered and unable to speak, Beca tapped her ring finger on the mattress that carried her wedding band.

Dad, where is Chloe? Where is she?

“Francis, I think Beca’s asking about Chloe…” A soft, uncertain voice speculated from behind Beca’s father. Sheila was the one who noticed the movement, so she stepped closer to the bed, and Beca tried to nod, to blink, to confirm this speculation. “Beca, we have no news about Chloe. We’re sorry. Her parents are informed. They’re in the waiting area.”

Again, Beca moved her eyes frantically around to find something that would lead Sheila to answer about her daughter’s whereabouts. Beca felt another brush over the back of her hand.

“Cathy is fine,” Sheila said, reassuringly nodding. “Aubrey is taking care of her, so don’t worry. Your friend and her husband were here a few hours ago to check on you. But your condition seemed unchanged. And she also checked on Chloe’s parents. We have no news yet.”

Beca wanted to scream from the top of her lungs, but her jaw refused to move. It felt locked, and attempting even the slightest movement caused her excruciating pain to spread through her head. Her arms were immobilized in casts, limiting her range of motion. She was even unable to move or kick her legs. It felt like being trapped in her own body; she might as well have been buried alive.

Then the door to this room opened, and a woman walked in. “Mrs. Mitchell-Beale?” the voice said gently while Francis and Sheila stepped aside. The antiseptic air filled Beca’s nostrils and the plain, sterile surrounding, leading her to believe that she was resting on a hospital bed. The woman wore a light blue Kasack like those worn by Chloe’s assistants at the vet clinic where she worked; Chloe, in contrast, had a white doctor’s coat. Where the fuck is Chloe? With questioning eyes, Beca tried to ask the nurse who may have the answer to this question. She looked from her father to Sheila and begged them with beseeching eyes to ask on her behalf. But neither caught her plea, as Francis was currently a worthless jumble while Sheila kept a close eye on him to ensure he didn't have a nervous breakdown. He refused to let go of his daughter’s hand. “The doctor will be here soon,” the nurse informed them. She turned to Beca after checking the monitors, saying, “Are you experiencing any pain?”

Beca couldn’t move her head to shake it while the ICU monitor’s beeping increased further with the level of her panic attack.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no, Mrs. Mitchell-Beale,” this woman instructed her, encouraging her. She held a tablet in her hands, typing and entering every movement or reaction Beca made. Beca blinked once. “Okay. I know you must be frightened right now. The doctor will be here soon,” she repeated reassuringly.

“Will she be okay?” Francis asked after he collected himself.

“The doctor will do everything to help her, Dr. Mitchell,” the woman told Francis.

After waiting for a few more minutes that stretched on forever, a man looking to be in his fifties, with graying hair, of Asian ethnicity, walked in and walked up to Beca’s bed—this time, wearing a doctor’s coat—similar to Chloe’s, her beautiful wife. Where is she? Why isn’t she here? What even happened… ?

“Mrs. Mitchell-Beale, I’m Dr. Han-Lee,” the doctor introduced himself, calm and patient, “you’ve been in a coma for three days. You and your wife have been in a car accident. I’ve already informed your wife’s parents about the news.”

So, where’s Chloe? He’s the doctor, so he’ll tell her now where she is. So that her bed can be moved to her wife’s room… Maybe she’s staying in another department, in the ER perhaps, due to the severity of her injuries, Beca hoped. Still, images of the car crash, of Chloe being torn from her grasp at the moment of impact, flooded her consciousness. Images that would forever be seared in her mind. No, no… that didn’t happen… How long would the procedure take that would keep her wife in the emergency room after Beca had been in a coma for three days? Chloe must be in a different ward, possibly going through the same anxieties as Beca and wondering if anyone has heard from her. Beca needed to tell her she was fine.

She felt tears shoot in her eyes, spilling the sides of her face.

“Mrs. Mitchell-Beale,” Dr. Han-Lee proceeded as he pushed his glasses up his nose; his eyes were dark and sympathetic. Before the doctor revealed the news that would change her life, Beca knew something was wrong. “Unfortunately, despite our best efforts, your wife did not make it. I’m sorry. We could not save her.”

There was a commotion of murmurs and gasps, the frantic beeping from the ICU grew faster, and someone squeezed her numb hand.

Her own voice, though, was muted.

Chapter Text

She had this dream once, and it kept recurring every once in a while over the past fifteen years. 

She'd tell herself that she was just waking up from a harrowing nightmare and that none of this was real.

But she'd never expected that this day would come to pass, nor had she ever thought about what she’d do if it did…

*

15 Years later…
Staten Island, New York City

“Aw'right, I get the bangers and mash they serve here; looks so scrummy.”

Beca squinted over the edge of her menu card at her companion and suppressed a small smile at his British vocabulary. He sounded so damn sophisticated to her ears, hot, and so attractive even if they had only been discussing the food so far, the other patrons walking by, the weather, or the establishment he picked out for them.

It felt like in a different lifetime, during her internship at WBUJ radio station back in college, when she had been ordered around by that same attractive voice because he used to be her boss back then. However, at the time, she found his British accent and obnoxious antics more distracting than sexually alluring. Because, countless times had this dude, Luke—the radio station manager—made Beca and the other freshman intern, Jesse, do menial tasks like stacking CDs and DVDs instead of letting Beca play her own mashups in the booth.

This was the same British dude that warned her and Jesse against “having sex on the table” during their internship orientation. Jesse hated him for making him run errands for him or get him to buy his meals. And since Beca and Jesse had been friends, she used to hate Luke, too, out of solidarity and loyalty to Jesse.

Now this same dude who used to be her boss during college was working under Beca as an Assistant Recording Engineer in her department at her own record label. So, now Beca was his boss. How ironic was that?

“Hmm… I’m not sure yet,” Beca replied, and almost wanted to ask what toad in the hole was without sounding stupid. “Maybe I’ll go for the pigs in blankets,” she added with a light chuckle because it was just mini hot dogs in croissants. And she wasn’t really hungry.

“Good choice.” Luke casually flipped through the pages of his menu card, while blowing his bangs out of his eyes, nodding in appreciation at all the English dishes they served at this pub. “And I'll take mineral water.”

He closed his menu and waved for the server to place their order.

“By the way, um , Beca–” he smiled cheekily because she was still his boss and he never addressed her by her first name at work, “–I’m absolutely chuffed to bits that you agreed to this dinner.” He rubbed his knuckles and let them crack, then placed his hands on the table in an attempt to flatten the tablecloth. It was obvious that he was nervous. “Hope you’ll enjoy this night out. As friends, of course. And… who knows what the night may bring, aw'right? No pressure.”

“My daughter just wouldn’t let go of this topic,” Beca said dismissively, wanting to be straightforward about this “casual meeting” and refusing to call it a “date.” Because it wasn’t a date. She’d made that clear from the start. It was only one dinner night, as colleagues. And Luke had accepted, nonetheless.

She only promised Cathy to go out once with someone. It didn’t matter who—just once—get out there and forget about work for once. But since Beca didn’t know anybody outside her workplace and only tried a few casual hookups with strangers, as Stacie had suggested, Luke seemed to be the only and next best choice.

They met in Rhode Island first, where one of the company’s branches was located, the head office being in New York City. Beca had just been newly hired as an Assistant Engineer at the record label company they both worked at. It was a good enough entry-level position for anyone wanting to work in the music industry. And back then, the salary was enough to make ends meet.

So Beca and Luke ran into each other again, and they had a chance to catch up on their lives since Beca’s graduation. They had reminisced about their time together at Barden University and hit it off immediately. Luke then moved back to Atlanta so that he could support his younger sister and live near her while she completed her studies. Consequently, he and Beca lost contact for several years.

Then the tragedy in Beca’s life happened, where she not only needed to but wanted to cut off everybody from her life and instead focused on her career. She got promoted to A&R Rep, and soon enough to vice president, and eventually bought the company in NYC she had been working hard for and had made famous.

When Luke applied at the head office in NYC, they ran into each other again. And Beca was suddenly his new boss, and everything became awkward at first. Not only did their life’s circumstances and job positions and the whole hierarchy change between them, but also Beca’s overall personality.

She was aware of that. And Luke knew the reason, but he never asked or pestered her with questions. He was as polite as Beca had remembered him before he moved back to Atlanta.

When Cathy had made Beca promise to give “the date” a chance, Beca wanted at least to try. Especially after fifteen years of not dating anybody serious since her wife’s passing. She owed this not only to her daughter but also to herself.

For her daughter’s sake, she had been seeing therapists, as well as receiving medical treatments, taking medication such as antidepressants and sleeping pills because, as a single mother, she needed to function for Cathy. And she needed to get out of the house or the office for a change. This was part of her recovery. Part of the therapy. Part of her healing.

But why was it so hard to enjoy the moment?

Luke was the only dude who deserved this first chance of “dating,” and it would make her daughter happy, too.

“Beca, is everything aw'right?” Luke asked. He’d been staring at her across the table and seemed fidgety in his seat. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s… it’s nothing,” she replied and took a sip of her wine.

Beca knew that something was definitely wrong with her face because she felt herself going pale. She reached for her purse that dangled from her chair and checked for the time on her phone. She suddenly felt her anxiety rising for no apparent reason, and her hands were trembling as she pressed on the contact details of her daughter.

“I should call Cathy and check if she’s okay,” Beca said, concerned that something might be with her daughter. Cathy picked up after the fifth ring. “Hey, where are you?” she asked with no preamble.

“Hanging out with Bella and some friends, why?” Cathy said curtly. She was used to these regular check-ins of her mother. There were other voices in the background. “Mom, everything’s fine. I'm fine. You okay, though?”

“And where are you, girls?” Beca asked, disregarding her daughter’s question.

“We’re at the Park Slope, with Cosma, Duncan, and Sherry.” With a sigh, Cathy expressed her frustration, and Beca understood. Perhaps she was experiencing another panic attack over her daughter’s whereabouts and safety. And this wasn’t the first time it happened. “Mom, I told you where I was going. And Bella’s here,” her daughter assured her, hearing Bella Conrad’s timid voice in the background.

A month older than Cathy, Bella was the polar opposite of her mother’s vivacious, bubbly personality at college. Beca had never stopped harboring the secret hope that Bella would be a good influence on Cathy, who occasionally engaged in reckless activities to prove herself to others.

“We’ll be at Cosma’s for a while, but don’t freak out again, I’ll be home by 10. Cosma’s mom will give us a ride back,” Cathy explained, recognizing how to ease her mother’s worry. “You and your… um… your colleague enjoying the casual meeting, Mom?” Cathy chuckled, avoiding using the wrong terms to put off her mother.

“Y-Yeah, I guess. We’re at an English pub, it’s great here. Sorry, Cathy, I got worried because you were supposed to text me if you met with Bella or not. And you didn’t.”

“Sorry, Mom, but I didn’t want to disturb your… um, meeting,” Cathy said. “And I’m sixteen now, I can take care of myself. So, chill for once, ‘kay?”

“Jesus Christ, would a goddamn text to your mother kill you?” Beca snapped. She looked over the table at her very patient-looking, very understanding companion and felt guilty for using her phone during their dinner. Luke had placed their order without disturbing the phone conversation.

“Fine! I’ll update you every goddamn hour, goodness!” Cathy snapped back, using her mother’s tone of voice. “But turn off your notifications because that’s effin’ rude.”

“Yeah, I know. Okay, Sweetie, see you later.”

“’kay, mom, enjoy your dinner. Bye.”

She held off on hanging up until her daughter did, in case she needed to add something.

“So, still well with everything?” Luke asked curiously, to divert Beca’s attention from her mounting anxiety.

Before she had agreed to meet him outside their workplace, she mentioned she was suffering from sporadic anxiety attacks, but that it was getting better because of her medications. The way he handled her struggles and listened to her worries without judgment or criticism only showed Luke’s unflinching commitment to her.

Beca had questioned his sanity on multiple occasions, wondering if he was either too naïve or foolish to keep talking to a mentally unstable nutcase such as her.

*

That same week, on Saturday, Aubrey and Flo came over for a visit. Since both women lived in the same city—Aubrey, a realtor (three years after Chloe’s death, also moved to Manhattan with her husband, so she could be closer to her godchild) and Flo, a Pilates instructor, who lived in Queens—Flo had picked Aubrey up from her place, and they drove over to Beca’s on Staten Island. Stacie came an hour later with Bella, who was excited to show off her driving skills, since she’d had her learner’s permit for about a month. So, Stacie practically had her personal chauffeur who was eager to drive her around town.

Beca’s modern stucco house near the bay floored the girls every time they visited. Beca could never understand why. Sure, her home was fancy… the dramatic staircase in the foyer along with its very modern interior, and her fenced-in resort-style backyard, which overlooked the bay, really spoke for itself. But to Beca, their home embodied the New York spirit of community.

Cathy’s gregarious personality, combined with both her mothers’ passions, made it easy to make friends. Like most inner-city New Yorkers, she grew up on neighbors’ stoops and running through sprinklers on hot summer days, with complete strangers. Spent her formative years knocking over trash cans with her rambunctious new friends or throwing snowballs at cars and taxis.

Beca never let her stray too far, though. Always keeping a watchful eye on her, wishing she could be the kind of mother who let her child take the subway or ride on the Staten Island ferry all by herself. She longed to be the type of mom who folded laundry and gossiped with the other moms while their children were off doing god knows what.

She couldn’t bear to stifle Chloe, who lived on through her daughter, because it’d be a sin to deprive people of such a lively and kindred spirit, especially while the world grew lonelier and more hurt.

But she did, though.

Just enough veneer existed that the Mitchell-Beale girls could almost acclimate. Such an illusion seemed good enough for Beca.

Once the Conrad girls arrived at Beca’s, Beca gave them a hug and Bella dashed upstairs to Cathy’s bedroom, red-faced and beaming.

“I love my daughter, but God, she sucks at driving, and I’m pretty sure she will kill us both in a car crash,” Stacie commented without thinking and instantly flinched at what she just said. She pressed her lips together and caught Beca’s eyes. “Becs, I didn’t mean–” 

“Stace, I won’t crumble every time someone talks about car crashes,” Beca laughed off and smacked her friend’s arm.

It took a few years after the car accident to reach this level of improvement. Beca’s friends learned to be cautious around her, avoiding certain topics when they were with her, because this subject used to trigger severe episodes in her. They had walked on eggshells around her for the first few years following the car accident, until Beca began therapy and began cautiously opening up in her support groups many years later. At some point, things started to get easier .

Yes, her heart was still a little tense, but she no longer felt the need to cry. Beca didn’t want to be treated like a delicate porcelain doll, so she told her friends to act normally around her and discuss whatever they wanted.

“Get your ass inside.” She ushered Stacie inside and closed the door behind her. “Aubrey and Flo are in the backyard.” As she walked to the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll get the cake. You want coffee, too?”

“Yeah, coffee’s good,” Stacie chuckled awkwardly and removed her sunglasses from the top of her head.

Beca’s friends were amid a conversation when she returned to her backyard with a tray laden with desserts and coffee, as Stacie helped Beca in arranging the table while she listened to Aubrey’s anecdotes.

“– visited my Dad. That was our first time in Europe; Chicago and I loved Germany.” By the sound of her wistful voice, Aubrey must have finished her story while thinking fondly of days gone by. There was an air of the old college “Aubrey Posen” about her when she turned to look at Beca. “Because they couldn’t wait a few more days longer to elope.”

Beca raised an eyebrow at her, because she knew what Aubrey Walp, née Posen was accusing her of. “You’re still holding a grudge against me and my late wife for eloping without telling you, huh?”

Stacie and Flo looked at one other in silence for a moment. It was understandable that Beca found it challenging to talk about the past. It still hurt a little, because she could only have done something so insane with Chloe, her best friend and true love. Beca’s heart ached when she remembered that time, but she had come to terms with the fact that it would perpetually be among her most cherished memories of her.

“Hey, they made you Cathy’s godmother,” Flo threw in with a shrug, to defuse the tension. “You know, in the Hispanic culture, madrinas and padrinos responsibilities have been seen as particularly important and distinctive. They are supposed to buy great presents, but my madrina is very poor or stingy, I’m not sure. She never got me anything.”

“I would buy Cathy the world if she asked me to,” Aubrey said fondly.

“Don’t tell her that,” Beca warned her, chuckling.

“And I think it’s a blessing in disguise that she looks so much like Chloe but comes after Beca’s grumpiness and her personality.”

Both Flo and Stacie froze as they glanced at Beca. Possibly, only Aubrey felt confident mentioning Chloe without being concerned about Beca’s reaction. Having seen Beca at her worst, she knew what to expect from her. After all, Aubrey—above everyone else—was the one who had been there for her all these years; she was the one who literally dragged Beca to counseling, attended every support group with Beca, and provided the greatest support by raising Cathy as well.

Their friendship was cemented because of this.

“Yeah…” Beca said, scoffing as she rolled her eyes at her friend, “she’s also got that overbearing personality at times and I’m sure, that’s like twenty percent Aubrey Posen.”

“Anyway, Beca,” Flo started as she took her plate from the tray. She exchanged a look with both Aubrey and Stacie, giggling a little. “You wanted to talk about your… date … with Luke? How did it go?”

“First dates are always so exciting,” Aubrey remarked. She poured herself coffee and took a sip. “It’s the same Luke from college, you said, right?”

“Yeah, it went okay, but I wouldn’t call it a date,” Beca said and sat down on the sofa beside Stacie, “we hung out, chatted, caught up again on life events. Nothing special.”

Her friends snickered giddily, just like back in college whenever they gossiped about hot dudes. Except that Beca, who was dating Jesse at the time, never truly appreciated all of that.

And later, Chloe.

She rubbed her weary eyes and stared off into the gloomy distance, taking in the entirety of her backyard with the pool at the center. "But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk with you guys about…”

Her friends stopped chatting and looked at her expectantly.

“I’ve been to Chloe’s grave,” she proceeded with a smile, “and I’ve been thinking about getting the headstone refurbished. I thought you could give me your opinion on the new design. The headstone looks so dull, the inscription has long faded, and I wanted it to be more like… like Chloe’s taste,” she said with growing excitement, all thoughts about her recent life improvement’s progress gone. 

Because nothing would ever be as important as Chloe had been and always would be. Until now.

She retrieved some brochures from below the coffee table and turned to the bookmarked pages. Not only that, but she felt herself smile from ear to ear. “I love this cursive inscription and this design for her headstone. What do you think?”

“I went to visit Chloe’s grave last month, and it still looks good,” Flo said with a casual shrug, clearly not understanding what this was all about, “it’s been taken good care of over the years. Why would you want it to be refurbished?”

“Aside from some dirt and minor weathering conditions, the headstone still looks beautiful,” Stacie added, nodding in agreement with Flo. 

“I got it cleaned last time, but I realized that it needed some change,” Beca told them and tapped the brochure nervously with her fingertips.

She couldn’t put a finger on why she felt this strange lately… like some changes were going to happen.

Was this change really about Chloe’s burial monument? Or was this yet again another coping strategy Beca needed to deal with the upcoming changes in her life? Of her teenage daughter, who recently turned sixteen and reached driving age? Of her daughter mentioning wanting to get her learner’s permit? Or of Beca having agreed to try to go out for dinner with a colleague from work, whom she might find decent and understanding enough to give this “dating experience” a try?

Or was this change about something else entirely?

Giving the other two women a side-glare, Aubrey smiled sympathetically at Beca and reached out for the brochure, which Beca handed over to her. “And you picked this new coating, Beca? Is it marble?”

“Yeah, I was thinking of getting a new coating for the headstone, and get the name engraved in that font on page 36,” she explained and was grateful that at least Aubrey—of all people—took her seriously. With trembling fingers, she brushed her hair back and looked at her friends' faces that displayed mixed emotions, ranging from concern, to worry, to excitement, to full support.

They all knew—and even Beca knew—that the memorial stone commemorating Chloe's death remained in pristine condition even fifteen years after her passing.

Maybe Beca needed to do this.

*

Whenever her sixteen-year-old daughter was sitting behind the wheel, every part of her would tense up: her pulse rate would quicken, her hands would get clammy, and she would have trouble breathing.

Cathy wanted to get her learner’s permit and prove to her mother that she was ready, but Beca had been against this idea.

Looking at her daughter, Cathy’s face would become intensely focused as she tried to remember each detail she’d learned from the driver’s manual. She was extremely careful not to make any mistakes as she showed her mother all she had learned about the car, but she preserved her quirky sense of humor whenever she had to think for a moment to recall a crucial detail.

The reason Cathy was being so meticulous was not that Beca was too critical; rather, she was trying to prove to Beca that she knew the basics of driving the car.

Cathy adjusted the rearview and side-view mirrors while sarcastically and dryly explaining what they would do and mentioning the safety they provide for the driver. Like Cathy knew everything in the driver’s manual by heart, which she probably did. Cathy had always been the type of girl who, if she put her mind to it, could do anything.

After ten minutes of Cathy’s monologue and explaining the car’s functionality, she looked beside her at her mother and beamed.

God, she looked just like Chloe when she smiled like that. Except for the missing, blemished scar on her forehead, Beca’s daughter was an exact duplicate of Chloe. She had the same bright blue eyes, the same little dimple in the same spot, the same light, barely visible freckles on her nose. And of course, the most distinguishing feature—that same head of vibrant and curly, reddish hair.

Beca felt the tears in her eyes sting and looked away.

“So, what do you think, Mom?” Cathy asked and clasped her hands together, her voice hopeful. “See, I know the fundamentals, so you don’t have to worry. You only need to sign my permit.”

“I’m not worried about you not knowing how to operate a car, Cathy,” Beca said and remained staring out the window, biting on her knuckle, “but can’t this wait for another… I dunno… two or three more years?”

“What? But Mom! All my friends got their learner’s permit, and even Bella is allowed to drive!” Cathy exclaimed and instantly turned beet red. “You said when I memorized the driver’s manual, you’d sign my permit. Why are you doing this? This isn’t what we agreed on!”

“I know, but now I’m not sure if you should be driving, Cathy,” Beca said tersely. Of course, Cathy only wanted her learner’s permit because all of her friends had theirs. And Cathy had always been in some sort of competition with Bella, Stacie’s daughter.

“You know, why can’t you be as chill as Bella’s mom?” Cathy snapped furiously, “This is totes unfair of you!”

That was it. The tears instantly hit Beca like a tidal wave, and her whole body cramped.

“You are NOT going to drive, young lady, end of story!”

She exited the vehicle as the onslaught of her anxiety attack hit her like a torrential downpour, crushing and smothering her from the inside out. The way Cathy sounded just like Chloe crushed her unexpectedly. She didn’t see this one coming or that her reaction would be like this.

She wasn’t ready for her daughter to drive.

Slamming the passenger door shut, she took a few long breaths while leaning against the car’s body.

Cathy exited the car, too, unaware of her mother’s condition.

“Mom! WHAT THE HELL!? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!”

She can’t lose Chloe again.

“You can’t just– Mom?” Cathy started, ready to start some more bickering with her mother. It didn’t matter if they were in public; Cathy never shied away from letting go of her raging emotions and fight with her mother.

But when she noticed how Beca looked, she stopped mid-track.

“Oh, God, Mom!” Cathy gasped, concern in her eyes. She grabbed her mother’s arm and tried to lead her back into the house, but Beca couldn’t feel her legs. She couldn’t move. “I’m sorry, I… I’m such a dick. C’mon, let’s get inside. Mom!”

“I’m fine… Sweetie,” Beca assured her daughter. She didn’t realize that she was suddenly slouched down on the pavement, leaned against the car, and her face buried in her hands. “I’m fine, Cathy. It’s the stupid heat, I swear,” she mumbled in her hands. Or, at least, she thought she mumbled those words to her daughter.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, with her daughter making some phone calls that Beca barely registered, her arm draped over Beca’s shoulder.

Moments later, it was Aubrey who helped Beca to get up from the ground.

Chapter Text

When Beca stirred awake, she realized that she was lying on the couch in her living room and staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t remember how exactly she got there or who brought her inside the house, certainly not Cathy all by herself. Sure, her daughter was already a head taller than her, and was fit and athletic, but Cathy wouldn’t have been able to carry her. 

The blanket that had been placed over her slid down her body when Beca sat up to look around the empty living room. She was trying to sort through her mind, but her memory was blurry. Did she pass out? She hadn’t experienced this kind of panic attack for years, and suddenly it hit her out of nowhere, without any forewarning. She didn’t know exactly what triggered it, but she needed to remember when she visited her therapist again to talk about this episode.

When she heard familiar voices approaching the living room, Beca lay back down on the couch and pretended to be asleep.

“No, she’s being unfair to me!”

“Cathy, honey, you have to understand that this isn’t easy for your mother,” the other voice said calmly. It was Aubrey, talking to Cathy. “And she’s been through a lot. We have to figure out first what exactly happened. What did you even fight about?”

“God, are you implying it was my fault, Aunt Bree?” Cathy hissed, her voice tense and exasperated. “That I did this to her?”

“Honey, no, I’m not implying anything,” Aubrey reassured her, backtracking a little, “I’m only trying to understand. She hasn’t been in this catatonic state since…” Aubrey paused.

“Since when, Aunt Bree?”

“Never mind.”

“No, I’m old enough to know about this,” Cathy snapped. “I’m not a child anymore, y’know? I’m sixteen. So, when did this happen the last time?”

“Cathy, I’m not sure, I’m in the position to talk with you about your mother’s mental health condition.”

“Then who am I gonna ask, huh? My mother obviously won’t tell me because she still believes I’m a child,” Cathy retorted, frustrated about the whole situation. “And I’m left alone with all these questions that nobody wants to answer, and I just want to understand, too, Aunt Bree, please.”

“Cathy,” Aubrey started, her voice weak and breaking a little, “okay, I’ll tell you, but please calm down. You’re making me nervous, Honey. It’s not easy to talk about this stuff.” There were footsteps moving over the hardwood floor, a chair pulled back, and Aubrey’s voice went on...

Beca heard her daughter move about the room, but she didn’t feel like opening her eyes to see where exactly they both were, but she could hear them clearly. Her body still felt heavy and exhausted, as if she was mentally burned out, only worse. She didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation, but she couldn’t block them out from her mind, either.

How she wished she didn’t have to listen to this… to what Aubrey was about to tell Cathy… about that tragic event Beca had been trying to protect her daughter from. But there was only that much a mother could do to shield her from any harm. And there were literally articles of that car accident all over the media, Cathy would stumble over them someday and ask questions if she hadn’t already. She was a clever and very curious girl.

“Look, it was… you may already know how you lost your other mother...”

“I know about the car crash, Aunt Bree,” Cathy told her.

“Yeah, you were about… over a year old, I think…” Aubrey took a deep breath before she proceeded, “…Beca had been through some trauma, because she was with your mother… with Chloe… when the car accident happened.”

“I know,” Cathy sighed.

“And every time she was reminded of that, of how she lost… Chloe… she fell into this catatonic state,” Aubrey said. “It took her years of recovery to get into a car again, let alone, to drive by herself...”

“Is that why she won’t allow me to drive?” Cathy concluded, “Because she’s scared of driving, and she’s projecting her anxiety onto me… like, I would also be involved in a fucking car crash or something.”

“Alright, watch your language,” Aubrey said sternly, sighing before going on, “and secondly, you aren’t being fair to your mother. She needs time to process this. To adapt to these changes.”

“What changes, Aunt Bree?” Cathy exclaimed in frustration, “That I’m growing up? Newsflash, I won’t be a child forever. She will eventually have to let go and learn to chill for once. She’s more cool ‘bout Bella learning to drive.”

“Because… Bella isn’t her daughter, Honey, so maybe…”

“I just wish she would be as proud of me as she is of Bella,” Cathy seethed. She sniffed and her voice cracked. “I feel like Mom hates me, y’know, the way she sometimes looks at me and looks so appalled… like she was seeing some… ghost… it freaks me out.”

“Your mother loves you, you have no idea how much she loves you,” Aubrey assured her firmly.

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it,” Cathy scoffed venomously. “Y’know, Aunt Bree, sometimes I wish my biological mother was still alive,” she spat. She stood up as the chair scraped over the floor and footsteps moved across the room, her voice distancing but still filled with rage. It was low and seething. “Maybe she would have let me grow up, she would’ve let me drive. Maybe she would have made me feel loved.”

“Oh, Cathy…” Aubrey sobbed.

Beca pulled the blanket over her head when she caught Aubrey’s saddened gaze staring in her direction.

*

She understood what this was all about.

It was about holding her back and controlling her life.

No freedom at all to do whatever she wanted or to go wherever she wanted. Always asking for permission, and reporting about her whereabouts, just because of her mother’s sporadic anxiety and panic attacks.

She was not a fucking kid anymore, for crying out loud.

She loved her mother—not that those sentiments had been exchanged between them regularly. And even if her mother barely showed physical affection toward her or expressed them in a way other mothers did, deep down, Cathy knew that her mom loved her, too.

Even if Cathy was already sixteen years old, in her mother’s eyes, she would always stay as a little child. She was old enough to make certain decisions on her own, but still—and this sucks balls—was still not legally allowed to sign documents.

Her mother would never let her get behind the wheel before she was of age to make that decision for herself. Everyone else was starting driver’s ed except Cathy, whose mother would not sign the fucking permit. This wasn’t fair.

And why all this?

Because her mother couldn’t let go of her past? Because she was unable to move on? To accept that her little girl wasn’t the little girl she once was anymore.

Yes, Cathy wasn’t that sweet, innocent, and—most of all—virtuous little girl anymore.

She never claimed to be perfect. Was definitely not—as she had learned from stories—like her biological mother, who died young and left Cathy so early in her life.

No matter what, or who, her mom saw in her—Cathy wasn’t… like her real mother… Chloe.

And this was the only reason she needed to prove this to her mother. That she wasn’t virtuous and perfect and no longer a little girl anymore.

That she needed this chance in life to grow up.

Her mother wouldn't like it. But she would learn the hard way to live with it.

As Cathy slumped down on her four-poster bed, she pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket of her jeans. She unfolded it and frowned at the unsigned permission for her learner’s permit. With her right hand, she pretended to hold an invisible pen in the air and envisioned her surname on the paper.

She needed her mother’s signature.

And Cathy was going to get it, no matter how.

*

‘I’ll be hanging out with Bella after school. Don’t wait for me.’

Cathy (3:46 p.m.)

‘Will you be back on time for dinner?’

Beca (3:50 p.m.)

‘Maybe we’ll have dinner at Stacie’s.’

‘I mean the diner, not Aunt Stacie. LOL’

Cathy (3:55 p.m.)

‘Okay, have fun.’

Beca (4:01 p.m.)

“How do you even manage to raise a teenager, Stacie?” Beca asked her friend, who was on video call with her. She was still at her office, taking a little coffee break before she called it a day. “I feel like I’m doing something wrong. So, what’s your secret?”

“What? It’s a piece of cake to raise a teenager,” Stacie laughed and waved her manicured fingers. “Even easier than repairing propellers on submarines!”

Stacie Conrad had a very impressive job. She was working as a Mechanical Engineer at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution (WHOI), where they built an institution at the New Yorker harbors and lived in Brooklyn. Remarkably, given that she was the same woman who—back in college—struggled to learn the songs on their setlist by heart. Whose mere interest back then ranged from cuticle care to E! Network to fashion magazines and hot people.

She was at home this week after a two-week shift on the submarine, preparing dinner for her daughter.

“Teenage girls are so much fun,” Stacie said in a sing-song voice, bobbing her head to the rhythm of the music that resonated in her kitchen.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

Stacie burst out laughing that Beca had to turn down the volume of her speakers.

“You’re lucky with your girl. She’s so well-behaved and polite, so mature for her age,” Beca remarked, feeling guilty about this sort of comparison because when she thought about Cathy, she was reminded of how she was when she was a teenager. Now she regretted how she had been to her parents when she was that same age.

“Beca, you don’t know how Bella can be. She’s also just like a very hormonal, rebellious teen. She has her tantrums, too. But she normally retreats to her room when she’s angry and gives me the cold shoulder.”

“I should apologize to my father because I used to be a dick to him all the time,” Beca scoffed sardonically while skimming her e-mails.

“Becs, Cathy is a respectful, extremely kind kid, but she obviously won't act that way around you. She wants to be cool like all the others,” Stacie chuckled. “And she’s just a little misunderstood. That’s normal for her age.”

“She’s barely at home after school lately. She’s always out with Bella or her other friends. And last time, she said she joined the book club, but I don’t buy it.”

“Why not? She loves books and is highly literate,” Stacie reminded her.

“Yeah, I have a weird feeling about this.” Beca rubbed her temples and noticed how Stacie suddenly avoided eye contact and coughed in her fist. “Stacie? What was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is Cathy hiding something from me?” Beca asked, suddenly all alerts.

“Every teen is hiding stuff from their folks, Becs.”

“Stacie…”

“Beca Mitchell-Beale, goodness,” Stacie sighed in exasperation.

“Does she have a boyfriend… or a girlfriend?”

“How would I know?” Stacie huffed.

“Because she’s normally hanging out with Bella, and maybe Bella mentioned someone.”

“No, not that I know of…”

“Then, what is it?” Beca urged her friend, her pulse beginning to pound in her ears. Her mother’s instinct was telling her that her daughter was up to no good. “Stacie, we’re friends. Why are you doing this?”

The corner of Stacie’s lips twitched nervously. “Look, Beca… Maybe I’m mistaken, or it was someone else…”

“C’mon, for fuck’s sake, spit it out,” Beca snapped, instantly growing frustrated about her friend's reluctance. “As if I'd get mad if my baby-girl was suddenly… dating. Oh, God, she's growing up so fast! It feels like it was only yesterday when she wanted to marry her plushie, Mr. Snuggles.”

“It’s not about her dating partners,” Stacie said, smirking. She looked beside her and there were noises in the background, like somebody had just come in. “Hey, Bells. You’re early. How was school?”

“It was okay.”

“Bella's home already?” Beca asked, perplexed about this, since it was only a half hour ago when Cathy texted her she’d be hanging out with Bella after school.

“Is that Aunt Beca?” Bella's timid voice could be heard in the background, then her rounded, childlike face moved in front of the camera. Her shoulder-length brunette hair was untucked, and her emerald eyes lined with mascara like most high school girls her age. Unlike her mother, Bella was rather socially awkward; her cheeks were constantly flushed, and her voice trembled whenever she met Beca. Beca thought this odd because the Conrad teenager had never been bashful around her as a kid, and she was no stranger to her.

"Hey, Baby Bells," Beca greeted the girl, "How's school going?"

Bella struggled with a smile that felt almost out of place. “Hey, Aunt Beca. Good, I guess, how did your date go?” she asked curiously, straining to keep her smile. 

Beca let out an embarrassed chuckle and scratched her forehead. "I wouldn't call it a date; more like a casual meeting."

"Oh, good!" Bella beamed. "Good!"

“Bells, by the way, I thought you were with Cathy?” Beca asked before she grew worried as her hands began to sweat and twitch nervously. It already left a visible print on her mahogany desk.

“I was. But she had stuff to do.”

“What stuff?”

“Um…” brushing her hair behind her ear, Bella looked at her mother, who moved back in front of the monitor.

“Bella, go upstairs and do your homework, okay?” Stacie ordered her daughter.

“Stacie, what the fuck is going on?”

“Look, I might be mistaken, like I said,” Stacie resumed, more cautiously now, “but last time I went to pick up the girls, I saw Cathy exiting a car.”

“What car? Whose car?”

“Not what you think, Beca. I saw her driving with a teacher,” Stacie added quietly.

“WHAT? How’s that possible? I didn’t sign her permission slip.” Beca shot up to her feet, her coffee spilling all over her desk, but she didn’t care. “Fuck. You mean, she’s taking driving lessons behind my back?”

“Beca, calm down!”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“I wasn't sure if it was her, and I didn't want to worry you for no reason,” Stacie told her calmly. “Maybe I saw somebody else. I waited for the girls at the gate. And Cathy seemed excited about something, but she wouldn’t tell me about what. You should talk to her.”

“Fuck this. That young lady is so grounded!”

*

A few weeks passed when Beca and Cathy didn’t talk to each other and no apologies had been uttered yet.

Cathy was as equally stubborn as her mother, and this wasn't the first time that an argument between them had gotten out of hand and vicious words had been exchanged.

But things were different this time.

It turned out that Cathy had forged Beca’s signature on the permission slip, passed her written test—with flying colors—and had been taking driving lessons for a few weeks. All that time, she had been lying to Beca about doing extracurricular activities or studying with her friends after school.

Beca revoked Cathy's permission to drive by meeting with the school's principal and the instructor providing her with driving lessons at school. Understandably, Cathy was furious about this development and felt humiliated in front of her peers.

Since Cathy had forged her mother’s signature and had been driving behind Beca’s back, she was grounded for a whole month: no smartphone, no social media, no friends. Stacie would pick the girls up after school and drive Cathy straight back home.

Cathy’s scathing remark that she wished it was Beca rather than her biological mother, who had perished in the car crash, broke Beca’s heart beyond repair. Truth be told, she wished that the tragic event had killed her instead of Chloe. How many times did she wish for that…

And then Cathy, ignorant of her mother's distress, added insult to injury by yelling,

“YOU’RE NOT MY FUCKING MOTHER!”

Beca almost lost it.

It was the first time Beca came close to striking her daughter in outrage and out of hurt feelings. But when Cathy cowered away and looked scared, Beca came to her senses and just threw her daughter out of the house and called Aubrey to come to get her before she did something she’d regret.

Cathy stayed at Aubrey's for a week, but during that time, Aubrey kept Beca updated on how Cathy was doing, even if Beca didn't feel up to asking. As a mother, she was relieved to find that Cathy was well cared for. Especially since Aubrey was quite stringent with Cathy when she was in charge of her godchild.

It was late in the afternoon, and Beca was deep in her latest paperwork and new project when the front door gently opened and closed. When she looked to see if somebody had just come in, she found her daughter standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, head bowed, and brilliant blue eyes hazy.

Aubrey didn’t forewarn Beca that her daughter would come home this evening.

“Hey,” Beca greeted coldly, crossing her arms over her chest. She attempted to appear unyielding, unwilling to show any hint that she had forgiven her daughter so easily for lying, for putting herself in danger, and for God knows what else she'd been doing behind her back. “Need anything?”

“Hey,” her daughter mimicked, brows scrunched up. “I, um,” she stammered and scratched the back of her neck, “Aunt Aubrey dropped me off.”

Beca nodded once.

“May I… um… come back home… Mom?” Cathy's voice trembled as she sniffed.

Beca heard the message loud and clear, and her eyes immediately filled with tears, which she blinked away.

Although they were both headstrong, Cathy did inherit her other mother’s exhaustive insight when she realized she was in the wrong. Sure, her daughter’s hurtful words still echoed in Beca’s ears, but sometimes, anger causes people to act irrationally.

Beca was also aware of her own pettiness. In the end, it was Cathy who swallowed her pride and came back to her, and that was a huge step coming from a teenager. And Beca was still the mother of this teenage girl—Cathy’s only mother.

“I don’t mind sleeping in the guestroom, Mom. I’d understand if you’re still angry,” Cathy sniffed, her tone uncertain as she glanced up to meet her mother’s eyes. “I was a dick and I’m very sorry, Mom.”

“Go upstairs to your room, Cathy,” Beca said softly. She uncrossed her arms and gave her daughter a weak smile. “I ordered pizza for later, in case you’re hungry.”

“What? You order takeout when I’m not here?” Cathy scoffed, feigning indignation.

“Of course, I do, Sweetie,” Beca laughed. “A huge pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. Hmm…”

And there was the end of the conflict.

Cathy smiled, moving toward the staircase. “Aunt Bree only cooked Vegan dishes and she’s not even Vegan. It’s her new dietary program. Or maybe, just to punish me.”

“Yeah,” Beca chuckled, “I bet.”

*

After a few days, a heat wave blasted New York City.

Beca was scanning a newspaper article on her iPad when she came across a section discussing the persistent problem of grave robbing among indigenous tribes. She pondered why such antiquated practices like grave robbing persisted in the world. In her air-conditioned kitchen, she was sitting at her table and trying to divert her attention to rather more pressing issues, like the state of the music business.

Since their dinner together last month, she and Luke had begun exchanging texts more frequently. They had lunch together again to talk about a project, but soon their conversations veered off into more personal territory. They joked and laughed, and Beca even came to like his goofier side. She eventually admitted to herself that, yes, she found him attractive and that she might be interested in him. On a romantic level.

She had not been this free to admit romantic feelings for another person since her wife’s passing fifteen years ago. It felt strange but also exciting.

She heard her daughter behind her, footsteps approaching.

“Mornin’, Mom,” Cathy yawned, her curly mane unkempt and disheveled. “Why are you grinning like that? Did you have a stroke?”

“I’m gonna meet Luke later for coffee,” Beca told her daughter as if it was no big deal. She closely examined Cathy's reaction to this news, “like a date.”

Cathy’s face lit up. “Like a date… date?”

“Yeah, like a date-date…”

Squealing and bouncing up and down, Cathy flung her arms around her mother and kissed her cheek. “I’m so excited. Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod! My mom’s gonna have her first date in years!”

“Ugh… you make me sound so lame, Catherine Mitchell-Beale, like seriously,” Beca groaned and rolled her eyes.

She hugged her gently to pull her close and enjoyed having her daughter plant kisses all over her face.

*

Even though it was quite hot during the day, the humid air at night provided a welcome relief from the scorching sun.

Beca hadn’t anticipated that going out with Luke would turn out to be so easy. He would make her laugh every time, especially after a stressful day. He would visit her regularly at her department to “discuss various artists” and “music events,” but always brought lunch to spend his break with her. And since Beca detested chivalry, he never pretended to be a gentleman. Thus, the two of them would take turns picking each other up for dates, splitting the tab, and making phone calls.

Even though Beca hated surprises, one time she found flowers delivered to her office at the record studio. It was a huge vase with–reading the nametag–Blue Bird Hibiscus–in purple colors, really beautiful. But when she texted Luke, thanking him for the gesture, he pretended he didn't know what she was talking about. And how would Luke know purple was her favorite color? 

Indeed, spending time with Luke was a breeze. No pressure. No stress. And he was very, very patient with her.

Beca was, by no means, a sucker for romance, but when they had their first kiss, it was in the pouring rain.

Cathy was over the moon to hear this news from her mother after the date. To “celebrate,” mother and daughter spent an evening together bonding over a movie, eating popcorn, and cracking up and chatting until the wee hours of the night.

Her relationship with her teenage daughter was recovering and maybe even improving.

Her relationship with Luke was going great.

She was at the top of her career.

And Beca accepted and welcomed these new, positive changes.

For the first time in fifteen years, she could finally start to breathe again.

However, that one July night would bring about a new beginning for her.

So, after a few more dates with Luke and inviting him for the first time to her house, Beca knew that this would be it.

She would be having sex with him.

She felt a sudden surge of heat throughout her body. And it didn’t help matters that her daughter had suggested a sleepover at Bella’s house, stating to her mom with a smirk and a wink, to “have fun and enjoy the night.” 

Thankfully, Luke had pretended to have not noticed and instead admired the various awards and record labels along the wall.

Flushing all over, Beca was certain to ground her mischievous daughter for this comment.

What Beca had appreciated in this extremely patient and loving man, she no longer desired in the sack. 

She wanted him to take her fast, rough, and mercilessly, which he did. On every surface available in her bedroom, against the wall, and on the floor. Their bodies intertwined with a fiery passion as they surrendered to their desires, their moans filling the room. At that moment, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the intoxicating rhythm of their lovemaking.

The sex was amazing.

It was incredible not only the first time they met but also the few times after that. Luke made her happy, yet it was terrifying to feel emotions again. Slowly but surely, Beca admitted to herself that things were getting serious between her and Luke. She asked him to give her time to think about them, needing to sleep on the matter, without giving him the message that she was pushing him away. 

She stayed up late one night—alone—to let her mind free rein to wander and contemplate them, these changes that felt terrifying but also welcoming. What would this entail for Beca and her daughter if it came to pass? Cathy would be happy for her, Beca knew.

Thus, she made up her mind that night, before falling asleep, to be with Luke and take this next step with him.

Until an incessant ringing of her landline was what startled her awake. She reached for the phone and picked it up, her voice raspy, eyes heavy.

“Yeah, hello?” she cleared her throat, “Mitchell-Beale here.”

She didn’t recognize the voice, but it was authoritative and deep.

“Ms. Mitchell-Beale, I’m Officer Michaels. Sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but…” the man on the line said.

Beca panicked, and her mind was instantly on full alert, thinking that something was with her daughter. It was 2:34 a.m. She sat upright in bed, to pay close attention.

“I’m from the East Providence Police Department,” the man continued, “there was an incident at the East Greenwich Cemetery.”

“What? From… Rhode Island? What incident?” Beca croaked. Her thoughts raced ahead, presuming this was about the gravestone refurbishment she had ordered and possibly the delivery procedure, but her brain couldn't keep up. However, why would the police then contact her? And why at this hour? This must be some huge misunderstanding.

Because it was a call from Rhode Island.

“It’s about Chloe Mitchell-Beale, your wife.”

Beca’s blood froze.

“She’s alive.”

Chapter Text

11:15 p.m.
East Greenwich Cemetery
Providence, Rhode Island

Cloaked under the cover of night, a band of miscreants, up to no good, crossed the dew-stricken grass of the sleepy Rhode Island cemetery. Indifferent to the countless scores of flowers they stepped on. Or the plight of the restless souls beneath their feet.

They were creatures of the night, on a mission. Determined to pervert the laws of nature and give the middle finger to the grim reaper or whatever forces stood in their way.

Their target…a man named Lazlo Green, suffered the worst of all fates at age fifty by being erased from history before he could etch a lasting mark. Turns out, a guy with the gift of foresight caught a case of the wet brain from too many shots of whiskey and kissed the brass end of a bullet with his head.

The black sheep in a long line of morticians and undertakers, he alienated his family with his rare gift, as they viewed it as an affront to God.

His talent for predicting the future seemingly died with him. Right before the first World War. When the world could’ve used him the most.

The gifted ones, the ones with the most to offer humanity, always seemed to suffer the curse of a short life or untimely death.

Lazlo Green had the potential to tip the scales, to shift the balance of power back into the hands of the laborers, the disadvantaged, the peasants.

Imagine hundreds of people cashing in big time when James “Buster” Douglas shocked the world and defeated Mike Tyson in a stunning upset, or thousands of people striking it rich because an obscure computer company from the nineteen-eighties mounted an impressive comeback by revolutionizing technology with the iPod and Smart technology.

Granted, the old bastard couldn’t just reach into a hat and pull out a slip of paper detailing a life-changing event, nor could he peer into a crystal ball and entice any who sought him out with wondrous hopeful tales. According to legend and those who knew him, it took close to a quart of gin or whatever delicacy from the local distilleries to inspire premonition.

Beggars can’t be choosers. His predictive powers found him the way they found him. Unfortunately, because of the bizarre and oddly skeptical method of deriving such wonders, history swept Green under the rug. Regarding him as nothing more than a smooth-talking, foolhardy man whose overconfidence in his abilities clouded his better judgment when it came to the ladies.

It only took one jealous man with an inferiority complex and a small pistol to change the course of history.

Fog was setting in, the lanterns that the group brought did little help, and running over to the grave was out of the question because the group could not risk damaging the already brittle and sensitive—not to mention—enchanted items.

One of the bunch stopped to catch his breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“How many hills does this cemetery have?” Number Four broke the silence, to nobody’s surprise. The overweight man had been grousing the entire night: from his lack of legroom in the cramped car to his insistence that the group not stop at Arby’s for a quick dinner because the chain was “janky as hell,” with its only redeeming quality being the mozzarella sticks. Of which no other fast-food joint could hold a candle against.

“Thought you said the grave wasn’t far?” Four picked back up his trek when he saw his peers refusing to stop to take a break along with him.

Number One—their leader—paid him no attention. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Number Four’s obsessive adherence to detail, which made him the best in the business when it came to properly reciting incantations, they’d have left his complaining ass behind a long time ago.

Useful idiots could only be suffered for so long. And the group had every intention of ditching him once Lazlo Green was resurrected.

Minutes later, the trek came to an abrupt halt when Number One stopped in his tracks, just short of a slot of wet soil. The group observed the surrounding graves, finding it odd that Green’s unmarked grave lay surrounded by headstones in nearly every direction.

Then again, they trusted their source.

“E-5,” Number One stated firmly. He raised his lantern over the unmarked grave, then swiftly over to the other, illuminating their gaunt, weary faces. 

Number Two, the only woman in the group, recruited for her talent of procuring rare magical items, looked at the leader.

“Hold up,” she looked at the plot then back at her crew. “You sure this is the right one? Somethin’ in my gut’s telling me that this ain’t it.”

“Old Edgar likes his ‘shine’ but he’s not a liar. Number One set his lantern on the ground, then slunk his bag off of his shoulders.

Number Four looked over at Two. “-s the right one.”

Two rolled her eyes, because, yeah, she’s totally going to trust Four. Having assessed his character in the brief time they’d worked together, she knew he was blindly agreeing with One so that they could go on and get this over with as fast as possible because his lazy ass wanted to go home and prop his feet up in a recliner because, god forbid, he missed out on playing Halo X any longer.

Number Three—the hired hand of the group—followed their leader. He, too, set his bag down and began rummaging around until he removed three shovels and a couple of crowbars.

From her bag,Two produced a pouch of red sand from the MadyW’n lake. With the sand in one hand, Two retrieved the other vital ingredient. A vial of Raven’s blood. Consecrated by one of the last remaining elders of a long abandoned, long forgotten way of life. Both, the blood and the sand, would be crucial elements needed to perform the ancient Celtic ritual.

Begrudgingly, Number Four elected to carry the sledgehammer, which the group brought along in case the coffin proved to be more difficult to open than they’d anticipated.

Number One and Number Three struck the soil with their shovel blades, pressing them further into the ground with their feet on the blade’s rim… beginning the long excavation, while Two and Four discussed magic.

Their activities attracted a growing number of mosquitoes and gnats, attracted to their sweat and the offensive, putrid smell coming from the earth. Soon, a dirt-stained—but still very well-maintained—casket lid came into view. Green might’ve been estranged from his family, but they were too prideful to bury one of their own in a cheap casket like they were nobody. Plus, their relatives’ death afforded them the opportunity to advertise their sleekest casket model.

The two men halted their digging for a couple of moments to take a water break.

Number Two looked at the lid of the casket, registering that something seemed off. She looked over to her two sweaty comrades, whose chests were still heaving from the strenuous labor. Both of them smacked their water bottles to force out the last drop, before crackling and crumpling the plastic bottles.

“Ummm, guys…” She looked back down at the casket, then immediately back up at them. “That feeling that something’s not right still isn’t going away.”

“Enough,” One looked back at the modern casket, then back over at the team he’d spent years traveling across the globe to recruit.

Spent most of his life savings to convince.

“My source has never been wrong before.”

“That’s it?” Two narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s your assurance? Hear that, fellas? We’re risking jail time over a hunch!” She looked at Three and Four, hoping they’d back her up.

The woman saw on their faces that her words weren’t entirely lost upon them. Seeds of doubt had been planted. But… pride and ego, more specifically male pride and ego… were two forces immune to reason or scrutiny. Sighing, then dropping her shoulders, she conceded.

“Do whatever you want. But let it be known for the record, that I’m the only one who thinks you’re full of shit, Number One.” Suddenly, she regretted that her degree in ancient religions and her lifelong interest in Celtic history led her to cross paths with these losers.

“Take a number.” Number One resumed his digging.

Fifteen grueling minutes later, the casket was fully unearthed.

“C’mon, you lazy asses!” Number One called out to Number Two and Four, who were in the midst of preparing the sand and blood. “Help us lift this fuckin’ thing.”

The magically inclined members reluctantly set aside their items and hobbled over to assist One and Three in lifting the casket. They didn’t need to lift it completely out of the six-foot hole. They just needed to pick it up and scoot it a little.

“Fuck!” Number Four sputtered as soon as the quartet hoisted the coffin. “Son of a bitch is heavy.”

“Anything besides a sandwich or video game controller is beyond your lifting capabilities.” Two rolled her eyes. The team heaved and strained to lift it just enough to where the casket fully unearthed, and could be opened safely.

As soon as the casket was brought to rest on the ground, One and Three retrieved their crowbars, while Two went about encircling the lavish chest with the scarlet sand.

Four sprinkled the casket with the raven’s blood then placed a single chthonian crystal on the lid of the sarcophagus, then re-sprinkled the raven’s blood in a hexagram pattern.

“Is he going to come back fucked up?” the leader asked.

“Well, it’ll take a while for his memories to come back. Cause of the whole brain regeneration thing. The longer your brain’s been asleep, the longer it takes to wake up.”

“How long?” Two groaned.

“Let’s see… he’s been dead for over a century…” the man’s eyes darted upward, his head bobbed up and down, rhythmically, as he ran the calculation in his mind. “…bout two hours for every decade, Mmmhmm, yup, carry the one.”

“How long?!” screamed One.

“Bout a day at the most.”

“But his memories will come back, right?” came the sheepish voice of Number Three.

“Oh, most certainly.” Four nodded.

“Then let’s get this over with.”

With determined eyes, the whiny, overweight man stared down the casket. With perfect intonation and attention to detail, he recited the incantation.

“O'r dyddiau a fu a'r dyfodol” 

The raven’s blood and the chthonian crystal began glowing while the man recited the ancient Celtic spell, once believed to be lost to time, “…yr enaid hwn yn adferu, gwaed, cnawd, a meddwl!”

A cloudy purple mist manifested above their heads. The spell took effect and the casket rose from the ground, levitating several feet, until it lay level at their waistlines.

Energy crackled from the cloud. The four watched while bolts were tossed and teased in all directions before finally striking the crystal.

“Step away from the casket!” A pair of unknown voices rang out and suddenly, the quartet found themselves staring down at the beams of two LED flashlights. “Put your hands up, lace them together behind your heads!”

“Shit. It’s the fuckin’ cops,” Number Three shouted.

The police lowered their flashlights, and no sooner had they done that, the casket abruptly dropped. It hit the ground with a loud thud. The purple mist hovered hauntingly over the tomb.

Horrified, Officer Slater drew his gun. With sweaty palms and shaking hands, he trained his weapon over the quartet.

The eerie purple mist swirled over the casket in a downward spiral until the burial box absorbed everything.

Then… everyone just looked at each other.

“You four are under arrest for trespassing and grave robbing!” Officer Slater kept his gun trained while Officer Michaels, his partner, subdued and cuffed them.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you-”

“You’ll regret this, you know?” Number One cut him off, then struggled against the handcuffs. “In mere moments, you’ll be thanking us for the favor we’ve done for humankind.”

Thock thock thock!

A chill crept up the officers’ spines. They turned to face the coffin. Hoping the sound wasn’t coming from where they thought it was. “Hhhppp!” a soft, muted voice rang out, followed simultaneously by more thrashing.

“Hhhhhlpp mmmm!”

Dread washed over Officer Slater. “W-what the fuck did you freaks do?” The policeman fumbled for his radio. “Get another unit out to Swan Point right now!”

In a panic, he racked the slide of his pistol while more muffled cries and screams came from inside the casket.

Thock thock thock! The pounding resumed.

Officer Slater spotted the crowbars on the ground. “Open it!” he directed his partner.

Officer Michaels snatched the crowbars. He handed one to Number Three, the only one of the quartet not yet in handcuffs. “Help me open it. Try anything crazy and my partner will shoot.” He looked over at his equally frightened partner, who managed to give a weak nod.

The blades of the bars struck the seal of the casket. With two willful thrusts, the men grunted.

Upon hearing the seal crack and air hiss out, Number One’s authoritative voice rang out! “Now. Witness the rebirth of the greatest power the world has ever kno… wait… who the fuck is that?!”

A mortified and confused redhead bolted upright. She was dressed in a pale gown as gifts and other personal effects dripped off of her and back into the interior of the box.

Frantically, she looked around. Tears streamed down her face. 

“W-W-Wh-Where am I?” She spotted the officers and the necromancers. “Help m… me,” she shivered. “I don’t know where I am. Or who I am.”

Five grown men and two women traded petrified looks because the person in the casket was supposed to be Lazlo Green.

Unbeknownst to all of them… they were staring at a newly resurrected… a fully regenerated, and amnesiac Chloe Beale!

2:10 a.m.
Three hours later…
Providence Police Department

“Fuck! Okay,” Number One groaned into the pay phone. The raindrops tapping on the soft glass window across the room of the police station were a welcome distraction. “I dunno man. Some girl that’s all. Just some random fucking girl,” he grumbled into the receiver. “Yeah, tell me about it.” And he hung up the phone.

Right now, he wished the officers would let him remain in that hallway for as long as possible. And had he and his idiot group of colleagues not committed a crime as transgressive and taboo as digging up a grave, the officers might’ve let him.

Might’ve taken it easy on him. On them.

Right now, the skeleton crew of the Providence Police Department were the least of his worries. Even if they were laughing behind his back because they could hear the person on the phone cursing him out, calling him everything but his own name.

“I’m ready,” he sighed, staring down at his feet while an officer escorted him back to the holding cell where his colleagues would be waiting.

The storm caused the lights to flicker down the claustrophobic hallway decorated with dirty and dusty white tiles, which at one time must’ve lit up like El Dorado when the sunlight entered the room. 

The entire area smelled of cigarettes and piss. Compliments of the types of characters that prestigious New England towns and their Ivy League residents tried so desperately to hide. 

The walk grew shorter… and shorter, until Number One was face to face with Number Two, whose eyes bored daggers into his soul.

The tumbler of the electronic lock clicked, the officer slid the blue painted bars open and nudged the lanky man inside.

Number Three sat on one of the benches near the wall, his head leaned back against it, and his eyes were closed. He wasn’t asleep, but trying to rest his eyes.

Number Four was… sitting on the toilet, relieving himself. In between his ass and the stainless steel toilet seat were little yellow squares. 

Number One swallowed the vomit, which nearly made its way up when he realized that the yellow squares were in fact… cheese slices. Their portly pal was not going to sit on a germy disgusting toilet seat without some barrier between his ass and the unwashed seat.

Number Four looked at One. “They didn’t have tissue paper.”

“Was squatting out of the question?” One asked Four as the door clanged shut.

Fingers snapped in front of his face, his head jerked to the side to see Two signaling for his attention. “Well?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“We resurrected the wrong person.”

“Gee! What gave it away?” She threw her palm up in the air.

“What’d Old Edgar say?” Number Four asked while standing up to brush off the cheese slices and pull up his trousers, and One had to avert his gaze.

“Lazlo Green was buried in G-5, not E-5,” he gulped.

Two threw her hands to her side. “I don’t fucking believe this!”

“E sounds like G! It’s an honest mistake!” the leader shouted.

“An honest mistake is knocking up a trailer park girl!” Number Three suddenly spoke.

Two brought her face within inches of One. “We… wasted time and a whole shitload of money scouring the globe for that goddamn crystal. I waited until the equinox for the sand at the MadyW’n lake to turn red. And all you have to say for yourself is, ‘It’s an honest mistake?’”

Something struck his head before the man realized it was a barrage of bitch slaps raining down on him by the only girl in the group.

Suddenly, he’s knocked back by the full force of a fist connecting to his stomach. “Asshole!” Number Three grunted.

“Don’t just stand there! Do something!” Two yelled over at Four.

The final thing One recalled was a long pointy shoe sailing through the air, and connecting to his face. And the team, in a rare moment of solidarity, high-fiving Four for his sneak attack.

Perhaps the random woman they resurrected was fairing better than he was; she had to be. 

What turmoil could being brought back to life possibly bring?

Chapter Text

BECA

At exactly 5:23 a.m., Beca arrived at the Rhode Island Hospital in Providence.

Her arms were wrapped around her body while she made her way down the sidewalk from the parking lot, where her cab had dropped her off. The building's main entrance and the pathway ahead were lit by spotlights that guided her, throwing a soft glow in all directions.

Reaching the heavy, solid, hardwood panel doors, she barely registered the whooshing sound as they slid open automatically. 

The few people, hospital staff, guests, patients—all went almost unnoticed by her mind. Although her surroundings were foreign, she recognized them as all too familiar. The natural light mixed with the spotlights' artificial glow pouring in through the deluxe naco louvered windows, overlooked the soothing décor and paintings, the indoor garden, and the water features of the hospital where she had once spent a few days…

…those days when her wife had been in labor. And when Cathy was born. When Beca finally got to hold her baby girl for the first time, she heard the gurgling and babbling sounds of a newborn with the palest blue eyes. And she kissed the mother who had carried her.

“Babe, it’s like I’m holding a tiny you,” Beca had said fondly, her voice squeaked with joy.

“But that grumpy, crumpled-up face is definitely you.” Chloe, with a giggle, had teased her, despite her exhaustion from the delivery.

“Sure,” Beca laughed and rolled her eyes at her wife, “and certainly not from being in your womb for nine months.”

Then that other time when Chloe had dislocated and fractured her ankle. In an attempt to surprise Beca for her upcoming birthday. This clumsy woman had scaled a ladder to paint Beca’s home office, but she slipped and fell. Which, considering she was still recovering from her stitches four months after giving birth, happened just too soon.

And the last time Beca had been at this hospital…

She hoped she wouldn't have to remember...

That took almost two months while Beca recovered from shattered bones and critical injuries.

That same time when she learned her wife had died…

It was like returning to a nightmare, but this time she had the faint hope that her wife was… alive…

How absurd it may sound. And yet she was here…

The lobby looked the same as Beca remembered it—worn but well-maintained at the same time, with guests roaming aimlessly for what seemed like forever until they reached the registration counter. On the resin-coated terrazzo floors, Beca’s feet kept carrying her forward.

“It’s about Chloe Mitchell-Beale, your wife…”

“…She’s alive.”

“I'll crush his skull if this turns out to be an awful joke.” Beca’s nostrils flared in outrage. Even though she knew this ordeal couldn’t be real, she flew over immediately.

A wide range of emotions, like numbness, rage, denial, grief… resurfaced as she was confronted with reminders of the one and only reason she had been here the last time. Emotions she had long since buried, along with her wife. It made her shudder. Made her want to turn around and leave again.

But instead, she made her way directly toward the woman behind the wooden desk. Even though she knew that the distance from the main entrance to the reception desk wasn't as lengthy and arduous as she felt it to be, she couldn't trust her own mind.

She wasn’t really here. She might be dreaming, so Beca pinched her elbow… and felt the sting.

“Ouch, fuck!” she mumbled.

During the day, the lobby was normally infused with natural light from exterior windows and skylight above, which enhanced the warm white and jewel-toned colored walls. At about 5:31 a.m., however, the sky was still dark, save from the faint dawn light that had just begun to peek over the horizon.

Yes, she remembered all this because she’d been here before.

“She’s alive.”

Surely not... Did she really receive that phone call, or did her mind play tricks on her?

“Grave robbers have unearthed your late wife’s casket. We can’t explain what happened, but you need to come to the hospital…”

She wasn’t going to say it, or think it, not going to put that out into the world. Why get her hopes up when it could be all a giant misunderstanding?

The reason Beca had boarded that plane… The reason she was now here was so she would identify this case of mistaken identity, then her life would go on, and she'd forget all about this wayward phone call.

And there was no reason for her daughter to know about this...

She had made lame excuses to Cathy that she’d be at the office as "security just called," her "new, high-tech alarm system set off a false alarm," and they "required her passcode, fingerprint, and an iris-scan to turn it off."

“Mom, seriously? I'm not stupid!”

“Believe it or not, I gotta go.”

“With a bag? Jesus! I’m not a child anymore, y’know? Why don’t you just admit you got a booty call from Luke?”

In retrospect, Beca mused this would've been a more convincing fib to have told her sixteen-year-old daughter.

She just did not see any reason to explain to Cathy why she had received cryptic phone calls at about 2:30 in the morning…

…about her birth mother, who might or might not be alive right now.

*

Beca texted Aubrey first, telling her she was on her way to Rhode Island, that she didn't need to worry, but could she keep an eye on Cathy?

She had texted Stacie next, asking if she could take the girls to school because of an unexpected situation. And if it were possible for Cathy to hang out at the Conrad's after school…

She’d texted Luke that their plans for the day were canceled as some emergency came up.

Aubrey was the first to call her back at 5:00 a.m. sharp after she had read Beca’s message.

“What are you doing in Rhode Island at such an ungodly hour?” her best friend asked without any preamble. “Beca! Don’t hang up on m—!”

And Stacie had done as she was told, without question. ‘Gonna pick her up in an hour, Becs.’

Beca had amazing friends.

*

Beca made it to the front desk, feeling out of shape since cardio had never been her strong suit, her chest was burning.

“I’m Beca Mitchell-Beale!” she said, her hands balled into fists on the counter, her bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m looking for Officer Michaels.”

The middle-aged woman at the counter looked up at her disinterestedly from her fitted, conservative button-up white shirt. “Ma’am, appointments are from 7 onward….”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? I’ve been told to fly in to speak to Officer Michaels. Where’s he?” Even as she spoke harshly, her voice cracked in her throat. She didn’t know why she came here in the first place. This was not real. “It’s about an incident. About…”

Heavy footsteps echoed off on the richly tiled floor that led from the entrance to the other areas of this hospital. Off to one side, in quaint, cozy alcoves furnished with chairs, families waited patiently. Beca wondered if those people had spent the night there while they waited for their loved ones, or for any of the remaining doctors or nurses to provide them with the information they required.

“Ms. Mitchell-Beale? Glad you made it!” the first officer said, a woman. She looked to be in her thirties, was tall, and stoic. In one swift motion, she pulled out her hard badge and her soft badge (ID) to show Beca. “I’m Lieutenant Maya Hargrave of Providence PD.” Her dark blazer complemented her slacks; she drew closer and projected authority. “These are two of my officers, Michaels and Slater,” the black woman introduced Beca to the two officers. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

Beca’s jaw hung open, incredulous. “What, we couldn’t have talked over the phone? I took a late-night flight from New Jersey, and I had to lie to my daughter. Do you hav–”

“Ms. Mitchell-Beale,” the woman interrupted her mid-ramble, addressing her with varying degrees of perseverance, solemnity, and practiced patience Beca assumed were qualities required in this job. "This is an urgent case we needed to address in person, regarding the grave of your late wife."

So, maybe she hadn't dreamed that phone call, after all.

“Okay… and what about it?”

“It’s best if we spoke to you in private.” The lieutenant threw a fleeting glance at the receptionist, whose brow twitched boldly at the officer.

“Okay, but tell me, please, I misheard you over the phone, and this is only some fucked up misunderstanding, so I can go back home to my daughter.”

“We can’t let you go right now!” Lieutenant Hargrave said. “Do you require supervision for your child?”

“Well, no, she’s sixteen, but still…” Beca said. “My friends know about this emergency; they'll check on her.”

“Would you follow us, Ma’am? This case won’t be easy to explain,” the other man, a fair-skinned, bearded cop, spoke this time, whose once-dark hair was now thinning at the temples and had gone gray.

With no further explanation, he walked them to the elevator. Lieutenant Hargrave and the younger cop, Officer Michaels, who reminded Beca more of a personal trainer due to his clean-shaven Babyface and barrel-chested build, followed the other officer down the hallway toward the elevators. They went to the fourth floor, which, at first glance, seemed abandoned, save for the team of nurses behind a glass window. They perked up curiously when they noticed the three cops escorting Beca.

Down the hallway, the doctor on duty just exited a room. A frown was plastered on his face as he perused the patient’s chart in his hand.

The staff break room was vacant when they walked in. “So, this is a case of grave robbing?” Beca asked, knowing that similar events had been reported online. But never in her wildest dreams had she thought this would happen to her as well.

“Might be more serious than that,” Officer Slater stated.

Beca was unsure as to what to do about the situation she found herself in. In hindsight, she wished she had asked one of her friends, her assistant, Sammy, or fuck–even Luke to accompany her. She couldn’t stomach this on her own.

The lieutenant gestured for Beca to take a seat. As she plopped down, her small bag slipped from her shoulder, but she clung to the strap like a lifeline.

Lieutenant Hargrave produced a notepad from her chest pocket and a pen. “We need to ask you a few questions first. Do you mind, Ms. Mitchell-Beale?"

“Go ahead,” Beca grumbled.

“You’re the owner of plot section E, plot 5, in East Greenwich Cemetery, 1st Avenue, East Greenwich, Rhode Island? Is that correct?”

“Yes!”

“When was the last time you visited the grave?”

“About a month ago. I come here every year.” A knot formed in Beca’s throat, but she forced it down and scowled at the police officers and why this was taking so long. While she sat there trying to be patient, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. “Every year on her birthday.”

"Do you have family, relatives, or acquaintances in Rhode Island?"

“No.” Beca narrowed her eyes. “How’s this even relevant? Am I in trouble? Because if so, I’ll need my lawyer.”

“No, you’re not. This is standard procedure.”

“Tell me what happened, then! About that incident you mentioned, and why I was asked to show up in person.”

“If you'll allow, Lieutenant Hargrave." The woman nodded at her officer, who stepped forward. The shorter, bearded cop took over, "Ms. Mitchell-Beale, the incident was between 11:15 p.m.—12:15 a.m. when we arrived at the cemetery.” The man looked at Beca and put his hands on his holster belt, as if to seem intimidating. “We caught a group… what did they call themselves? Necromancers.”

“Necromancers… you mean, like, talking to the dead through witchcraft and such…” Beca let that sink in, unsure of his level of seriousness. “I thought this was about grave robbing?”

“Well, not exactly, Ma’am. We caught them at the plot you own, but they weren’t looting your late wife's grave. They weren't even targeting your wife in particular.” He looked over at Lieutenant Hargrave, hesitant to proceed.

Beca felt a cold chill run down her spine, still trying to process all that.

“We heard noises from inside the casket,” with a tone of doubt in his own sanity, Officer Slater recounted the events that had transpired at the cemetery. His voice began to stutter while his forehead glistened with sweat. “And when we opened the casket…”

“No! Stop!” Beca interrupted, dismissing them with a wave as she sought to understand what he was saying. “You broke open my late wife’s casket? How dare you fucking disrespect her!”

“Ms. Mitchell-Beale, we assume that–” Lieutenant Hargrave sat down on the chair opposite Beca's, pausing for an absurd dramatic effect as she exhaled slowly. She frowned in concentration before she went on, “–how do I put this...”

“Would you just fucking spit it out!”

“We reasonably believe that your wife wasn’t dead this whole time.”

“WHAT?!” Beca screeched; she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry at this. In her anger, her eyes began to water, and she blinked them away. “Why would you say that?”

“Because we rescued Chloe Mitchell-Beale from the scene.”

“Bullshit! Then you got the wrong grave!” Beca concluded, sagging back on her chair. There was nothing left in her to deal with these inept police officers. It was obviously just a case of confusion. Really, what else was there to expect?

“We compared police records from August 2020 of the car accident and the victim, Mrs. Chloe Mitchell-Beale, with this woman’s fingerprint, and dental records. Double-checked the location, the plot owner,” the other younger officer, who was guarding the door, filled in. “That grave is where your wife had been buried, but the person in it… was alive,” he phrased carefully, “which doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure,” Beca scoffed and threw her hands in the air, mocking them, “because law enforcement is infallible and there has never been any confusion over official records. Come on, dudes…”

“Ms. Mitchell-Beale, we believe that your wife faked her own death.”

Jaw-slacked, Beca didn’t realize that she held her breath. Her gaze darted back to the lieutenant who had made such a claim so matter-of-factly, as if they were in the midst of filming a scene from a thriller and were now observing how their test object, Beca Mitchell-Beale, would respond in real life. Were these idiots for real?

“People do that all the time,” Lieutenant Hargrave said, “for life insurance. But I see in my documents that you didn’t claim it.”

Beca, at a loss for words, met the Lieutenant’s dark brown eyes. “That’s…” she tried to say, but it was more a whisper than anything.

“We assume that your wife faked her own death, as people would have been searching for her if she had just gone missing. She did not want that. She disappeared from the face of the planet, assumed a new identity, perhaps messed with the wrong people. Perhaps she joined this cult-like organization or was abducted by them. We must investigate whether she recognizes this group of people. She might've been administered illegal drugs and consequently became amnesiac. When she came to, she found herself in that casket. At that point, law enforcement apprehended her kidnappers.”

Officer Slater spoke again, “This just came in!” He was handed over a tablet-like device as big as his deft hands by the younger officer, punching in his access code as he read the new notification. “According to her records, no detection of the presence or absence of a drug or illicit substances, Lieutenant Hargrave. And no indication of a specific level of drugs.”

“Severe trauma may also cause temporary amnesia,” the presumptive black woman provided.

“Wha… But… that would mean that my wife has been alive all these years!” Beca couldn’t believe this. Didn’t want to, as it didn’t make sense. Because Chloe would have never deserted her and her own child. These people didn’t know Chloe. They knew nothing about her. And that woman they rescued wasn’t Chloe. It wasn’t her wife.

The fact that she was unearthed from the same grave as Chloe was pure coincidence. Perhaps those people assumed the site was vacant since the headstone honoring Chloe was being refurbished and was removed. Nothing but a big mix-up of identities and documents.

“We believe that, yes.”

“Why would she abandon her own family? She had a baby. And we had been happily married; I don’t understand.”

“Well, there are lots of instances in which this is common, such as when suffering from depression, maybe PTSD, substance abuse, upsetting or stressful life events, to name a few. I’m no therapist, but later on, you’ll meet the hospital’s psychiatrist, Dr. Hasslein,” Lieutenant Hargrave said and looked Beca straight in the eye. “Perhaps there were matters your wife had been dealing with that she felt unable to share with you.”

“I was her best friend… her wife!” Beca said feebly, her words carried enormous value and were intended to reassure herself, for her own benefit, not the police. “You’re lying…” she whispered, “You’re lying…”

She and Chloe loved each other—that was the only logical fact Beca held onto. Chloe would have never done that to her loved ones—never… Beca’s thoughts were racing until she felt lightheaded.

Now, Lieutenant Hargrave was listing reasons for Chloe to have abandoned her family. And each one hit Beca like a slap in the face because they held true to her life's circumstances at the time.

“Possible other causes include monetary difficulties, postpartum depression, a crisis in one’s personal or professional life, or the challenge of adjusting to parenthood. All of that stress could have led to burnout, which is what ultimately prompted her actions. Her supposed death was a hoax. Now I know you’re a renowned record producer, Ms. Mitchell-Beale, so financial issues can’t be the reason…”

Beca shook her head angrily. Fifteen years ago, their circumstances in life were different. Student loans and medical expenses caused them to accrue enormous debts. However, they were reimbursed once Beca signed her first million-dollar contract and took on ownership of the record label, Titanium Records, Inc.

“Tell me…” Beca regained her voice at last. As her faith in her late wife’s love for her was stronger than the idiots’ attempts to convince her otherwise. This gave her the fortitude to defend Chloe’s honor. “How would she have survived that collision if I almost hadn’t made it? Doctors pronounced her dead at this same hospital. We—her family, friends—we buried her. I was at my wife’s funeral. I saw them seal the casket and lower her into the ground, for fuck’s sake. That was her.” Beca took a deep breath, her frustration, indignation, and anger rising. “You don’t know her! She wouldn’t have done that to me or our daughter! And I believe you mixed up the plot or the person.”

Beca stood up. “I’m going home. I can’t believe I came here for this. This is nothing but some fucked up scheme.”

“Look, Ms. Mitchell-Beale,” the lieutenant said, not even trying to stop Beca or hold her back. “Don’t you want to see your wife before you leave?”

Beca froze mid-step. Her heart tightening in her chest. “That’s not her.”

“The pieces of evidence were quite clear that it is Chloe Mitchell-Beale,” the lieutenant insisted.

“That’s not her. My wife fuckin’ died fifteen years ago!” Beca snarled angrily. “This is some giant misunderstanding and I don’t have time for this.”

Officer Slater spoke again this time, to add more details to the story, “We’ve mentioned that your wife was buried at section E, plot 5. There was this alleged seer, Lazlo Green, who is buried in Section G, plot 5. They didn’t learn that information until we allowed their leader to make his phone call. He phoned his source, who, apparently, cursed him up and down for mishearing him. They got the wrong grave. Your wife wasn’t their target, but this Lazlo Green was.”

“And why are you telling me that bullshit?” Beca blinked her teary eyes and wiped her numb cheeks. Her feet wouldn’t move from where she stood, and her knees were weak and shaking, despite her earlier resolve to leave. Her curiosity kept her rooted on the spot. “What were they… these people… the necromancers… doing there at my wife’s grave?”

All three officers exchanged a hesitant look; it was Officer Slater who provided the answers. “They were trying to… resurrect the reputed seer, Lazlo Green, who had been dead for over a century. Now we don’t believe in genuine supernatural prophetic abilities, either, or in witchcraft. And what we saw unfold at the site could’ve been some magician’s trick to create an optical illusion. In any case, the necromancers confused the two graves…”

Beca laughed out loud. It became even more absurd the longer she stayed, the longer she listened to this tale. “And now, you’re gonna tell me, like… their magic trick worked. And they resurrected a fuckin’ dead person,” she scoffed in mock amusement, “Dudes, are you certain the person in the casket wasn’t actually this wannabe Nostradamus, whatshisname Lazley Fella?”

“It wasn’t Lazlo Green, no,” Officer Slater declared grimly, “it was Chloe Mitchell-Beale.”

“What the actual fuck? Did you make that shit up? Am I being pranked right now?” Beca’s scream was equal parts shock, spite, and outrage at them for making her feel helpless. “This nonsense is not worth my time, Jesus fucking Christ! Is Amy responsible for this? Once, she fooled my drunk ass into thinking I’d won a Grammy; I booked a flight to Florida, rehearsed my acceptance speech, and... turned out she lied. That shit was funny… but all this?! No, this is sick! SICK!”

No wonder these officers would assume and approach the situation as if the worst and presumably most plausible thing had happened, requiring to view this case from an adversarial position… since supernatural phenomena didn't exist.

But the way they stared at Beca, their expressions suggested they'd rather want to believe that Chloe had faked her own death than had been resurrected, which they couldn't deny due to scientific evidence.

However, this wasn't Beca's problem, she decided and turned on her heel. As she walked to the door, Officer Michaels stepped aside reluctantly.

“She’s here at the hospital,” Lieutenant Hargrave said, her voice gentle. “And she was asking for you.”

Beca halted. Trembling all over as she turned around. “NO! MY WIFE IS DEAD! SHE IS DEAD!”

"In fact, she was under the impression that she had… vocal nodule surgery," the lieutenant went on. "She was confused, I didn't know what she meant. She said she already had them removed, and I shall inform you."

Beca cried in her hands and dropped to her knees, her bag slipped from her shoulder.

“We can bring you to her room. She's on this floor, Ms. Mitchell-Beale.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Beca now began to cry uncontrollably, sobbing hard as her whole body shook with anger. When she felt a hand on her elbow, she pushed them away. She didn't care who it was.

“We need you to identify her,” Lieutenant Hargrave said, her voice near Beca now, “if you confirm it’s not her, you may then leave.”

*

“Would you follow us?” Officer Slater said, leading her outside. His previous harsh tone had softened. This was supposedly a situation that had never been seen or heard of before, so of course, he would be shocked. But certainly, he’d dealt with crazy, psychotic women before, and women having a nervous breakdown.

They were joined by a member of the hospital staff, this one wearing her hair up into a bun, dressed in a white coat, and holding a tablet. She was pallid around her nose. A few words were exchanged between her, the two officers, and the lieutenant, but Beca didn’t pay attention. The name tag on the specialist’s chest identified her as ‘Dr. Caitronia Hasslein.’

“I’m Dr. Hasslein, the hospital psychiatrist.” She took Beca’s feeble hand and shook it firmly. “We can take this slowly. If you need time to process this, there’s no rush.”

“What’s there to process? I know this is nothing but a huge misunderstanding,” Beca snapped. She was more convinced now than earlier. “This is so fucked up. Because these cops are trying to convince me that a band of grave robbers has brought back my deceased wife instead of that Lazlo Green dude with the abilities of a fortune cookie.”

“It does seem absurd,” Dr. Hasslein confirmed empathically, “which is the reason I’ll be accompanying you through this process.”

Beca scoffed, clutching the strap of her bag tight. “Look. I know you small towns like to cook up drama for the sake of publicity and milking a few dollars out of it, like Loch Ness in Scotland. But I’m a mother, trying to raise my daughter in peace. This shit isn’t funny.”

“We’re not; we wouldn’t believe it if we didn’t see it with our own eyes!” Dr. Hasslein brushed loose hair from her temple and tilted her head as she studied Beca’s behavior.

“OH, MY GOD! WOULD YOU JUST SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE!” Beca cried out loudly in exasperation. Aside from the fact that she was not only sleep-deprived but anxious, she wanted to go back home to her daughter. She couldn’t believe she wasted her time and energy on this. And she couldn't stand dealing with these folks.  

She bolted straight down the hallway without direction for where to go. Lieutenant Hargrave was right beside her, whom she asked, “Where is she?” without stopping in her tracks.

“Okay, follow me. This way.”

Beca brushed her tears away and struggled to follow the Lieutenant’s ponderous strides down the hall, past the medical equipment and passing along other patient rooms that must be vacant or occupied. The specialist lady and the two other officers were behind them.

Until they arrived at a door that was closed. And Beca stopped, hesitating. Drawing in a deep breath.

She cast one final glance at the Lieutenant to her right, where she expected the truth to be revealed to Beca that she was, in fact, being pranked on live television. Beca would join in on the joke despite its macabre nature. 

And then, with her tiny hands, she would kill them—one by one.

Because Chloe couldn’t really be behind this door, right?

She couldn’t have really been resurrected because that shit wasn't possible.

She’s not… no way, God, she can’t be...

“Are you ready, Ms. Mitchell-Beale?” Lieutenant Hargrave asked, the corner of her lips slightly turned upward to a weak smile. She even placed a hand on Beca’s shoulder before she signaled Officer Michaels to turn the doorknob.

And what if it was Chloe... What if she turned out to have abandoned Beca and their daughter fifteen years ago?

Would that hypothesis be more or less painful?

Beca nodded. She was as ready as she could be.

Officer Michaels pushed the door open and stepped inside; humid air wafted into Beca’s face from the open window inside the room.

As he shifted his large frame out of the way, Beca grudgingly entered the room and caught a first glimpse of the woman sitting there on the hospital bed, putting away a book she had been reading.

Beca's hands clasped her mouth to stifle a scream. 

The woman with the recognizable reddish, curly hair and delicate blue eyes glanced at her; a look of disbelief and impatience was drawn on that beautiful face Beca had missed all these years.

“Babe, thank God! Tell them this is a huge misunderstanding!” relieved, the woman exclaimed.

It was Chloe’s voice.

Living… breathing… just as if she’d never left.

Beca remembered that gentle, sweet voice from a time long ago. She still had that puzzled look on her face whenever she was confronted with something she couldn't figure out.

And what stood out was the fact that she hadn't aged. 

Not a single day.

Confirming that a resurrection happened.

Debunking their theory that Chloe deserted her family.

That their assertion that she had been alive all these years was a fucking lie. 

This defied all reason and logic.

But the immediate recognition of her wife, hearing the sound of her voice, and capturing the sight of her distinctive blue eyes sent Beca’s senses reeling.

Then everything turned black.

*

September 2019
North Kingstown, Rhode Island

“Babe, I’m home!” Beca called, removing her jacket, and hanging it on the coat hanger. “You won’t believe what happened today!” she began, already laughing before even telling the story as she kicked off her shoes and walked into the living room, where she only heard the faint rustle of movement behind the room divider. “So, this new dude was wondering why the fucking soap bar wasn’t working. Turned out it was actually a bar of cheese someone left in the washroom.” Beca erupted in laughter and rounded the partition to find her wife sitting on the sofa, bearing a strained smile. “And guess who that someone was… Chlo–”

“H-Hey, babe, heh… sounds like you had a great time…” Chloe struggled for words as she wiped her perspiring forehead. Her face and arms were smeared with smudges of purplish paint. When Beca kissed her wife, Chloe whimpered and her expression changed to one of apparent pain. She sat rigidly, her expression glum, her hands clenching the blanket on her lap.

“Are you alright?” Beca asked, frowning. “Chlo, I swear to God, that paint better be from unwinding while making art! If I find out you’ve been doing the renovation, I’m going to whack your butt in a way you won’t appreciate.”

Chloe avoided her gaze and turned away guiltily. “N-No…”

“Is Cathy alright?”

“Stacie picked her up earlier and went with the girls to the park,” Chloe forced out and bit her knuckles.

“Oh-okay…” Beca watched her wife closely up and down, then a very suggestive smirk appeared on her face. “So, have you been… jilling off or what? Want me to lend you a hand?” she chuckled.

Chloe’s only response was a crooked grin forced through gritted teeth.

“Babe, do your stitches hurt?” Beca grew immediately worried, referring to Chloe’s C-section from the delivery only four months ago.

“No, I’m fine, just give me a sec.” Chloe winced in pain, wiping tears from her eyes hastily. “I’ll heat up your dinner in a moment…”

“You’re acting weird.” Looking around their studio home, Beca suddenly realized that the air smelled of fresh paint. And the top of the ladder was protruding from her office, lying on the floor.

As Beca wanted to sit by Chloe’s feet, Chloe recoiled in shock and tried to push Beca away. “NO!”

Startled, Beca looked from her wife’s face down her legs, which she was hiding under the blanket.

Annoyed at Chloe’s strange behavior, Beca yanked at the blanket, and found Chloe’s left ankle covered in a red-bluish bruise, snapped into a weird angle.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT HAPPENED?” Beca yelled in shock.

“It’s nothing!”

“CHLOE!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, IT’S NOTHING?” With trembling hands, Beca got her phone and dialed for the ambulance.

“No, Babe, we can’t! I’m fine. It’s only sprained a little!” Chloe argued and tried to wrangle for the phone in Beca’s hand.

“Chloe, I can literally see your fucking bone!” Beca screamed, before she spoke with the 911 operator and informed them about the emergency.

Chloe, in an attempt to paint Beca’s office to surprise her, unfortunately slipped off the ladder. She intended to keep the dislocation and fracture from her wife, so they could avoid costly hospitalization and treatment.

*

Present
4:45 a.m.

CHLOE

Chloe’s final conscious thought before blacking out was a blinding flash.

An aggressive trucker’s horn blaring through the gloomy night, filling the air with its raucous, earsplitting sound.

The ride on the interstate.

The touch of her wife’s hand in her own.

About video calling her daughter and saying goodnight, promising her she’d “be back soon.”

A very exhausted Aubrey trying to get her to sleep.

After throwing a fit and rubbing her eyes despite her tiredness, Cathy insisted she would not sleep. The sight of her two moms, whom she couldn't touch, caused her crimson cheeks to flush. Cathy reached out, chubby arms flailing, for the phone Aubrey held out of her reach, but not far enough, so the toddler happily shoved it in her mouth.

Chloe recalled a bacon burger they had ordered at “The Slow Rhode.” She gave Beca the pickles from her plate, and Beca took the tomatoes from Chloe's plate, since that's what wives do. And like a couple of teens, they fed each other fries.

Chloe remembered the many times they argued about who loved the other more.

The many I-love-you’s her wife had told her and assured her that she was beautiful, that she didn’t need to go to the bathroom for the fifth time that evening to check on her appearance and makeup. To retouch her foundation and conceal the dark circles under her eyes, and her pale, puffy face.

She remembered a lot from yesterday. 

It was their anniversary.

But what happened?

Why was she here?

In a hospital?

Chloe touched her head, her face, and looked down at her arms, at her palms.

Unscathed.

Maybe it had only been a moment ago, Chloe couldn’t tell, but she had a distinct, hazy memory of a pair of individuals in light cream-colored scrubs, who introduced themselves as the medical investigators. She had been told that digital fingerprints and a scan of her dental profile would be required for identification purposes. As Chloe was still disoriented, she consented. She had fallen unconscious again, and now she was unsure if the incident really had taken place.

“Honey, Chloe! Oh, my God!” A relieved exclamation came from somewhere, sobbing, and crying at the same time. Bodies closed in on Chloe as her face was smothered with affectionate kisses, as if she’d been gone far too long. Trembling hands reaching for hers, taking her face, stroking her arms, as if not believing it was her. The elder woman’s face was completely stained with tears, and she continued to cry. “God, it’s a miracle! Dear God, thank you for giving us back our beautiful girl!”

“Chloe, my baby!” the man’s deep, gravelly voice sighed with relief upon seeing Chloe, his tired and wrinkled features appearing both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. “Oh, thank you, dear Lord, our Chloe’s alive!”

“Uh… guys…?”

Chloe’s initial thought was that this elderly couple could be her grandparents, despite the fact that she had never met her grandfather, who had sadly passed away when she was a child. She had also never met her paternal grandparents, who settled in New Zealand when she was a teenager, who may or may not still be alive.

However, her maternal grandmother had been bedridden for many years after suffering a stroke. She was in Baltimore, living in a nursing facility there, which she never left unless she was transferred into a wheelchair. Prior to Cathy's birth, while they still lived in Maryland, Chloe, and Beca had visited her in her nursing home. She didn’t recognize Chloe at all.

Moreover, the woman before her didn't seem to be much older than her own mom. Chloe stared from the woman to the other elderly, white-haired man, who seemed familiar because of his light-blue eyes.

“And who are you, guys?” Chloe asked uncomfortably when she slowly removed their hands from her.

“Honey, it’s us,” the man said, “your old Dad and Mom. Doctors warned us you may not recognize us. But it’s only temporary.”

“D-Dad? Mom? No way!”

“Yes, honey, you remember us?” the older woman asked, squeezing Chloe’s hand.

“Of course, I remember you. But no way it’s you.” Chloe rubbed her eyes as if she wasn’t fully awake and assumed these people were merely confused. It was still dark outside. She didn’t know what time it was or where exactly she was. She was certain it was a hospital room. “But… our last holiday visit was only a few months ago when we came to see you. And Mom still dyed her hair because she was embarrassed by the gray,” she giggled when she remembered that a grumpy Beca had to help Chloe’s mom dye her hair, while Chloe was breastfeeding their baby.

“It’s us, honey. It’s been a while since we last saw you.” The older man placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders, looking sadly at Chloe.

“Harold, take a seat, love,” the woman told her husband and pulled a chair close to the bed. “Think of your blood pressure and arthritis.”

“You take a seat, woman! I’m no old man!” he protested stubbornly, laughing in his deep, shaky voice.

“Daddy! Mom!” Chloe exclaimed when she finally recognized them in their entirety, creating an emotional cocktail of surprise and confusion in her. “You’re so… old!” 

Her father had always adamantly refused to accept his advancing age and chronic health problems. This remained constant even as he aged over the years, with the notable exception that he was now a true, frail man.

“What happened? Have I been in a coma?”

“Oh, Chloe, no baby…” her mother sighed, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

“We lost you, Chloe. You were in a car accident, and we lost you,” her mother explained.

Her father pulled up a second chair from the corner so he and his wife could both sit by Chloe’s bed. “Margarine, sit down. Our daughter believes we're frail elderly folks who may pass out at any moment,” he laughed. As he sat down, he rubbed his knee.

“Harold, you’re the senior, you old goat! Embrace your age, dear Lord!”

With a giggle, Chloe watched as her parents teased each other about their senior status.

“Mom, Daddy, what do you mean, you… lost me?” Chloe found the way they phrased it odd, as if she’d been gone and returned from Heaven-knows-where. “Wait, yeah, I remember the car accident.” Then she also remembered that she wasn’t alone in the car. “Oh God, Beca! Where is she? Is she okay?”

Her parents looked at each other, concerned.

“Mom, D-Daddy, is… is… Beca…?” Chloe had tears in her eyes, her chest feeling constricted like oxygen had been squeezed out. She clasped her hand to her mouth. “Is my wife…”

“No, no, don’t worry, honey, she’s fine,” her mother assured her quickly. “Beca should be here any moment now.” She grabbed her hand and held it. “Everything is so confusing, Chloe. The medical staff doing the swab test will return any moment now. Since we have already confirmed your identity, the DNA test is essentially unnecessary, but they insist on it.”

“Beca would insist on it,” her dad threw in. “And the police demanded it. I'm not so much afraid of the police as I am of Beca.”

“Mom, what DNA test?”

“The DNA test that will confirm you’re our baby,” her mother answered, smiling gently. She brushed the back of her hand over Chloe’s chin. “But we know it’s you.”

“Really, Mom, that's just a waste of money! Do you know how much that costs? A couple of hundred bucks! And I’m telling you—it's me. We should go home before they slap us with astronomical bills for unnecessary tests,” Chloe groaned, but when she tried to get up from the bed, her legs felt numb. Her father had to support her. “Beca will kill me! I just had my ankle broken a few months ago for being reckless when I slipped off the ladder. Now I’m here again. Gosh! We have no money for this!”

Her mother held her in place, her eyes watery. “No, honey, please. It’s fine. Wait for Beca. We need to do the DNA test. It’s for everybody’s peace of mind!”

“Mom!” Chloe whined. She looked helplessly at her father, who helped her lie down. “Daddy, say something! Why do you even need to confirm it’s me? Oh my God, is my face…”

She quickly touched her face again as if she’d missed something from her first self-checkup, thinking that she might have bandages or scars from the accident, burn marks, or any wounds that made her unrecognizable to her parents, or anything that would require a DNA test.

To her own surprise, and only now did she truly realize: her skin felt smooth and soft. She could, however, feel the dent of the scar on her forehead, from when she climbed a tree when she was little, fell, and landed on her head. Except for that, her face was unblemished by the car crash and fire.

“This is unbelievable! It’s me!” Chloe, relenting, let out a long sigh when she leaned back against her pillow. “This is ridiculous, guys. Look, I remember everything from last night.”

“You do?” her father asked. He placed his arm over his wife’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it was our anniversary. We went out while Aubrey looked after Cathy.” Chloe glanced at the ceiling as she tried to recall the events of the previous day, but they were as fuzzy as if she were trying to hold on to a dream that was slipping through her fingers. “You sent us an envelope with cash even though I asked you guys not to! I’m not crazy, Mom. I didn’t lose my memory… or my mind. Also, I know who you guys are. We don’t need tests to prove who I am or whether I’ve gone insane. Jesus!”

“Chloe, that wasn’t yesterday…” Her mother’s voice broke, and she began to sob again. Her husband caressed her back.

“Of course, it was!”

Her father gave her a saddened look Chloe had never seen before. “You can’t remember anything from all these years… right?”

Chloe took in her parents and realized the missing pieces of the puzzle that would explain their—practically—overnight elderly aging. Her heart shot to her throat. “All… these… years? What do you mean?”

“That car crash you were in, Chloe... Beca survived, while you… they tried to save you… but you died from internal bleeding,” her mother told her, face pale and tears in her blue eyes. Her father held his trembling wife tight in his arms.

“What?”

“Yes, Chloe, and that was fifteen years ago," her mother sobbed.

Chapter Text

6:42 a.m.

BECA

Beca found herself lying on a hospital bed.

It was like reliving a painful memory all over again—she woke up staring at the suspended ceilings of white drywall panels while noticing the antiseptic air and hearing the murmurs of hushed voices in the background. No… why did she have to endure this all over again?

“I need to see if she’s okay.”

“I was instructed to keep you from leaving your bed, Ma’am,” a man’s voice insisted.

“Why? I’m not a goddamned criminal. I just want to see if my wife’s okay.”

Only this time, it was different…

Beca could hear her—Chloe’s—voice speaking in the distance. Was she dreaming? Because she always dreamed of her late wife... A recurring dream of her wife being alive.

Rolling onto her side, Beca looked around her. Two officers were by this red-haired woman’s bed, the woman who resembled Chloe in all of Beca’s dreams.

“Beca! Oh, my God, are you okay, Babe?” The woman’s face sparkled with genuine worry as she struggled to get out of bed, but the younger cop stood in her way. “Let me get to her. She’s my wife.”

“Miss, we can’t let you, or else we have to remove everybody from the room,” the taller officer of the two said, whom Beca recalled as Officer Michaels.

“Mr. and Mrs. Beale are being monitored by a therapist right now,” the older officer, Slater’s, dark eyes flitted from Chloe toward Beca as if he did not acknowledge Chloe’s existence when he referred to her parents, “until we obtain the remaining lab results.”

When Beca got up from the bed, the dark-haired woman standing by Beca’s bed, whom she remembered as the psychiatrist, Dr. Hasslein, was taking notes on her tablet and reaching out a hand to place on Beca’s shoulder. “Ms. Mitchell-Beale, the doctors will be here any second and examine you since you fainted.”

“Get your hand off me, or I’ll jam that tablet so far up your ass that you’ll gag on it!” Beca warned the psychiatrist. She glared over to the other bed at this impostor, who returned a compassionate smile at Beca. “Who is that woman? It can’t be my wife, since she’s dead.” She looked at the other faces in the room. “I mean, this is a nice story. Very original. And I almost fell for it. So, are you people trying to get money out of me? This is a scheme, isn’t it?”

“Beca, what? It’s me,” Chloe cried, looking frightened. “B-Babe...”

“You’re not Chloe. This is impossible. They said you’ve been resurrected through fucking sorcery, that some kind of magic spell did this! Because their theory that you’ve been alive all these years didn’t make sense to me. But you… you didn’t age…” Beca’s breath hitched. “Y-You died! How’s this possible?”

“No, Beca, I didn’t. Stop saying that! Stop playing games now. Look, it was funny for a moment, but now you’re starting to scare me.” Chloe clutched the hospital gown she was wearing. “Even my parents said the same thing. It’s not funny!”

Officers Slater and Michaels exchanged uncomfortable glances before Dr. Hasslein approached Chloe’s bed and politely requested them to leave. 

To assess her memory and mental state, she asked this Chloe-double a series of questions. All the events the woman in question addressed were related to events that happened to Beca’s late wife fifteen years ago. She looked like Chloe, just without the traces of everything Chloe was to Beca, of what made her a mother to Cathy.

“Please state today’s date and year,” the psychiatrist said.

“Well, apparently, this is not the day I believe it is,” this Chloe-double responded uneasily. “But to me, it’s August 11, 2020.”

Dropping her gaze to her feet, Beca wasn’t emotionally and mentally capable of listening to this woman. It didn’t make sense to her. 

That was the date after their anniversary—the day Chloe had never experienced.

The door opened, and a man in a white doctor’s coat walked in. He was holding a tablet in his hand.

“I’m Dr. Bean. The attending doctor. A few more test results came in,” Dr. Bean announced, evaluating the data on his tablet, and looking between Beca and Chloe. “Our portable DNA sequencer was able to get a quick genetic readout of a sample of cells, and it matched the same on file on the PsiGen DNA Cybernetics database of Mr. Harold and Margarine Beale.”

Thanks to technological advancements made by law enforcement and medical professionals, the whole procedure of getting data from a dead person’s database had been expedited. Which was why the doctor could provide them with some indisputable results quickly.

“You mean…” Beca swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to support herself on the bed behind her.

“The patient in question is Mr. and Mrs. Beale’s daughter, Chloe Mitchell-Beale,” the doctor declared, as his face went completely pale. For a moment, his ebony eyes were fixed on Chloe—the medical miracle, the woman who had been brought back to life after being dead for a decade and a half.

“H-How accurate is that?” Beca cradled her body and avoided looking at the woman, who carried her wife’s DNA.

“This technology is near-perfect, Ms. Mitchell-Beale,” Dr. Bean said. He continued by detailing for Beca and the others in the room how the technology in question worked, including how cheek cell samples were gleaned and kept in the PsiGen DNA Cybernetics database and compared with 31,000 public genomes to match with.  

“DNA test showed she is genetically the same person from fifteen years ago,” he concluded after his five-minute monologue.

“This is so insane,” Chloe whispered.

“Miss Mitchell-Beale,” the doctor spoke to Chloe now, since Beca was too shell-shocked to speak. “That car crash was fifteen years ago. Your vitals, your body, and your mental state—everything is regenerated. No injuries, no scars from the accident.” He took a deep breath to process this himself. “There’s no medical explanation for this.”

Chloe looked back at Beca, searching for her eyes. “Babe, let’s go home. Please. I’m scared,” she sniffed. “Where is Cathy, Beca? Our baby?”

Beca had difficulty finding her voice. “She's fine. Aubrey is with her,” she croaked out.

Dr. Bean informed them that he’d leave them by themselves, and Dr. Hasslein followed him outside. They could call the nurses anytime if either of them needed anything or had more questions. Neither Beca nor Chloe said anything in return.

Once the door shut with a silent thud, Chloe turned to Beca again. “Can you believe his name is Dr. Bean? Was he Mr. Bean before?” Her attempt to ease the tension between them was accompanied by a soft giggle. Beca almost smiled. Almost. “You… look different, Babe. You look good wearing your hair down. You usually wear it in a loose ponytail. Like, except… yesterday, on our anniversary.”

“Please, don’t talk to me like you know me,” Beca snapped. Fuck all the DNA tests; she didn’t care! She walked toward the far-end corner of the room away from this woman, whom she refused to believe was genetically her deceased wife. “Our anniversary, when is that? It wasn’t yesterday.”

“Like I said, Beca, it feels like the next day to me,” this woman said, “August 10. We eloped in Maryland; it was a crazy day, but we were young, poor, and crazy in love with each other. Remember?” Tears filled this stranger’s familiar eyes, full of despair and anguish. “And to me, it feels like we celebrated our third anniversary only yesterday, Beca. We had an amazing date and –”

Beca shook her head vehemently. “This isn’t happening… This is not you! I fucking lost you!”

“No! I’m here, Beca. And it’s me,” this woman insisted. “You were worried about meeting your deadline and working extra hours, and I totally get it because we need the cash. If you would just quit acting like you don't know me, I promise you that I will never put pressure on you because of that. Yes, our debts are very high. I understand. We need to cut costs, so I suggest we leave the hospital before they slap us with yet another hefty payment.”

“Don’t worry about the expenses…” Beca murmured, her eyes sliding to the floor. Because Chloe had always been concerned about their mounting expenses after being hospitalized, and other forms of debt that they would never be able to pay off. Looking back at the woman across from her, who acted much like Chloe, she still had her doubts about all this. It was hard to believe… “Tell me more about our last evening together…” Beca urged the woman and stepped closer a little, holding her breath, “…if it’s really you.”

Chloe smiled gently, confused, but she went on, “We had an amazing date...”

“You already said that,” Beca spat with derision. Letting out a long exhale, she dropped her head and balled her hands to tight fists.

“…even if you thought it wasn’t as fancy as dining at… Red Lobster,” Chloe continued, making Beca perk up. She went on when Beca finally looked her in the eye. “Remember that you promised me I could eat Red Lobster every day until I get fat?” Chloe giggled as she wiped at her eyes—that promise Beca gave her on their last day together… many, many years ago; Chloe’s voice cracked mid-sentence. “I’ll hold you to that, Babe.”

“Chloe…”

A part of Beca knew this to be true. She knew from the moment she saw Chloe.

She just didn’t want to accept it.

*

10:12 a.m.

BECA

“It’s her!” Beca mumbled into her phone.

“Beca, God, I’ve been waiting for your call!” Aubrey exclaimed, “what did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

“It-It’s her, Aubrey!”

“Who?”

“It’s Chloe.”

“Beca, God, I can’t follow…”

“It’s Chloe. The woman. There’s no mistaking it.”

“That… WHAT?”

“Yes, Aubrey, she’s alive. Chloe is alive,” Beca said tearfully. “She’s back.”

*

“That’s… no, that’s impossible!” Aubrey insisted for the fifth time after Beca had explained to her the whole situation and what had happened. About why she was at the hospital, in Rhode Island..

She was led to believe by the authorities that Chloe's death was nothing but a hoax. That Chloe had miraculously survived the car crash and convinced the doctors to pronounce her dead. According to their unfounded claim, Chloe abandoned her family many years ago due to mental health or financial issues she couldn't deal with.

That she'd been alive all this time.

That she'd eventually been kidnapped and put in a casket for torture. Until the cops rescued her…

All of which didn't make sense, since Chloe didn't age a single day.

And all this because of… "necromancy," Beca thought, but wasn’t ready to voice out yet.

"That's so absurd! Chloe would never do that! She wouldn't have done that!" Aubrey only confirmed what Beca had been thinking all along. Like a life jacket in the middle of the ocean, she clung to this belief.

"She'd been accidentally resurrected by some ancient Celtic spell," Beca went on in a serious voice, “by necromancers. God, that sounds so weird when you say it out loud.”

"Come again? I didn't hear you." Aubrey let out an awkward chuckle.

"She'd been resurrected."

“Is this supposed to be a joke? I don't get it, Beca. You know, sleep deprivation, stress, and new adjustments to lifestyle habits can cause–”

“Aubrey, she's alive! And it's her. It's definitely her!”

“A-Are you sure?” she asked again, weakly this time. Because Beca wouldn't joke about this.

"Since… since she died…” Beca swallowed hard at that, “…all of her medical records had to be retrieved from the database, so it took a while.”

She went on to explain that all forensic evidence and biometric identification, as well as the comparison of her medical history from the hospital’s database had proved that it was her. That it was Chloe.

“That's so surreal. I-I don't know what to say…” Aubrey sounded like she was crying.

“I had my doubts, too. But she remembers everything only my wife could know, Bree,” Beca told her through a stream of tears, smiling. If this was only a dream, she didn’t want to wake up again. “This woman is Chloe. I've no idea how it's possible, but it's her, Aubrey. It's Chloe.”

*

“I’ll be there in a few hours! I'm not sure what kind of drugs you're on, but I'm worried! I need to see this for myself, and–”

“Is Cathy with you?” Beca interrupted her friend’s plan to fly over right away.

“Stacie’s picking the girls up this afternoon after school. She wanted to take them shopping. Cathy’s been worried sick. You should answer her calls.”

“I know, but I can’t at the moment. What am I supposed to tell her?”

“You know your daughter, Beca, she will find a way to get to Rhode Island—no matter what—if she doesn’t hear from you. She’s stubborn. Like you. So, you better answer her call and tell her you’re fine.”

“How does she know I’m in Rhode Island?”

“Well, she doesn’t, I think, but she’s clever," Aubrey sighed. Beca could almost imagine her friend pacing up and down her office. "And her friend, Duncan, is a computer nerd. They could hack your laptop or track your phone. I don’t know how that works, but Cathy always finds a way around things.”

Beca thought about that. Thought about how her daughter had forged her signature to get her learner’s permit. Which wasn’t a big feat to accomplish… Beca never had the urge to forge one of her parents’ signatures in high school because they allowed her to join activities that needed parental consent, like taking driver’s ed.

Would Cathy be capable of hacking Beca’s laptop or tracking her phone? If this was really what she wanted?

“I’ll call her after,” Beca decided. “I’m not sure she should know about this, Bree. About Chloe. It’s… too much to put on her.”

“Beca, she’s not a kid anymore, and you need to stop treating her like one. Cathy has the right to know this about… Chloe. She is certain to find out eventually. It would be terrible if she heard it via the news instead of her mom.” 

Beca couldn’t argue that. Aubrey was right. “I-I need to tell her this in person, not over the phone,” she said. “This is too much.”

“I’ll bring her with me. I’ll cancel all my appointments for today. And get her after her lunch break if that's fine by you.”

“It's okay. Take the private jet, it’ll be faster. Just let me make a few arrangements. But don’t tell her anything. Please.”

“I won’t. I’ll tell Stacie about the change of plans, or would you rather I tell her everything?”

“No, I don’t know… maybe not yet, Bree," Beca stammered, biting on the tip of her thumbnail. It wasn't that she didn't trust her other friend–she trusted her more than anything in the whole world. But convincing Stacie–their too rational, too scientific friend–especially if they didn't have indisputable proof in their hands yet to present to her, would take up too much time. And Beca needed her daughter and Aubrey right now. "We shouldn't worry her unnecessarily without checking this case out  first."

“Okay, I got you.”

*

“Mom, do you have any idea how worried I was? Where are you?!”

“Cathy, I’m so sorry…”

“Where are you? You left in the middle of the night to go to the office, but I called there this morning, you weren’t there! And security didn’t call you; I asked. And I spoke to Luke. He said you canceled all plans for today. And all your other schedules! I can't believe this! You lied to me!” Cathy rambled on, a habit she got from Beca whenever she was nervous or generally overwhelmed with emotions. "So, where the hell are you?

“In Rhode Island.”

“What? Why?”

“I can’t tell you right now. You and Aubrey will take the jet here. She'll fetch you during your lunch break, okay?”

“Did something happen? Are you at the cemetery?”

"W-What? Cathy, why would you think that?" 

"Because the only time you're in Rhode Island is if you visit her grave," her clever daughter concluded, which threw Beca off-guard. "And we already went there last month. Remember?"

“No. I'm not at the cemetery. Nothing to worry about, Sweetie. I just need you here.”

“Mom, where exactly in Rhode Island are you?”

“Cathy, please, I will explain everything once you and Aunt Aubrey get here, alright? This is a bit hard to explain over the phone.”

“Okay… but this isn’t about us assuming new identities, right? Because of some jealous asshole trying to fuck you up?”

“No, Sweetie…”

“Okay, now I’m freaking out…”

“Why?”

"Because you didn't scold me when I said the f-word."

*

3:14 p.m.

Because Beca requested privacy for her family, they sat in an unoccupied office together.

In the fluorescent lights of the hospital, Aubrey, Cathy, and Chicago’s pale features stood out.

“Mom! You scared me!” Cathy pulled Beca into a tight hug, the sole force of her daughter’s tall body crashing into Beca knocked the air out of her lungs. “God, now tell me what happened!”

Once Cathy let go, Aubrey gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. Aubrey looked like she’d been crying all this time because her eyes were bloodshot and teary. “My God, Beca… this is all so surreal.”

“Are you sure it's her?” Chicago asked with narrowed eyes, his hand placed protectively over Aubrey’s shoulders. He was carrying bags, most likely their luggage. Aubrey gave him an admonishing look, imploring him to let Beca do the talking, then wide eyes landing back on Cathy.

“Take a seat first, guys.” Beca let herself slump on the stool. She didn’t know where to start.

“What, who?” Cathy asked with narrowed eyes when she glanced from Chicago to her mother, an eyebrow raised in suspicion. She clung to Beca's arm and yanked at it repeatedly to get her attention, the way she used to do when she was little. “Mom, tell me what's going on or I'll ask the officer outside! Why are the police even here? Are you in trouble? Mom!”

Pinching the bridge of her nose and feeling that throbbing sensation at her temples intensify, Beca gave her daughter's hand a gentle squeeze before she proceeded. She threw Aubrey a look, imploring her to stay. Aubrey grabbed the two stools and pulled them aside a little, so Beca could still have some space with her daughter.

Cathy sat on the chair close to her mother, taking her hand.

“Cathy, Sweetie, I need you to listen,” Beca started and fought the tears that threatened to spill.

Her daughter nodded. “Mom, is it about Granny or Gramps? You’re scaring me…”

Beca shook her head, clamped her lips together, so she could only breathe in through her nose, and talked slowly since even she found this issue unbelievable. “Your mother—Chloe… she’s alive.”

“Huh, what?” Cathy looked at her mother in confusion as she laughed. “What do you mean?”

“She’s getting physical and medical exams right now, so we have some time. I wanted you here to learn about this.”

“Mom, you’re crazy. That’s impossible. My mother died when I was a baby,” Cathy said as if Beca had forgotten about this fact.

“I know!” Beca said curtly, her jaw clenched tight, and she refused to let her sadness overpower her again. “I was there, Cathy. I was there when she died." She bit on her bottom lip and sighed, smiling weakly. "But an hour ago, I was talking to her. It was her. It is her. It’s Chloe. All lab and DNA tests confirmed that. They compared it with her old medical history, the police records. Everything matched.”

“Mom, people can fake those test results,” Cathy said softly, tears welling up in her sky-blue eyes now.

"Why would they do that?" Beca asked in frustration.

“Because it’s impossible to be brought back to life like in the movies, Mom. Witchcraft doesn't exist. That shit isn’t real. But there are trolls out there who’d mess up your life… out of envy… or bitterness… or hatred, who knows. People who have power.”

Beca shook her head vehemently. She didn’t want to think and have her hopes crushed that Chloe was, in fact, still dead. Despite everything she and Chloe had shared earlier, despite knowing so much from their last moment together, and their lives together since college, Beca didn’t want to accept that it was all a deception.

“She knew things only your mother could know, Cathy,” Beca said tearfully. She heard Aubrey sniff, too, and saw her husband taking her into his arms, comforting her. “She knew everything Chloe and I talked about and fought about on our last day together before she died. How would somebody else know about that?”

"Oh, Mom," Cathy sighed in compassion, caressing her mother’s cheeks.

"It's like time never moved forward for her. She thinks the car crash happened yesterday. Everything she remembers is from our last day together…"

"And that's the reason you believe… she's been resurrected?" Cathy asked skeptically, squeezing her mother's hand. She was anxious, Beca could tell. "That woman could also just be confused… or have dissociative identity disorder or some other psychological issues, I don't know."

Beca let out a long sigh and looked toward the door. "You wouldn't understand this. I-I'm just… I saw her and talked to her…"

Cathy scooted closer to her mother and placed an arm around her. “Maybe you forgot that you told somebody else, which is more plausible than to assume that a dead person is alive again like some kind of zombie or vampire, or an enchantment did this, y'know? Her 15th death anniversary is next month, and you’ve been stressing about refurbishing her headstone… in addition to your new work project, this could be burnout, Mom, think about it,” she reasoned gently. “All I’m saying is, please don’t get your hopes up about this woman. Be on guard. We cannot trust her. Even if your heart tells you otherwise…”

Beca sniffed and pulled her daughter into a tight hug.

Unlike Beca and the others, Cathy had an easier time emotionally detaching herself from the situation. Hence, she was logical. Like the officers, she would have her own theories to justify this in her own head. And like Beca, she was cynical and distrustful of others. Beca didn't blame her.

However, a minuscule part of Beca recognized that her daughter was right–that she should still be wary–but that logic was being pushed aside by feelings that were more insistent than reason. 

Yes, they shouldn’t just easily believe a woman who resembled Chloe, spoke like Chloe, and had Chloe’s memories. None of that here could possibly be real. It was absurd. 

This could only be some fucked up game by a mastermind who targeted Beca—maybe yes, for her wealth, for her status. Or maybe it was a personal vendetta.

But Beca’s defiant heart and spirit wouldn’t accept that it wasn’t Chloe.

*

The longer they stood in front of the woman’s room, the tenser the atmosphere got. Beca felt her daughter’s grip tightening on her forearm, she heard Aubrey behind her who was holding onto her husband. They had left their luggage in the office where they came from. Beca stared from Officer Michaels who stood by the door and kept guard, to the inpatient room.

“Is she back? From her exams?” Beca asked.

“Yes. I’ll be right here if you need anything, Ms. Mitchell-Beale,” Officer Michaels said and tipped his hat in a courteous manner.

Beca threw a last glance over her shoulder at her companions, receiving a collective nod from everybody before they entered the room.

“Let’s get this over with.”

*

CHLOE

“I feel like a lab rat the way you guys treat me here,” Chloe remarked with a smile, grimacing at the nurse who had been reading her vitals hourly from a tablet in her hands. “Very thorough and meticulous, just to prove that I’m not a ghost.” The nurse looked frightened, and her eyes widened at the thought. “Jesus, I’m not!” scoffed Chloe, paused, and corrected herself, “Or shall I say, ‘I’m-not-Jesus’?” she giggled.

The nurse started to loosen up around Chloe, shaking her head. “I’m only doing my job, Miss.”

“It’s actually Mrs,” Chloe corrected her, thinking back to the time when she laid 48 hours in labor and felt left alone in pain. Beca was the poor soul who Chloe had taken her frustration out on, yelling, and screaming at her every time she had a contraction. Her wife was so patient with her, the whole time, and never left her side. Barely let go of her hand. “By the way, where is my wife?”

A knock on the door made Chloe look up. It was Beca. Followed by a group of people. The nurse recognized them, apparently. She finished her job and scurried out of the room.

Chloe recognized the couple. It was Aubrey and her husband, Chicago. Wasn’t it just yesterday when she last saw them when Chloe and Beca dropped off Cathy, so they could go out on a date? Yet, the couple looked older and almost unrecognizable:

Aubrey’s hair was shorter, styled differently than yesterday. Her face was slimmer than Chloe remembered, like she lost at least a few pounds overnight. Chicago’s hair was receding, cut short, and lighter. And he seemed to have gained the pounds Aubrey had lost.

Then there was the red-haired girl who was clutching Beca’s arm, looking anxiously nervous. She was at least a head taller than Beca. Chloe didn’t recognize her, and her mind refused to believe who she was.

“Hey,” Beca said, walking toward the bed but keeping a safe distance, as if Chloe was a stranger.

Smiling gently, she pretended it didn’t hurt. “Hey, you...”

“Oh, God, Chloe… is that really you?” Aubrey exclaimed in shock, clasping a hand to her mouth. She walked in quick stride toward the bed, stopping, and examining her briefly. She was crying hard into her hands, then carefully placed a hand onto Chloe’s, to ensure she was a real human being. “No way that’s you. I… Chlo…”

“Bree…” Chloe sighed reproachfully, “didn’t you teach me in our first year that a true Bella doesn’t cry, so they don’t ruin their makeup?”

Aubrey cried even more, and finally pulled her into a tight hug. “Chloe, it’s you! God, I’ve missed you! I’ve missed you so much!” She pecked Chloe’s whole face and cupped her. “I can’t believe this. How’s this possible?”

“You guys must know that for me, time hasn’t passed. It feels like I only went to sleep and woke up the next day. And now everybody was acting weird,” Chloe explained with a shrug.

“There’s someone who’d like to meet you,” Aubrey said and looked over her shoulder. Chloe followed her best friend’s gaze…

Right there was the ultimate proof that time had skipped over a decade and a half...

It was upon realizing who the teenage girl was that Beca protected like her own life. Protected against a potential threat posed by the unknown—Chloe—the stranger in the room. And only a real mother would protect her child from harm—because the girl was their daughter.

It was Cathy.

As Chloe’s heart raced, her eyesight blurred and her mind became muddled.

She strained her eyes to make out the face of the teenager in front of her, taken aback to see her baby girl—older and almost a woman—staring at her with the same frightened expression she associated with Beca’s... whenever she freaked out.

Betrayal was gleaming in her eyes when this teenager looked away from Aubrey, who believed "this stranger" as her gaze shifted to glare at Chloe. Now that frightened expression on this girl's face was directed at Chloe... It was heart-shattering. Cathy moved behind Beca and pulled at her arm, shaking her head a little.

“Mom," Cathy whispered, "what if she's an impostor? A doppelganger? We cannot trust her.”

And only now did Chloe realize that it wasn’t Beca protecting Cathy—it was Cathy trying to protect her mother. "That cannot be her… she cannot really be my… Mommy…"

At that, more tears shot into Chloe’s eyes and her emotions broke loose, her heart clenched tight. She wanted to reach out, but her limbs wouldn't move. 

“Ma-mi...” squeaked the toddler’s voice in Chloe’s ears, evoking yet another outburst of emotions only a true mother could feel.

It was only yesterday when she kissed her toddler girl on the crown of her head and peppered her cherub face with a thousand kisses, making her squeal and bounce more on Chloe’s lap.

This couldn’t possibly be the same Cathy.

But if more than over a decade had passed, then she would be sixteen years old now. Assuming Chloe wasn't the victim of a practical joke… And assuming this wasn't some crazy dream or a nightmare she had to wake up from… but in fact, reality… it slowly occurred to her how much of her daughter's life she had missed. 

Every birthday…

Every Christmas… 

Every time she cried or…

Every moment of her laughter… 

With a heavy heart, she realized that she didn't know her daughter. Knew nothing about her personality, her interests, her social life, or musical preference. Nothing. 

This young woman in front of her, whose luscious locks were as brightly red and curly as Chloe's, framing her adolescent face… that same jawline as Chloe's… whose vibrant baby blue eyes a carbon copy of Chloe’s...

This was definitely not her Cathy. She couldn't be. 

Meaning that this wasn't just some crazy nightmare…

And there was no way this was Heaven.

Chapter Text

CHLOE

Around noon, the cops, whose names Chloe couldn't remember if her life depended on it, had been asking her questions. Could she remember anything that happened before she woke up in the casket? Chloe had told them the truth: Of course, that the last thing she remembered was driving home with her wife. She told them about the collision. And the next thing she knew was waking up in a hospital bed. 

Only… fifteen years later. 

They asked her if she recognized the mugshots of the "necromancers," but Chloe couldn't remember ever seeing their faces before. 

"They resurrected you," the older cop told her. 

"That's… interesting," Chloe had said, playing along, "and did they use the Dragonballs? Or the Infinity Stones and then snap their fingers?"

"They used an ancient Celtic spell," the other officer provided, not once blinking.

"Oh, you were serious about the whole resurrection thing?"

They had left when forensic data confirmed that Chloe was, in fact, only 29/30 years old and not a day older. Additional tests, like iris recognition, and a face scan also matched with the data from their database. There was no mistaking it… 

This woman was the late Chloe Mitchell-Beale.

"Is it so hard to believe a woman who came back from the dead after fifteen years? Jesus!" Chloe had exclaimed sarcastically when the two officers left her room. Though truth be told, all this was a little unsettling.

After lunch time, Juan, the physiotherapist, flexed, stretched, and massaged the soft tissues of Chloe’s legs in order to assess her range of movement and her flexibility. Though her legs may have felt like rubber when she first stood up, she guaranteed him more than once that she was capable of walking. She reasoned that the lack of feeling in her legs was probably due to blood circulation problems, tiredness, or... y’know, having been dead for so long?

She would have laughed if her "non-wife" wasn't extremely worried that Chloe might suddenly vanish again... The therapist was aiming to help Chloe restore endurance and muscle strength. Once Chloe was discharged from the hospital, Beca arranged for the therapy to continue with a different therapist. Chloe had claimed that they could save money if she just went for walks or jogs around the neighborhood to increase her mobility, but Beca was reluctant to do so out of concern for Chloe's mental health or physical safety.

Chloe didn't protest because Beca was adamant on the subject and since she didn't know what kind of challenges this "new world" entailed. 

After Chloe had done some stretching and received a massage for 40 minutes, a nurse came to take her to the next floor in her wheelchair.

“Where are you taking me this time? I think I’ve racked up enough debt from today’s exams that we'll be paying for generations to come,” she remarked wryly. “Besides, my room is on the fourth floor.”

“To your new room,” the nurse said. “Don’t worry, Ma’am. It’s taken care of.” 

“My new room?” 

Beca upgraded Chloe to a private, upper-level room with full service. Chloe’s attempts to argue that she didn’t need all that, fell on deaf ears. The medical staff had already moved Chloe’s bed to the next station. 

Beca brought Chloe a bag with clothes and all kinds of care products, everything Chloe would need and more for just one night.

The nurse helped Chloe transfer to her bed. “Thanks. Is… Is my wife still here?” she asked the nurse.

“She said she’ll be back in a moment.” 

Her friend, Aubrey, came a half hour later and stayed with Chloe during the whole duration of visiting hours, while Beca kept her distance by making arrangements over phone calls with her work, lawyers, and whoever else she was calling. 

At one point, when Chloe was in the bathroom and being assisted by Aubrey, Beca picked up the phone call. 

“…I can’t tell you right now. But trust me, please. This is important to me,” Beca told the caller. “I’m in Rhode Island with my daughter… Of course, I’ll be back. Don’t worry, okay? I’m fine. Cathy’s fine, too… Yes, maybe tomorrow or the day after… I can call you back…” Her voice turned softer. “I-I miss you, too. I can’t wait to see you again.”

Aubrey, pretending not to have heard anything as she helped Chloe stand up from the toilet, merely gave her a compassionate smile. She didn’t say anything. 

Despite having a sinking feeling about this, Chloe didn’t ask. She wasn’t ready to find out what Beca’s love life was like now, if she remarried or had a new partner. And Aubrey gave her a look that this was a matter she’d rather be kept out of.

Chloe didn’t ask anything about Beca's personal life, instead needing to ask her that herself.

Aubrey left after the hospital’s dinner time, at 5:30 p.m. when Chloe had just finished her snack that Beca had brought for her. Aubrey needed to return to the hotel since Cathy and Chicago were waiting for her to have dinner together, and Cathy was growing worried. She’d called her mother every half hour or texted her, asking about her whereabouts and when she’d be back.

Having a teenager act so maternally toward her own mother raised a few red flags for Chloe. As Chloe saw it, their daughter was a lot like Beca when Beca was feeling stressed and anxious, that Beca tended to be too… domineering.

“Thanks for being here,” she told her… wife. She no longer knew how to refer to Beca. Her mind and heart were still a mess.

“Don’t be silly,” Beca chided and zipped up the bag, placing it inside the closet. “Your essentials are in the bag. I also got a new phone for you, in case of an emergency. My number, Aubrey’s number, and Chicago’s number are all saved. But we’re only staying a mile away. At the Hampton Inn & Suites. If you need–”

“Beca,” Chloe interrupted her. “I’ll be fine,” she assured her. “Don’t worry about me. You sound like your daughter,” she joked, but Beca couldn’t look at her.

“I-I’m sorry, Chloe. Just making sure you’re fine. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I can’t stay here, y’know. Cathy’ll get worried.” Beca paced the room up and down, her breathing uneven. She’d always had this nervous habit of pacing the room to calm her nerves. Chloe gave her this moment and watched her wife do her ritual. “What if you’re gone when I come back and–”

“Beca, it’ll be fine. If the aliens return to get me, I’ll be sure to send you a text,” Chloe joked, but it didn't go over well with Beca. She was an emotional wreck. The thought that Chloe would be gone the next morning left her colorless and out of breath. “Babe… Bec, c’mon,” she said, patting the spot beside her. “Sit with me.”

Beca was visibly torn. Her dark blue eyes strayed to the ceiling briefly before she slowly turned them back on Chloe.

“C’mere now,” she said again, chastising. “Be a good girl and come here.”

Reluctantly, Beca slouched back to the foot of the bed, where she leaned against it with the backs of her legs and stared absently across the room.

“I’ll still be here tomorrow when you return, I promise,” she said firmly.

The two were silent for a while, with only the hum of the TV at the upper corner playing the late evening news, before Chloe spoke again, “Thanks for bringing me apricot cheesecake. You remembered it was my favorite,” she giggled and scooped up the last bite.

“Yeah, I think I wrote it down somewhere,” Beca replied lightly, giving her a sideways smirk.

“I suppose we can assume that I have a normal metabolism and don’t eat brains, huh?” Chloe remarked off-handedly as she placed the plate on the nightstand.

“You’re such an idiot,” Beca scoffed. But there was a small smile forming on her face.

“And you’re always so moody. C’mon, just sit down and relax for once,” Chloe tried again and patted the spot closer to her. “I won’t do anything, I swear. I just want to take a closer look at you.”

“Heh… better not.” Beca turned her head away, looking self-conscious. “I’m older now, Chloe. I’m probably not your type anymore.”

“And who said older women weren’t my type, too?” Chloe chuckled.

“Chlo…”

“Look… I’m not trying to hit on you, Bec. I know that things are different now. For us. For you, I get it,” Chloe sighed. “We will figure this out together.”

Beca nodded and quickly brushed a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Would you just sit here, please?” she asked one last time. Even though she couldn’t reach out to Beca, she needed her to be there, close to her. Their emotional distance weighed heavily on her heart, constricting her chest. When Beca made no effort to draw closer, Chloe’s spirits plummeted. From what she knew of her “wife,” she would need to exercise patience. Thus, instead of urging her further, she exhaled deeply and laid out on the bed’s electric backrest and stretched out her legs beneath the blanket. “My legs feel stronger now. That’s so weird.”

Beca turned her head, looking at the outline of Chloe’s legs. “Really?”

“Yes. Before, they felt a bit numb. But now, I can feel them more,” Chloe explained and pinched her thigh. “Yep, that hurt this time. I feel stronger somehow, the more time passes.”

“Well, the doctor mentioned that your body is regenerating.” Beca, apparently unaware of her own movement, reached out and put a gentle hand on Chloe's left ankle, disregarding her earlier resolve to maintain a safe distance. “Do you feel this?”

Chloe grinned from ear to ear. “Yes.” She flexed her legs and wiggled her toes to get her blood pumping. “I don’t even feel the light sting from my broken ankle, when I fell off the ladder last year,” she laughed.

Beca pulled back her hand.

“Sorry. I know that’s been… that wasn’t last year,” she amended and lowered her gaze to where Beca had her hand before, instantly missing her touch. As she brushed her thigh under the blanket, her tone of voice was solemn as she wondered aloud, “Do you think this is “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”? Where I’ll turn into a baby someday?”

Beca hid her face, uncertain of whether to laugh or cry. She opted to chuckle. “You’re unbelievable, y’know that? God!”

“I’m just trying to make the most of my situation, Bec.” Chloe flashed her teeth at her, making her “wife” blush. “You look much more beautiful now, dunno what changed…” Chloe voiced out her thought, the words leaving her mouth without her realizing it.

What she had noticed about this new Beca was her new fashion style. The jewelry and brands of clothes she wore now looked too expensive to be from Costco or Walmart. And who did her hair? Instead of a simple ponytail, her hair looked styled, smooth, and shiny. And that make-up… Beca didn’t know how to use make-up, save for her eyeliner.

But judging by the way Beca could afford all this for Chloe, paying all expenses, in addition to being able to afford a damn lawyer who’d settle matters on Beca’s behalf, Beca must have saved up some… money. Chloe didn’t have a ballpark figure for how much money Beca had saved up by this point; she didn’t have the right to ask—not if they weren’t legally married any longer. But spending all of her savings on Chloe was ridiculous, Beca didn’t need to do that, but she never listened to Chloe, whose well-being and comfort had always been Beca's main priority.

Beca looked like a hot superstar mingling with the lower class, Chloe thought, but dismissed this notion quickly.

“Oh, God! Chlo!” Beca rolled her eyes.

“I’m not flirting, Silly! Just stating the obvious.” Chloe crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

“Quit staring at me.”

“I can stare wherever I want!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Who knows I might actually have superpowers now, so yeah,” she said, smirking. “I’m a free woman with superpowers.”

“You’re a dork, that’s what you are,” Beca responded affectionately and finally sat down on the bed, closer to Chloe. “Always have been a dork.”

“Said one dork to the other dork,” Chloe chirped. She tried not to reach out, fearing she might scare Beca away. But she couldn’t help saying, “Thanks for taking care of Cathy, Beca. You raised our daughter so well. She’s so much like you. So grumpy and overbearing when she’s worried sick. Just like her mom,” she laughed, smiling.

“She reminds me a lot of you,” Beca answered while tinkering with her wedding band on her finger—another one of her nervous ticks. It was then that Chloe realized the ring was indeed their wedding ring. 

“It must’ve been hard to be reminded of me when you looked at her…” Chloe said, fingers nervously fumbling with the blanket on her lap. “At our daughter.” Beca nodded and smiled through her tears without looking at Chloe. 

As the late afternoon sun permeated the blinds and reflected on Beca's necklace, seen through the crack of her neckline, something metallic shimmered—a ring. Without thinking, Chloe reached out and pulled slowly on the necklace chain with the matching wedding ring dangling at the bottom. 

Beca flinched at the sudden contact.

“Is that… mine?” Chloe asked softly, swallowing the lump in her throat. She looked down on the back of her fingers, and only now realized the wedding band was missing from the knuckles of her left hand.

After all these years, Beca had been holding onto it? Beca looked down at the dangling necklace, a wistful smile forming on her lips. “Would you like to have it back?” she asked and took the necklace off, then removed the ring. “I mean… you don’t have to wear it.”

She placed the ring into Chloe’s open palm, her gaze following the movement as Chloe slipped it on her ring finger. She beamed back gratefully. “It looks almost brand new,” she giggled.

“I’ve missed you so much…” Beca sobbed all of a sudden, the tears spilling over and catching Chloe off-guard.  

“I know…” Chloe replied warmly, “and I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I wasn’t there for you,” Chloe insisted. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t… please…”

“I’m here now, Babe,” Chloe said and brushed her fingertip over the back of Beca’s hand. She didn't flinch this time. And even allowed their fingers to lock. “I came back to you…”

Beca, lifting her gaze from their intertwined fingers, stared at her fondly.

“You did.”

*

Once Beca had left, Chloe contemplated her situation in peace, needing to process all of this herself. 

She needed to stay for another night at the hospital to settle her documents and for the cops to investigate this case further, like interviewing the “necromancers,” who had accidentally resurrected Chloe.

Sure, why would anybody believe in dark magic? 

It was an entirely different medical situation in her case, where she didn’t just die on an operating table after being rescued from an accident, and then resuscitated. 

She had been dead for fifteen years and then brought back to life. 

Learning that shit about herself was scary, and she still didn’t believe it happened.

Furthermore, she’d been told that there were no legal rules that would apply in her case. Like, her marriage with Beca ended after Chloe’s death, and she could not automatically reinstate that marriage just because she had been resurrected. Beca held no legal obligation to provide for her. Beca—no longer her wife—would not be reimbursed for the full cost of the treatment or would have to pay for Chloe’s medical bills.

However, Beca insisted on signing all forms on behalf of Chloe and paying for everything without hesitation, as if they were still married. So that she could take Chloe home with her the next day after she discussed everything with Cathy.

Finally, Chloe was able to stand on her own without feeling wobbly on her legs. 

Juan sure did some magic on me, she mused, giggling at her own joke when she walked to the bathroom, performing a pirouette on her way there. 

Only now was she able to take in this (unnecessary) luxurious hospital’s inpatient bathroom with a walk-in, spacious shower, where the alarm call system was the only indication that this was still a hospital’s bathroom. She sighed as she removed her hospital gown, stepped into the shower, and let the hot water run down her body. 

The hygiene supplies Beca had brought smelled amazing, some premium care products Chloe would have never chosen just because they were only high-end luxury.

“Jeez, Beca…” Chloe shook her head as she turned the shampoo bottle in her hand that could as well be a decorative element in some renowned bathroom designer’s. “A dollar travel pack would’ve sufficed,” she murmured.

Letting the lather soak up her hair, she reached for the body wash, a French brand which name was a tongue twister and ingredients she’d never heard of, and was surprised at how luscious its fragrance was.

She began her leg-shaving ritual while her mind kept returning to the events of the day…

Cathy had excused herself that she’d better help Chicago in choosing a hotel for them to stay the night. But Chloe knew that the distraught girl had been checking in on her mother constantly, calling every minute, as Beca had mentioned Cathy’s name quite often during one of those phone calls.

Chloe understood. Cathy was too much like Beca in that regard. 

Chloe was mindlessly letting the razor glide over her body when she felt a sudden and sharp pain at the base of her ankle and saw blood.

“Oh, shit!” she groaned and felt the cut sting for a second, letting her gaze follow the trail of blood washing down the drain. 

Closely inspecting her body, she saw for the first time how different it looked, nearly impeccable at first glance—except for the fresh wound. Aside from having no scar from the open fracture at her left ankle, she also had no scar below her abdomen from the C-section after delivering her daughter. No stretch marks covering her hips, thighs, and belly region. No excess skin from the pregnancy. No skin irritation due to hormonal changes. 

No postpartum body any longer as if she’d never had a baby. 

Also, no wounds or injuries from that… car crash… that seemingly took her... life. 

She dried off quickly, then inspected her face and upper body in the well-lit mirror. Somewhat relieved, she found two scars: the blemished one on her forehead from her childhood, and the other from when she was hiking with Beca in Maryland, just below her shoulder. A sharp branch had scraped her skin, and despite the obvious loss of blood, Chloe had insisted that a Band-Aid would suffice. Eventually, Chloe agreed to go get her wounds patched so that Beca wouldn’t freak out.

All of her scars, blemishes, or imperfections prior to the car accident were regenerated, and her body was restored to the state it had been in a year before the tragedy.

And as the meaning of all this dawned in, Chloe began to cry… 

Because this meant, she was never pregnant with Cathy. 

But she was. 

She knew it, though. 

Chloe remembered nearly every phase of her pregnancy. Remembered the sleepless nights from feeling her baby kicking in her bulging tummy. Remembered her morning sickness and weird cravings. Remembered her water breaking.

Remembered how Beca held her hand through labor.

Was the absence of her scar from her C-section–the only physical reminder of her pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood–worth more than every memory she had ever had of her only child? 

Definitely not…

The way Cathy looked at her, like Chloe was just an impostor–or… a ghost in her eyes–made this hurtful to bear, but Chloe understood. It was only hard to accept.

Hard to accept that everything Chloe had ever known and valued the most was gone in the blink of an eye. 

She asked herself over and over again…

Why, of all people, did she get a second chance at life? 

If the price for it was to have lost everything?

Now, the only people she needed to convince it was her were her family and friends. 

It didn't matter if nobody else believed her.

*

BECA

A mile from the Rhode Island Hospital, where Chloe was staying, Beca and her companions checked into the Hampton Inn & Suites Providence Downtown, where they occupied a two-bedroom suite. The hotel’s entrance had a stunning two-story atrium, and guests could choose from standard rooms or more luxurious suites with separate living areas. 

Since knowing that Aubrey and her husband would be staying with Cathy while Beca cleared things up with the hospital and Chloe, she had declined Aubrey’s offer to pay for their accommodation. And if there was an emergency and Beca had to leave, Cathy wouldn't be left fretting.

As long as the hotel wasn't too far from the hospital, Beca didn't care about the expenses, the amenities that defined and pushed the price, or the general comfort. If she hadn't had her daughter with her, she would have slept in the waiting area or an empty inpatient room.

And Cathy wasn't spoiled. She would have gladly spent the night in the lobby or some other public place with Beca if she had the chance. However, Beca didn't want to keep Cathy frightened or too exposed to the public, since Chloe's condition must now be well-known to the bulk of the hospital's medical personnel. Beca was confident that word would get out quickly, exposing them to the press. This kind of media attention was precisely what she feared.

“…Mom,” Cathy called from her bed. It was already late at night and Beca assumed her daughter couldn’t sleep as well. “Please don’t cry.”

Beca turned her head toward her daughter’s voice in the darkness. The room was covered in a dimly lit glow from the windows. “Sweetie, I wasn’t…” she lied and tried not to sniff even if her nose was running.

“Who are you trying to fool, Mom? I can hear you cry.”

Beca heard the rustle of clothes and her own mattress shifting when her daughter climbed in her bed to hug her.

“Do you remember when I was little and we would build forts in the hotels we were staying at? Because I couldn’t fall asleep in the new bed or that country we were vacationing in…” Cathy said, snuggling close to her mother and giggling at the memory from her childhood.

“Yeah,” Beca smiled, squeezing her daughter’s arm to her body, “the amount of additional pillows and blankets I had to order from room service. But every time you slept like a rock.”

“I felt safe because the fort was like a bubble,” Cathy sighed dreamily.

“Dude, thank goodness for the air-conditioned rooms because it was frickin’ hot in those forts, in a tropical island like the Bahamas,” Beca grumbled and started to laugh.

Cathy giggled at the happy memories they shared.

Deeper and deeper did Beca sink into these memories, and it was with a grin that she recalled how much she missed those moments. “Do you remember, in Cuba, when one of our hotel forts collapsed in the middle of night, and you woke up screaming, ‘Momma, we’re under attack! Wake up, wake up!’”

Cathy laughed. “Because I really thought we were! How old was I, then?”

“I think, five. “Yeah, because 2024 was the year when Biden ended the travel embargo to Cuba, and we traveled there a year later. You had a lively fantasy and I could barely keep up,” Beca told her, laughing, too. “Sir Grimsbane found our base and we defeated his army in combat.”

“We did! Can’t believe you came up with such a silly name for a wizard monkey! Wish we still could build forts like when I was little,” Cathy said, yawning and sounding drowsy. “I miss those times.”

“Room service would just look at us weirdly, Sweetie,” Beca laughed, feeling better somehow. Cathy hadn't cuddled up to her mother like this since she was eleven years old, until she outgrew the habit and every public interaction with her mother became embarrassing.

“Do you think she would’ve played forts with us?”

Beca was taken aback by the question, momentarily confused who her daughter was referring to.

“Definitely,” Beca whispered and turned her head toward the windows. She didn’t want to fall asleep and wake up, realizing that all this never happened. 

She didn’t want to lose her again.

“Mom, will she be coming home with us?” Cathy asked as she pressed her head between Beca’s shoulder blades.

Beca thought about this. For her, there was no question that Chloe wouldn't be staying with them. She wouldn’t let her stay anywhere else but with her family. 

But what Cathy thought about, how she felt about this, was more important to Beca than anything else. She could always make a few arrangements and get Chloe a place of her own, close to their house.

“She doesn’t have to, Cathy, if you’re not comfortable with it. I want you to feel safe,” Beca assured her daughter. She wiped at her tears and dabbed it with the tissue she’d been clutching tightly.

“Do you think it’s really her?”

“I-I don’t know… I guess…”

“Do you want it to be her?”

Beca could only nod, unable to answer.

“Then let’s ask her if she wants to come home with us, Mom,” Cathy proposed, her tone of support and positivity clear. “I’m sure she’d love it in New York.”

Chapter Text

1 Month ago...
Manhattan, New York

CATHY

Upon entering the guest room at her second home in Manhattan, Cathy closed the door quietly.

If it were her bedroom on Staten Island, she would have slammed the door so hard that the forceful impact would have reverberated throughout the house and shown her mother how furious she was.

This, however, was not her bedroom.

The house in question belonged to Aunt Bree and Uncle Chicago, who didn't deserve being subjected to the brunt of a sixteen-year-old teenager acting a little extra. 

The bedroom was hers and Bella Conrad’s designated shared room whenever they stayed over. Since they were little. And not simply for their fun girls’ nights with Aunt Bree… To some extent, while her mother was in the early stages of her mourning, she had wanted her daughter to have a “sanctuary” like this place at her godmother’s house.

Because there had been… dark phases in her mom’s past she’d hoped her child didn’t have to see. Those moments when she’d become a hollow, unresponsive shell with an expressionless face. 

Cathy remembered very little. She only knew that whenever that happened, Aubrey, Chicago, or Stacie would come and get her, with Aubrey bringing her mom to who-knows-where. Her mother would leave for a while, return, and revert to her normal self. Cathy would, however, remain with the Walps for a bit longer.

Those phases had always frightened Cathy. She didn’t want to leave her mom, and being confused about what was happening she’d throw a tantrum. She would cry all night so Aunt Stacie would stay over with Bella.

Hence, the designated bedroom for the girls.

It was only years later that Cathy learned Aunt Bree took her mom to a grief counselor or a psychiatrist and was under medical treatment.

Thinking that Aubrey and Chicago would’ve been wonderful parents, Cathy had once asked why they didn’t have biological children. To which Aunt Bree waved off jokingly that Cathy and Bella had been quite a handful and spoiled that decision for her. After learning from their friend, Fat Amy, that Aunt Bree became infertile as a result of a miscarriage, Cathy never asked again.

With a sigh, Cathy paced the room up and down, halting at her desk, where she took her smart augmented reality glasses and put them on. She browsed her music playlist while making swiping and scrolling motions in the air like one would on a smartphone. Her mood called for “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana, as it was her go-to sad tune.

She settled for this playlist and removed the device from her head by tapping at the frame of the glasses, then returned it to the holder on the table. The music boomed from the in-ceiling speakers, lighting up the space with a mellow, rhythmic glow that went hand in hand with the vibe of the track. Cathy voice-activated the LED that spread an image of the Milky Way throughout the entire room, marveling at the beautiful galactic space before her eyes.

She felt like a speck in the vastness of the universe. She was mad at herself. At her mom. At her overall situation—in particular, feeling the echo of the humiliation her mother had made her feel in school. 

In front of all her friends, her peers, her crush! In front of everybody. 

Now, they all knew that Cathy had forged her mother’s signature in order to take driver’s ed. What a terrible embarrassment; she definitely didn’t want to go back to school.

Everything felt unfair and the whole world was cruel to her.

However, Cathy realized as she watched the cosmic space before her eyes, that all of her challenges, her problems, and difficulties seemed petty when set against the backdrop of these celestial bodies. Meaningless, even. And that emotional pain lessened over time…

The RGB light-pounding room and music drowned her mind and thoughts immediately. And when AC/DC’s “Highway To Hell” began blasting all around her, she even smiled.

Aunt Bree would give her some breathing room when she needed it, knowing that Cathy would come to her if she needed someone to talk to.

Just… right now, she needed to clear her mind.

As Cathy let her eyes wander around the room, she smiled when she discovered Mr. Snuggles’ twin brother sitting on the full sized bed at the side of her room. Cathy remembered when she was about four years old and got picked up by Uncle Chicago unexpectedly that she forgot Mr. Snuggles at home, she refused to stay with them. She couldn’t fall asleep without her teddy bear and needed him. Coincidentally, Aunt Bree told her that she had tracked down his long-lost twin, Mr. Cuddles, who was in need of a new home. Then she pulled Mr. Cuddles out from behind the couch, where he’d hid to surprise Cathy.

“Would you like to meet him?” Aunt Bree had asked, kneeling down so Cathy could be at eye level with the twin bear. Cathy rubbed her teary eyes, a smile forming slowly on her face. It was the same bear, only this one had a special feature. “Look, he’s wearing a top hat,” Aunt Bree explained and let the bear tap its head.

Now, Cathy dived for the bear on the bed that had aged over the years as time had passed. She hugged it tight like the many times she did when she was younger. She felt the comfort it provided that reminded her of her childhood.

“Good day, Mr. Cuddles! I had a bad day and fought with Mom,” she confided, wiggling the bear in her hands as if he was talking. “What do you say?” Cathy let out a sigh as she stared at the bear’s button eyes. “I should make it up to her? And what do you suggest?” Waiting patiently for an answer, Cathy grumbled, not understanding what Mr. Cuddles was suggesting.

Suddenly, she felt too old to be talking with stuffed animals. She prodded his plump belly and arched an eyebrow at him, realizing that this was likely part of growing up. 

Unlike his twin, Mr. Snuggles, who was a cynical, sarcastic, grumpy, but loving bear, Mr. Cuddles was, despite his uptight and eccentric nature also loyal and very supportive. Cathy loved them both, and they reminded her a lot of the two most important women in her life:

Her mother… and Aunt Bree.

This made Cathy feel guilty and lament what she had said in anger to her Mom. No matter how horribly her mother had made her feel or how publicly she had humiliated her, Cathy still had no right to treat her with such disrespect. 

There was no way to drown out the harsh words she had screamed at her mother during their argument, not even the music’s thunderous bass, drums, repeating riffs, or aggressive vocals blaring from her speakers.

“How could you humiliate me in front of the whole school?”

“You’re treating me like a child!”

“This isn’t fair! You can’t do this to me!”

“I wish you were the one who died in the car crash!”

“You’re not my fucking mother!”

When Cathy couldn’t hold back her tears any longer, she buried her face in her pillow and placed her hands over her ears. She wanted nothing more than to go home, apologize to her mother, and tell her that she loved her. That she really didn't mean what she said.

Any of it.

But that would have to wait; she couldn’t give in to this easily. Her mom was still angry, too, needed her space from her daughter and her misdeed. They both needed some time apart from each other, to breathe, to cool off. Maybe her mom will pick her up later, or tomorrow.

She pulled out her smartphone, having the idea to send a gift to her mother. Perhaps as a means of extending an olive branch... and so she searched the web, sifting through options in search of the one that best fit the profile of a woman with unlimited means. Her mother didn’t need to know Cathy sent it. And since Cathy knew her mom didn’t like surprises, she made sure to get her something she’d at least appreciate the intention behind. As purple was her favorite color, Cathy chose to send her flowers—Blue Bird Hibiscus—in purple hues.

Having placed the order and ensured its delivery to her mother's office, Cathy rolled on her bed with a deep sigh. Her eyes widened as the furious drumbeats of Paramore's “Misery Business” blasted through the air and the LED lights flashed in all sorts of moody hues. This playlist was truly mocking her…

Growing up and maturity saw their early interests for cartoons, Barbie, and doll houses replaced by music, fashion, magazines, makeup, and posters of boy and girl rock bands. A fiber-delivered laser light source was used in the room’s built-in projectors to display high-resolution images of concert posters of Olivia Rodrigo, Dua Lupa, Lorde, Queen, AC/DC, Paramore, Imagine Dragons, and others, onto the room’s walls. Decorative elements such as plants, figurines, vinyl records from the 60s and 70s, and various personal items covered the shelves and other surfaces. Cathy was certain that she had a major influence on Bella’s taste in music and hobbies, but she couldn’t tell if their tastes in romantic partners were the same.

Unlike Cathy, who had experience navigating the middle school dating scene thanks to her previous puppy love romances with cute boys, Bella was completely green. Cathy’s advice on how to approach and be confident around boys didn't help her best friend, who was still rather awkward around them.

Not as awkward as Cathy’s mom was at her first—which she had tagged as—“casual meeting” with Luke, because it was too soon to call it a “hashtag: date.” After all, she’d only known the British Mr. Drop-Dead Handsome since college. They hadn’t been romantically involved, but having been acquainted for years, working together at the same company, would at least suggest that things would take on a faster route, right? 

But not her mom.

Cathy tried not to think about it, but she couldn’t help wondering if her mom was out with Aunt Stacie, Flo, or if their friend, Fat Amy, was in town, had her mom never had hookups? Considering these women were open-minded in that sense and wouldn't judge her?

Ever since that fateful tragedy when Cathy was a baby, she couldn’t remember for the life of her that her mom had ever brought home somebody she was romantically invested in, mentioned that she’d been seeing, or had any fleeting encounters she might be having. Not even her mom’s friends mentioned anybody. And Cathy never asked because she was still too young to be wondering about this kind of stuff. But now that she was old enough to understand, she couldn’t help but wonder.

Which was why Cathy was delighted when she noticed that her mom had dropped Luke’s name on more than one occasion that didn’t involve job-related matters… and after Cathy had stalked Luke’s profile on the Titanium Records, Inc. website, she realized he was quiet the catch: chiseled chin, secretive features, full, curly hair, musician, and from London.

To be fair, he was “attractive” for a middle-aged man; Jesus Christ, he could be Cathy’s dad. She certainly didn’t like him that way, though. However, a shared preference for guys made her feel closer to her mom. Maybe they’d finally have that long overdue mother-daughter bonding by sharing some girls talk about boys or her mom's “non-date” with this Adonis. Perhaps she might even ask her about her general type of women without being too forward or risk making her feel down again.

But as of now, Cathy was glad that her mom, after convincing her to have dinner with Luke, agreed and went out with him.

Facts! She couldn't remember the last time her mother, a fierce girlboss who was sliving it, was so tense before a “business meeting” slash “non-date;” it was almost embarrassing to witness.

Following a brief check of her social media profiles, she checked into her Discord group chat. Sherry, ever the chatterbox, texted them about a new Vegan Cat Café they must check out. Duncan was always chill and would just tag along whatever. He was the only non-gay male who was vibing with a bunch of chicks. He had dated a few girls before, but he found VR love more appealing. Cosma frequently inquired about matters relating to education. She was a Korean-Japanese mix that embodied every stereotypical aspect of Asian traits.  

Cathy wasn’t in the mood to chat with them right now.

As soon as Bella came online, she tried video calling her. Cathy stared at the screen for a while, then used voice control to lower the volume of the music, swiped to accept the call.

“Hey,” her best friend said meekly, her cheeks flushed from exertion, “just got home. So, what happened? You okay?”

“How was driving this time?” Cathy asked, genuinely curious about Bella’s progress.

“I’d say, I did good!” Bella replied, grinning from ear to ear, “Mom didn’t throw up this time.”

“Yaaass! You're slayin' it, sweet Bells.”

They giggled. Aunt Stacie's car sickness made the prospect of driving with her still-learning daughter seem almost unbearable. And even a submarine cruise in the wide, raging sea didn't make her that queasy and anxious, she once joked.

“Aunt Beca offered to accompany me next time; I’m so nervous,” Bella said with excitement, covering her flushed face. Maybe it was her excitement to drive again or maybe because Cathy's mom would be riding shotgun with her, Cathy didn’t understand. Bella flinched when she realized that her joy meant Cathy’s agony. “Oh, sorry, Cay. Thing’s cool with your mom, though?”

Cathy couldn't believe her mother didn’t go bananas while Bella was behind the wheel, but heaven forbid her daughter get anywhere near a car, and her mother would lose it. The situation was intensely personal, Cathy thought. But Bella wasn't at all to blame if Cathy felt so salty about her situation.

“This low-key sucks balls!” she grumbled anyway.

“Are you at Aunt Bree’s? I can see Mr. Cuddles,” Bella asked, trying to change the subject.

“Ya, she picked me up. Mom called her so I could get out of her face.”

“Oof! So uncool!” Although Bella never had such heated arguments with her own mother before, she did her best to express solidarity for her best friend. “What happened?

“I was the dickhead. Gosh, I went totes nuts and said hurtful things to her, and she got upset. I hate myself for it.” Cathy’s heart felt heavy. She told her best friend in detail what went down at home and the angry exchange she’d had with her mother.

“Sheesh! Want me to come over?”

“Hmm, I’m actually grounded,” Cathy admitted guiltily. “I’m also not supposed to use my phone. So, before Aunt Bree confiscates it, thought I’d let you know. This’ll give me time to blow off some steam, anyway. I screwed up big time, y’know?”

“Bet. I’m sorry. If you need me to check up on Aunt Beca, see how she’s doing, I can go after school tomorrow?” Bella offered nonchalantly.

Cathy squinted at her best friend. “Dude… for real? Why you actin' sus lately?”

“Why?” chuckling, Bella averted her eyes to where Cathy assumed was her door. “I think Mom just called me. Dinner’s ready.”

“At 4:30 in the afternoon?”

“Got to go!”

Shaking her head in disbelief at the Conrad teen’s peculiar behavior, she dismissed her unsettling suspicion. As the video call had ended, Cathy found herself staring at the black screen in which she saw a reflection of herself and groaned at her image.

She had always wondered how much of the sperm donor's genes were passed on to her—the man she had never met and knew very little about. And because of her wonderful upbringing and the love and support of her extended family, she didn't give him much thought.

As far as for her biological mother…

Having seen pictures, watched videos, and recalled stories about her, she understood that her birthmother was the genetic source of all her facial attributes…

She examined her reflection: her nose, the baby hairs at the top of her head, the long red curls, the contours of her cheekbones, jawline, her light-blue eyes—and wondered if this would ever be a face her mother could love… if she looked exactly like the long perished woman Cathy had never known—the only woman Cathy's mother had loved the most in her life. 

And probably always will…

Noticing the quick flickering of the warm glow that filled the room, Cathy perked up as the music abruptly picked up again. The song switched to one that wasn't in her rock band's playlist. She pushed herself up on her elbows, staring up at the in-ceiling speakers as if she could see the music emanating from them, before returning her gaze to her desk, where the controller sat in its holder. It was left deactivated.

Finding it spooky, she smiled despite herself as she heard the rhythmic instrumental rhythms and captivating beats done by sound of e-guitars of this new electronic tune. It gave out a vibe of strength and confidence, she decided, putting her in a daze. She listened intently as the song's prelude was brought to life by bluish and red lights.

Until the lyrics started.

It was the song her mother’s record label was named after.

Cathy couldn’t put a finger on what this track was… it was definitely a remix from back in the days when it was so popular among professional or hobby deejays.

“You shout it loud, but I can’t hear a word you say”

I’m talking loud, not saying much…”

Cathy, who grew up in a musical household as the daughter of an infamous record producer, had no difficulty picking out the various performers. The other song that was layered in was "Bulletproof" by La Roux, and it had a similar pace to the first song so that the rhythmic elements and vocalizations blended together nicely. It wasn't just the combination of the two songs that was strange to Cathy. What truly wowed her was the skill displayed, the care taken with each individual chord, and the way in which it all came together to form a new song.

“This time, baby, I'll be bulletproof

This time, baby, I'll be bulletproof…”

The entire remix was played, with the lyrics switching back and forth as if in communication. The rhythm section, guitar synthesizers, and other electronic instruments contributed to its arrangement, effect, and vitality. The alterations to the vocals, pace, and volume created a whole new song.

Absolutely stunning.

The remix ended. And suddenly there was a soft, unfamiliar chuckle that resonated from the speakers and filled her bedroom, causing Cathy to hold her breath. She felt goosebumps crawl all over her skin as she listened to the recording of this new, uncanny sound.

“Hey, Cathy!”

Cathy’s jaw dropped. She sat fully upright to listen. The room was now covered in a slow, pounding rhythm of red-purplish light.

Reminding her of a steady heartbeat. Breathing. Full of life…

“Happy 1st Birthday, baby girl… your mama made that mashup for me when we were still in college; it was her way of ‘low-key’ telling me she’s into me,” the voice said, carrying a dreamy undertone and a roll of the eyes. Her voice dropped to a stage whisper, “She’s a bit embarrassed for being such ‘a dork’. And don’t tell her I let you listen to this,” the voice laughed, but it was audible that she was in love.

“I listen to it every time I’m feeling down, y’know? It reminds me of how much your mama loves me…” Another softer giggle, “…and you, Cathy. She loves you. And whatever happens, remember that she does her best for us, Sweetie.” A little pause, where the sound of rustling clothes interrupted the silence. “Don’t tell your mama I touched her mixing board, okay? Or she’ll go bananas,” the woman laughed.

Cathy felt new tears shoot in her eyes.

“I hope we’ll listen to this mashup again someday together, when you’re older and appreciate it more,” she chirped up, “Mommy loves you.”

There was a distant sound of a baby squealing in the background, calling for the woman’s attention.

The recording ended.

Cathy pulled her legs up, hugging it tight. She shuddered all over, rocking back and forth on her bed.

She needed to see her playlist and what it was. It must have been a disruption on her SoundCloud account, since she’d never heard that song before, and wasn’t even listening to that genre of music. It wasn’t on her playlist or anywhere on her Cloud storage.

She shot up from her bed and walked to her desktop, logging in quickly to her SoundCloud account. The playlist was there. The songs that played before and after that mashup. As well as all the other songs. She scrolled up and down her playlist, checked on her other playlists. Nothing.

“What was that?” Cathy checked her other playlists on her abandoned accounts such as Spotify, Pandora, Deezer, Qobuz, LiveXLive, but found nothing. Most of her accounts were long deleted, giving her no access to her music library any longer. “How could I have imagined such a thing?” she asked herself, trying to hold onto the memory of her mother’s voice echoing in her head.

A knock at her door made Cathy turn her head. Aunt Bree stood there, smiling in compassion.

“No angry rock songs blaring, so I thought I’d check up on you,” she said, “may I come in? I was going to make Vegan cauliflower tacos later for dinner. You like that? My first plan was teriyaki eggplant. You could leave out the sesame seeds...”

Cathy forced herself to smile, thinking that the word “Vegan” didn’t go well with “tacos,” and neither did teriyaki eggplant sound appealing, but since she had a strong allergy to sesame seeds anyway, she could refuse the second option easily. Her aunt had been on a strict dietary program due to health issues, so Cathy wasn’t going to be too choosy.

“I’d like the cauliflower tacos,” she chuckled. She turned off her phone and handed it wordlessly to her aunt. She was grounded for a month, and the rules also applied when she stayed at Aunt Bree’s.

“You'll get it back for school,” Aubrey said. That was the loophole in her mom’s rules: no phone at home, but she should have it at all cost when she left the house. However, Cathy, in an effort to redeem herself, would be obedient enough to not use it for entertainment. “I just talked to your mom. I’m here if you need me…”

“Um… thanks, but I’m good,” Cathy said curtly, a little distracted by her quest to track down that song she just heard. “By the way, Aunt Bree, did you just hear that mashup?”

“Hm? What mashup?” Aunt Bree leaned in closer to see what she was trying to show her. “Did you create one?”

“No, that mashup. I think my mom made it in college,” she tried to explain, but her aunt couldn’t follow, “for… for my mommy, and it just played a moment ago. But I can’t see from where it was replayed. Not even on the Recently Played playlist. I don’t have it anywhere.”

“Your mom created a lot of mashups in college, Cathy. That was her ‘thing’,” she said with finger quotes. “And our final performance at the ICCA Championship at the Lincoln Center was one huge mashup. Your mom did amazing.”

“I don’t understand. Why did I hear it?” Cathy wondered out loud, feeling her frustration grow. “She made that mashup for her. And… Mommy left a message to me on that. But I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Hmm… I’ve never heard it before, honey, I’m sorry,” Aunt Bree said. “We could ask your mom.”

“N-No, I don't want to bring her down… it’s just… Why did I hear it? I didn’t know it even existed.” Desperate to find it, she clicked away on her computer.

“Maybe it was an error on the server, who knows? And maybe you accidentally got into your mom’s old music library because I know that Beca isn’t creating mashups anymore. Your mom’s paying for all your subscription plans, right? Maybe you got into her library.”

“Our accounts aren’t linked. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Technology is and will always be erroneous, Cathy. Servers aren’t stable. Data corruption happens all the time.”

True, Cathy thought, but still...

“And why, of all songs out there, I heard that one? And not like, any of her embarrassing Ke$ha or Beyoncé remixes from her senior year at high school?”

“I have no idea, honey, and I don’t know what you heard.” Aubrey placed a hand on Cathy’s shoulder and kissed her on the temple. “But maybe because you needed it now the most.”

“Yeah,” she brushed it off and turned off her computer. “Let’s get the ingredients for that Vegan dish. Can’t wait to try it.”

Deep inside Cathy felt a surge of regret.

Regret that she would never, ever again hear the clear sound of her Mommy’s sweet voice telling her she loved her.

*

Present…
Staten Island, New York

“YOU LIVE IN AN EFFIN’ MANSION ON STATEN ISLAND?”

The red-haired woman’s mouth hung open in astonishment. Her eyes enlarged, bright blue like the sky, and reflected the afternoon sun above them. As she looked up at the building, she used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s dazzling beams.

“HOLY CRAP! HOW CAN YOU EVEN AFFORD ALL THIS? OH MY GOD!”

“Chloe, you already said that when you got into the car!” Beca retorted with a half-amused smirk. She walked up the stairs and led the way.

“Because you drive a goddamn Tesla!” Chloe screeched in utmost disbelief, her tone a mix of a whine and confusion. “And when you said, ‘We’re going home,’ I assumed you meant the studio home we lived in, in … Rhode Island!” she groaned. “And not this huge house that’s as big as a ‘mansion.’ Not in New York. And certainly not on Staten Island! OH.EM.GEE, you’re like a rockstar!”

Cathy, trailing behind them, watched her mother’s interaction with this “Chloe impostor” with mixed feelings: Her mother seemed changed, her face aglow with a newfound vitality and a sense of positive outlook. But every time she was about to ease up and take this baffling reality at face value, she drew back into her shell.

Everyone believed this stranger: Gramps and Granny, Uncle Chicago… Aunt Bree, who was usually quite dubious, who believed in scientifically established facts and statistics, also did. And soon more people would fly in to witness this “miracle.”

Cathy wasn’t a fool. She insisted on taking a DNA test that should prove this woman was hundred percent her biological mother since the other test had merely proven that she was Gramps and Granny’s daughter, it wasn’t enough for Cathy. Her mom had agreed to pay for that test, and now they waited for the test results.

Everything this purportedly “resurrected” doppelganger had said jibed with what they knew about the real Chloe Mitchell-Beale (hello? Just vibe-check with the ludicrousness of that specification… “resurrected.”) Who, in their right mind, believed that? Cathy put her last hope on Aunt Stacie that at least she’d take sides with Cathy and they could expose this woman as the swindler that she was.

“Are you still allergic to sesame seeds?” This woman asked out of nowhere from beside Cathy, making her jump.

“Why would you think that?” Cathy snapped as they stepped inside the house. She was blindsided by the question. 

“I only wanted to get to know you, is all.” The woman reluctantly smiled and shrugged at her. “I just thought since your mom’s gracious enough to take me in,” she giggled bashfully but it was clear that it stung her to phrase it like that, “that I’ll cook for you. And the last time I gave you something with sesame seeds, you turned blue.”

It was Cathy’s mom’s turn now to watch them interact. But Cathy noticed the look in her eyes, imploring her to give this a chance. Or at least, until the test results exposed her hoax, Cathy thought.

“I… still am,” she told the woman begrudgingly. “I gotta watch what I eat because sesame seeds could be anywhere.”

“Yeah, wish someone had told me they were in muesli when I was feeding it to you, ugh!”

“You had no way of knowing she was allergic to that,” Beca said dismissively and closed the door behind them. “Anyway, mi casa es su casa, come in! Give me your jacket.”

“HOLY MOLEY! WHAT IN THE NAME OF JESUS?!”

In response to yet another astonished outcry, Cathy saw her mom looking embarrassed, but she rolled her eyes, giggled, and showed the Chloe doppelganger around. Moments later, Cathy would hear the redhead stranger's exclamation from wherever they were in the house. Without realizing (or maybe fully realizing), she would bolster Beca's ego by praising her on her hard work to have earned and deserved all this.

Cathy blushed, too, but for different reasons.

Because she suddenly realized something:

The only instant she wasn’t looking forward to hearing that ecstatic sound of vocality was when her mom would be sharing a bed again with this woman she believed was her wife. Inevitably, this would happen...

But Luke was still in the picture.

*

Her mother had advised Cathy to keep the news to herself, even from Bella, until Aunt Stace was aware of the situation. Because Stacie should be the one to break the news to her daughter. Cathy wasn’t going to argue, since she was attempting to get into her mother's good graces again.

Also, she wanted to verify that the red-haired impostor was who she claimed to be until they got the DNA test results. This wasn’t going to be another humiliation Cathy was going to endure, so she begrudgingly agreed to obey and keep quiet.

Her mom had a propensity for being oblivious—especially when it came to this woman—so Cathy kept a close eye on her.

From the upper staircase, Cathy eavesdropped on her mother and the imposter woman’s conversation. 

Very casually, her mom had mentioned there might be someone she was seeing, that “it was still new”, that Chloe might know him since he used to be her, Beca’s, boss at the radio station in college. And most of all, that she wasn’t guilty that she slept with him. All in the same breath as she rambled on just to “confess” this, being all guilty despite stating that she wasn’t.

Maybe her mom was trying to test the impostor. Maybe she was trying to evoke a reaction from her. To see if this was how her wife would have reacted. 

Or maybe she didn’t care at all as she was trying to push away this woman who claimed to be her wife… but whatever it was, Cathy didn’t expect when Chloe responded, “I’m not blaming you that you allowed yourself to be happy, Beca.” Chloe’s voice was compassionate, caring, even if it was different for her as time did not move. Nothing that would suggest she was jealous or that this broke her. “Besides, you always had a thing for his British accent,” she teased.

“Dude, I did not!”

Her mother showed… Chloe (well, Cathy might consider referring to her as Chloe now, and less of an “impostor” since she had earned Cathy’s respect now) the guestroom, to which they had awkwardly agreed.

“OH, MY GOD! BECA!” Chloe gasped. “That’s the guestroom?!?”

Smiling, Cathy shook her head when she once again saw her mom looking all embarrassed.

*

“Heey, whazzup, homeslice? Me was shooketh, fam! Me and mah old folk went vibin’ downtown without yah, girl.” They both laughed at Bella’s attempt at slang and her try-hard delivery during their video-call that late afternoon. When Bella, an otherwise timid girl, spoke slang, it was hilarious. “Uncool of ya ditchin’ me an’ mah Maw, bruh! Now, spill the tea!”

In the background, Cathy overheard Aunt Stacie scolding her daughter to use proper English or else she’d be sent to a Catholic boarding school.

“Ugh!” Bella dropped her flushed face. “Yes, Ma’am!”

Cathy laughed.

“I can’t tell you right now, Bells. I promised Mom.”

“Oh, it’s okay. And how’s things at home? You and your mom made up?”

“Yeah, we did. By the way, she said she’ll pick you up at 3:30 tomorrow, so be ready by then,” Cathy said casually, ignoring the fact that Bella’s face turned almost purple from suppressed excitement.

“Good. Sure, I’ll be ready.”

*

The next day when her mom went out to drive with Bella around town, Cathy came home from school and found herself alone with Chloe.

They got a stack of mail, which she held clutched in her hand as she walked into the living room where Chloe was examining the digital picture frames on the mantle.

The frames were grouped together by family events:

The first frame was of Cathy’s childhood with her grandparents from both sides; every holiday season, national holidays, summer and Easter breaks, birthdays, spent with them at their hometown or them visiting her in New York.

The second frame was with Cathy and her mom on their road trips, their selfies together in front of famous landmarks, their vacations together in other countries, pictures of their forts, their camping trips, fun activities together. Documenting Cathy’s life while growing up.

The third frame was of her mother’s friends and their outings together.

And the last and largest frame was of just Cathy’s mom in college with Chloe, their elopement in Maryland, their life in their studio home in Rhode Island, Chloe’s pregnancy with Cathy, and all the selfies Chloe had taken of them three together.

She paused the slideshow on the picture of a toddler-Cathy hugging Chloe’s face while mother and daughter were beaming broadly.

Cathy cleared her throat, startling Chloe. “Hey, how was your day?”

“Hey, you,” Chloe replied cheerily. Her eyes looked glassy, which she tried to hide as she let the slideshow resume. “Um… mostly boring, I guess. Aubrey left an hour ago. She kept me company and worked from here.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Mom doesn’t want the media to find out yet. It’s for your own safety.” Cathy went absentmindedly through the mail as she spoke, trying to avoid the woman’s eyes.

“I know. It’s fine. I wasn’t complaining at all,” Chloe said. This house is practically like a wellness resort. I spent most of my time at the pool, in the sauna, at the gym, so it was cool.”

“Cool.”

Cathy couldn't help but speculate about how much of their possessions a real imposter may be able to take. How much money they'd stand to lose. All of it. Her caution had not yet worn off, she was still being distrustful of this woman’s true intentions.

“So, how did school go?” Chloe asked to keep the conversation alive.

“Totes chill.”

“Seeing someone special?” she giggled and winked at her.

Cathy pulled a grimace. “Not really.”

Thinking about it now, there was this boy at school, Harvey, a senior and an aspiring musician, who Cathy had been pining for since freshman year. But she didn’t feel like sharing this personal information with someone who's practically a stranger. Because it was also embarrassing to admit that maybe Harvey might not be into redheads or knew she even existed. Ugh.

“Okay. By the way, I baked brownies earlier,” Chloe offered, “want some?” She dropped her voice to stage whisper and spoke behind her hand, “Don’t tell your mom, but I made weed brownies,” she added jokingly, winking at her.

Cathy tried to swallow the lump in her throat and looked away. ‘Don’t tell your mom,’ that same teasing voice she had heard in the recording.

Chloe misunderstood and backtracked. “Sorry, I was only kidding,” she said.

“No, it’s… I have to do my homework first.”

“Yeah, sure, you do that… do the stuff teenagers do…”

When Cathy was about to head upstairs, she noticed that the last envelope was from the DNA Forensics Laboratory in Rhode Island–For Accredited DNA Maternity Test, addressed to Beca Mitchell-Beale.

She wasn’t allowed to open her mom’s mail, so she felt torn between curiosity and obedience. And her mom wouldn’t be home until later in the day but she couldn’t wait that long. She needed to find out.

However, here was the catch: the DNA samples used in the analysis came from the two people now present:

Chloe and Cathy.

That enabled her to proceed with opening it, right? “It’s the DNA test results,” she informed Chloe, who walked closer to her and stood opposite her, with the kitchen island between them as a physical barrier.

“And what does it say?”

“You should open it,” Cathy said reluctantly, handing the letter across the counter. She wasn’t brave enough to stomach this.

Bright blue eyes looked from Cathy down to the mail, as Chloe opened the envelope. Hands shaking.

“Oh,” she said expressionlessly.

“Jesus Christ, what does it say?”

Chloe first began to laugh, then to cry, displaying a wave of incredulity, hurt, outrage, and whatever emotional state she was in, as if she’d gone crazy.

“I can’t believe this!” she cried behind her hand, tears pouring down her face, “This is really happening!”

Cathy took the letter. “Probability of maternity of 99.99%,” she read, proving that this woman was her biological mother.

“I can’t believe I missed fifteen years of your life, Cathy, I’m so sorry!” Chloe sobbed uncontrollably, “I’m so sorry, my baby!”

Cathy cried, too.

Chapter Text

AUBREY

After Chloe died, Aubrey vowed to herself that she would be there for Chloe's only daughter and wife, feeling like she owed her late best friend. She made a heartfelt commitment to honor Chloe's memory by being a pillar of strength for her loved ones, knowing that it was the least she could do to repay their friendship. 

Chloe really brought out the best in Beca.

Not only because the feisty woman helped them win ICCA’s. But more importantly, she helped Aubrey open her heart and mind, and learn to love more freely and openly by being herself and not caring what others think of her. Sure, it was a grueling process, but Aubrey eventually came out on top. Like she does with everything. 

When Beca and Chloe approved of her boyfriend, Chicago, it provided Aubrey warmth and assurance.

Beca made the lives of almost all of their Bellas sisters richer by being a source of laughter, wit, a way to keep them on their toes. Like when she throws her hands up and yells, “Seriously?” before slipping into animated tangents about which Bachelor or Soap Opera character is trash and how the ladies on them could do better.

Aubrey adored that side of her. She never said it out loud but Beca was precious.

The person she was before the tragedy. The person Aubrey and their friends knew was still there, somewhere.

And the relationship wasn’t one-sided, either. 

Whenever she’d find herself in a funk, Beca made a point to arrange for Aubrey and the girls “spa dates” or secure VIP seats to see P!nk or Adele in concert. 

Boy, the blonde could really use one of those right now because she was not expecting a certain… low life to worm her way back into her and her husband’s life.

“I just… cannot with that woman right now!” Aubrey gritted her teeth. 

Her husband, Chicago, moved in to hug his infuriated wife. 

Beca gave them a job to do. And, talk about inconvenient timing, right as the two of them were moments away from leaving their spacious brownstone, a text rolled through on Chicago’s phone.

'Hey big brother…'

Savannah Walp (11:14 a.m.)

Only days ago, did Aubrey and Chicago learn that magic existed—real bona fide magic. And not just the kind Aubrey thought only existed on the stage when singers and dancers stole your breath and dissolved the barriers of the fourth wall with a bomb-ass performance. 

Hamilton on Broadway was one such example. 

Before that… Cats. 

Days ago, she reluctantly might’ve even sided with the police that Chloe faked her death. Despite having attended her funeral and watched as they sealed the casket.

Until she saw her in the flesh, spoke to her, reminisced about their acappella days. Picked right up with their inside jokes.

No feeling in the world compared to being made to feel like a kid again. Without the cynicism of adulthood and the hardening loss of innocence.

Anything was possible. And Aubrey was absolutely buzzing with delight because of it.

Then Chicago’s ne’er-do-well sister, Savannah, picked today of all to try her luck at worming her way into their good graces again.

Aubrey’s blood boiled when her husband showed her that three-word text.

If Savannah contacted them, it only meant one thing: She was kissing up to them in hopes that they’d talk to Beca to let her see Cathy. 

Over Aubrey’s dead body would that ever happen. She detested her sister-in-law, fearing her terrible attitude might wear off on the teenager.

Not to mention the thirty-nine-year-old suffered a massive gambling addiction, not helped by the fact she didn’t have what Aubrey’s in-laws, Cleveland and April—a high school sociology teacher and an insurance agent, respectively—considered a “real job” (a TikTok influencer who does makeup tutorials for teenage girls). Cleveland and April Walp did what any decent parents would do by showering their daughter with empathy and understanding until the point came where Savannah’s addiction led her to take advantage of that compassion. She ran through the money they gave her, and then stole and abused their credit cards.

What followed came the hardest, most heartbreaking phase of their relationship with their daughter… tough love. 

Savannah couldn’t be helped because she didn’t want to help herself.

Because of her addiction that ruined her and almost their parents financially, Savannah became the black sheep of the Walp family and her attitude toward Aubrey didn’t make it easy for the two women to bond. Aubrey was a frequent target of Savannah’s snide comments, ever since Aubrey had her first miscarriage. 

But what really alienated her from them was three years ago when she showed up drunk off her ass at a family gathering where she proceeded to lambast Aubrey and Chicago for spending money on their late brother, Dallas’, bastard daughter, who should be raised by her and not the two “dykes,” who used his sperm to conceive. 

Well… one “dyke” since the other one died. Savannah was bitter that her little brother died in the Middle East.

When the slur escaped Savannah’s mouth, Aubrey experienced blinding white-hot rage for the first time in her life and lunged at her sister-in-law. Torn between pride from witnessing his wife kick some ass, and family loyalty, the former soldier pulled the two warring ladies apart.

The Walp’s practically disowned her since then.

After informing Beca about this, they speculated on Savannah's true motive. She wasn't just attempting to be the “loving aunt” who wanted to form a relationship with her only niece— obviously there was more to it. But so long as the woman refrained from harassing the Mitchell-Beale family, Beca wasn't too concerned.

And there was absolutely no way in Hell they would ever tell her that Chloe was… back. Chicago’s sister would be livid that the queer woman who carried her brother’s child was brought back to life and not her straight brother, who died fighting for their freedom in the Middle East.

Having lived in Rhode Island brought happiness and tranquility to the couple because they were free from Savannah’s toxicity. New England, while centuries old, still embodied the small-town spirit.

People had each other’s backs; neighbors looked out for each other. They could visit their dear friends who lived a stone’s throw away.

New York City was great and all, but it was the city where secrets were much harder to keep. The couple moved there to be close to Beca, so someone could watch Cathy while Beca was coping with trauma.

It also helped that the property market in New York was big money all around.

Eventually though, Savannah found a way to contact them.

“Babe,” Chicago whispered gently. “She’s not worth the energy.”

Allowing herself time to calm down, Aubrey kissed her husband. Grateful that he was always there to be her rock. “You’re right. I don’t need this. Neither do Beca, Chloe, and Cathy.”

“You’ll suit up and run defense as their blocker, won’t you?” Chicago chuckled.

“Damn right. I’ll cut that bitch!”

Chicago gave Aubrey a playful shove.

“But not now. Stacie awaits us, my love. And Beca tasked us with this important mission. And I don’t like it when she’s overwhelmed.”

With that, the two walked out of their brownstone. The afternoon sun striking them while they made their way to their car.

*

Aubrey and Chicago’s Real Estate people hooked Stacie up with her quaint Brooklyn apartment on Fordham Street.

One thousand four hundred square feet of pure awesomeness. Four bedrooms and two bathrooms. 

From the elevator entrances one would be greeted to a foyer decorated with fake trees and walls covered with photos of Stacie posing with top navy brass on famous ships, such as EV Nautilus, or RV Neil Armstrong, other photos showing Stacie and Bella posing together in various tourist destinations. 

Bella’s shyness radiated from the photos because, unlike her mother, she wasn’t very photogenic. Her hands would be stuffed into her pockets or ramrod straight along her sides. The girl never knew what to do with her hands, often covered by long, green jackets a size too big.

One photo portrayed Stacie descending the hatch of the DSV Alvin. The accompanying photo depicted her and two others sitting inside the cramped submersible, about to embark on a journey to the wreck of the RMS Titanic, which lay at rest 3,800 meters on the seafloor.

The expedition lasted almost two weeks and by the end, Stacie couldn’t wait to get back to her daughter. She was definitely grateful for the opportunity to tick this off her bucket list, because like she once told Aubrey, what girl of their generation didn’t fall in love with Titanic and wear out the DVD? Didn’t spend hours blubbering, hoping just once, Jack might survive and ride off into the sunset with Rose?

Stacie might’ve hidden behind fashion magazines and E! Network, but those who knew her best discovered her almost lifelong passion for marine archaeology, shipbuilding, and submarines.

To say the brunette made it her entire aesthetic would be an understatement. 

Aubrey remembered coming over to their apartment for the wondrous occasion. Words couldn’t describe how excited Stacie was to watch Titanic with her daughter for the first time. Despite the snark, Aubrey and Stacie knew the little girl loved it. 

According to what Stacie told the blonde, the key decision to rent her current apartment stemmed from the fact that the grand hallway was narrow and, being the hub of the home, led into the foyer on the far left, and the living room on the far right.

Much like a nuclear submarine, which the marine engineer had the pleasure of racking up countless hours on.

The elevator shook to a halt. The metal gate opened, and the couple was met by their friend–absent her daughter–although not surprising, given Bella’s shy nature.

“You’re glowing, Bree!” Stacie smiled after she hugged her friend. She then turned to Chicago. “Bring it in, you big lug, c’mon.”

Chicago patted Stacie’s back. “It’s great to see you, Stacie.”

“Likewise.” She smiled, and then led them down the hallway to her living room. 

“Where’s Bella?” Aubrey inquired. 

“She’s in her room, playing one of those shoot ‘em up games. You know, the kind where you rob banks and kill prostitutes.”

Aubrey and Chicago looked at each other worriedly.

“Guys,” Stacie shook her head while smirking, “I’m kidding. She’s playing that new Marvel Vs. DC fighting game with Cosma and Sherry.” 

Aubrey rolled her eyes, but smiled, nonetheless.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of such a surprise and sudden visit?” 

“Major news. The life-changing kind,” Aubrey said.

“Oh! Well, I better fetch a glass of wine.” When her friends were in the living room, Stacie doubled back. “You know the rules,” she said over her shoulder, “make yourselves at home!”

When their friend disappeared from view, Aubrey turned to face her husband. “So, how do we go about this?”

Chicago reverted to soldier mode, his posture straightened, and his eyes took on an edge of seriousness. “Our action plan is simple, Colonel. We begin with a subtle… yet effective metaphor. If we can tie this to a Dawn of Time explanation regarding man’s relationship to magic and the unknown, then I think that’ll only hammer home our message.”

Aubrey let out a deep exhale. “Sweetie, I love you, but you’re getting way over your head. I say, we just rip off the band-aid. What do you think?”

“Affirmative.” Chicago nodded, accepting his wife’s change of course. Adapting to new strategies and implementing them was second nature to him. He didn’t lead two tours as a staff sergeant based on his good looks. “Keep it simple.”

Before Aubrey could open her mouth to speak again, Stacie returned with an expensive bottle of red wine and three glasses in between her fingers.

Chicago and Aubrey took a seat at the dining table while their friend dropped a single ice cube in each glass, and then poured. Since Chicago would be driving–he almost always drives because the chaotic hustle and bustle of late afternoon and evening New York traffic brings out the road rage gremlin in his wife–Stacie poured him a finger’s worth, and a full glass for both of them.

“So… what did you both want to tell me?” Stacie set her glass down after taking a sip.

Keep it simple. “It’s Chloe, Stacie. She’s back!” Aubrey fought back the tears while she smiled at her friend.

“Oh, you mean her headstone is back?”

“No,” Aubrey choked out. “She’s alive.”

Stacie glared at her friend. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking, Stacie. Somehow… she got brought back to life.”

“By accident,” Chicago added.

“That’s why we went to Rhode Island to see Beca at the hospital. I didn’t believe it at first but when we were led into a hospital room, there she was, Stace! Living, br-breathing-” Aubrey wiped a tear from her eye, “-and talking.”

Aubrey spared no detail as she spent several minutes filling in her friend on everything regarding Chloe’s apparent resurrection. Whenever she’d stop to take a breath, Chicago would pick up after her and resume the story.

The two scanned Stacie’s face for any change in effect, but their friend remained stoic until the end of the story.

“That… is impossible,” Stacie said above a whisper and goosebumps suddenly covered her arms.

“She knew things only Chloe could’ve known,” Chicago said.

To fill the awkward silence that followed, the marine engineer took a long swig from her wine glass. 

Aubrey studied her friend's expression, which conveyed a storm of contradictions: confusion, curiosity, rage, then back to confusion.

The blonde flinched, then relaxed when she realized that the thing grazing her hand was her husband’s, moving in to hold hers in solidarity.

They weren’t crazy. The events of the previous days… happened.

Aubrey spoke to a living, conscious Chloe. 

Reminisced about their days at Barden, and their lives in Rhode Island. 

Shared inside jokes.

Aubrey didn’t say anything to Beca, but the blonde noticed a subtle change in her friend. Beca walked with more pep in her step. The vice that held Beca in a torturous fifteen-year grip of torment slowly loosened.

It couldn’t be a deception because Beca’s entire being knew and accepted it, even if her words sometimes cast doubt.

In retrospect, she probably should’ve taken a few photos or even a video as undeniable proof for Stacie. She didn’t because it felt disrespectful; there was also the added risk of someone hacking into her Cloud and leaking them. Thus, exposing this miracle to the world and subjecting the Mitchell-Beale family to an endless barrage of harassment from all sorts of weirdos. 

Aubrey Posen was the daughter of a brigadier general, the wife of an army sergeant, a Barden Bella ICCA champion, former proprietor of the Lodge at Fallen Leaves where Fortune 500 companies trusted her team-building exercises so much that they entrusted their employees to her care. And the current proprietor of a kickass Manhattan Real Estate firm.

A tough bitch in her own right.

Acting on Beca’s behalf because the feisty woman didn’t want to leave Chloe’s side. Begrudgingly admitting that her mental energy and emotional labor were depleted, she needed her tough warrior friend of Germanic Polish heritage.

Naturally, Stacie was skeptical.

“This has to be a setup. Someone concocting an elaborate ruse to scam Beca out of money. I can believe that Chloe has a long lost sister, or twin, or hell, even a lookalike cousin before I could believe she was resurrected from the dead.”

“The police thought it was a grift at first, too, Stace. But it’s not. They did all sorts of tests and Chloe passed with flying colors.”

Stacie paused, then blinked. “Those can be fabricated.”

Aubrey massaged her temples. “Stace…” she sighed frustratedly.

“Luke!” Stacie blurted out. “Beca’s with Luke now. Whoever this person is, is certainly going to complicate that relationship.”

“Especially since Chloe’s here, living with Beca and Cathy?” Chicago added, passively.

Stacie nearly choked on her sip of wine. “What?” She looked over to Aubrey.

“Yeah. Chloe came home with Beca and Cathy two days ago. I stayed there yesterday to keep her company. She's doing great. She looks great. I mean, she hasn't aged in fifteen years!" Aubrey laughed, hands trembling on her lap. "I worked from my laptop while Chloe baked brownies for her daughter. It felt like she never left, Stacie." 

“I’d like for the both of you to leave, please.” 

Aubrey blinked. Gone was her friend’s usual swagger and bravado. Her confidence was replaced with meekness. 

“I need some time to process all of this. It’s a lot to take in.”

It wasn’t often the blonde witnessed a person’s worldview being deconstructed or challenged so that it messed with their head. 

But the eyes were the window into the soul, as the saying went.

With a curt nod, Aubrey stood up, scooted her chair in, and motioned for her husband to follow her. She wasn’t upset. She didn’t feel betrayed. She empathized with her friend because not 72 hours prior, she shared a similar sentiment.

Once they stood in the elevator, her husband placed his arm around her shoulder. "Give her time to digest all that, honey. You know Stacie. Since she began delving into scientific literature instead of fashion mags, she has become more pessimistic," chuckled Chicago to cheer up his wife, stroking her back. "You remember how you felt when you received the news, right?" 

Aubrey giggled, swatting his arm because that was still her friend he was making fun of. "I didn't believe it, either."

"That's right," Chicago confirmed. 

“I really should call Beca, let her know how it went, and see how they're doing. Or if they need anything. Oh, I need to buy Chloe a present, too. A 'welcome back' gift,” she said. “Of course, what do you even get for this sort of occasion?”

“You can figure that out after dinner.”

Aubrey eyed her husband excitedly.

“That’s right. I’m taking your cute butt out for Italian food!”

*

STACIE

Stacie lay restless in bed that same night. She went about her day, bringing her daughter to school, purchasing groceries at the store.

On her ride on the Staten Island ferry, she contemplated a few things.

Stacie knew her friend wasn’t a liar. Christ, Aubrey never shied away from being blunt or outspoken. Aubrey was the strong one who helped carry Beca through those first few dark years. Aubrey wasn’t crazy by any stretch of the imagination. 

Maybe it was real-ish, only the person, who everyone thought was Chloe, might’ve been a paid actress, wearing an expensive prosthetic mask. The entire thing could be a ploy to scam Beca out of a lot of money? 

As if her friend hadn’t suffered enough…

Or what if Chloe had a secret twin?

Letting out a long exhale, the marine engineer started her trek up the flight of steps she’d climbed countless times before.

So, why was it different this time? 

Why’d she feel the goosebumps on the back of her neck and arms? 

She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t due to the security posted around the house–no doubt armed. Being an engineer for naval submarines afforded her high-security clearance, meaning she was somewhat adept at spotting hidden security details.

She wondered if Beca sprang for them out of her own pocket or if she borrowed a few of her people from the label and instructed them to look and act inconspicuous?

Cars and bicycles sped past on the street, but yet Stacie was the only one who felt like a wet blanket. It was as if time disregarded her, and only her, by inching along in an uncomfortable lull.

Finally, she reached the ninth and last step. With a trembling and reluctant finger, she poked the doorbell.

Seconds later, scuffling sounds greeted her, followed by the unlatching of several door locks. 

“Hey, Aunt Stace.” Cathy popped into view, much to the older woman’s relief. 

“Hey, kiddo!” She smiled. 

Cathy threw a cautious glance over her shoulder before she invited her inside. Judging the girl's wary look, Aubrey must've called them the night prior to inform them that Stacie didn’t take the news as well as they’d hoped. Which meant an unscheduled visit might take place within the next day or so.

"Mom! It's Aunt Stacie!" Cathy yelled out toward the living room and closed the door, grumbling when she didn't get a response. "MOM! Aunt Stacie's here!" Still nothing. "Ugh… she probably has her headphones on…" Cathy, with a huff, ushered Stacie inside when the grumpy teenager stormed off to get her mother. "Mom! It's Aunt Stacie!" 

"Oh…" Stacie could barely make out her friend's muffled response, but she sounded like Stacie had shown up at an inconvenient moment. "Coming, Stace! Just… make yourself comfortable! Or Cathy, sweetie, be good and get Stacie something to drink, yeah?" Beca called back. "I'll just quickly finish this email…"

Cathy re-emerged from the living room. "You like some watermelon lemonade, Aunt Stacie? Chl– I mean, I just made fresh lemonade earlier. It's delicious…" 

Suddenly, the teenager was acting as suspiciously awkward as her mom whenever something was up, which caused Stacie to furrow her brows at her.

The girl scurried off to the kitchen, almost bumping against the sideboard that was in her way. "I'll be right back!"

"Yeah, sure…" Stacie replied, but Cathy was already gone.

Stacie observed with keen eyes her surroundings. For the most part, it was the same familiar house she’d been to countless times. 

She told herself the different smell was likely due to Beca burning incense or trying out a new perfume.

Speaking of Beca… Stacie found her sitting at the table, working on her laptop. Or at least she was until she closed the laptop and nervously looked around the living room before properly acknowledging her friend, her headphones around her neck.

“Stacie…” Beca swallowed thickly. She removed the wireless headphones from around her neck, and placed them before her.

“Beca. When were you going to tell me about Aubrey and Chicago’s drug problem?” 

Beca quirked an eyebrow, as did Cathy, who just returned with a glass of watermelon lemonade from the kitchen to hand over to Stacie. 

“Drugs." Beca quirked an eyebrow. "Stacie, what are you talking about?”

“I received a delightful visit from our friends, who told me this harrowing tale about you going to that hospital in Rhode Island… because Chloe… is alive?”

Without warning, Cathy's eyes darted fleetingly to the backyard door, and Stacie noticed this. She followed the girl's gaze.

In walked a woman who looked like Chloe Beale, dressed in a robe covering her swimwear. Red locks damp and frizzy from the pool. 

She stopped dead in her tracks, when she saw the brunette.

"Hey, Stacie!" Chloe chirped, her damp hair dripping on the floor. "Good to see–!" A hand moved to her cheek, brushing a strand of frizzy hair aside. Her wide grin faltered. "Uh… Why… Do I have something on my face?" she chuckled as she looked at everyone in the room. "Oh… yeah, right. I'm… back?"

"Ch-Chloe?" Stacie stammered in shock.

"Stacie… listen." Beca stood up, taking a cautious step toward her, her hands raised before her. "You might have already heard from Aubrey and Chicago…"

"What's going on?" Stacie staggered backward until she felt her legs bump against something. A table? The couch? "W-Who is that woman, Beca? That can't possibly be…"

"Aunt Stacie…" Cathy, who suddenly stood beside her, placed a gentle hand on her elbow. Stacie heard the merciless screeching sound of a chair being pulled back over the hardwood floor. "Maybe you should take a seat?" Cathy offered. 

Being on an 18-hour duty watch for days, even weeks at a time while on deployment, in a submarine at 244 meters below sea level, while maintaining the vessel’s nuclear reactor, when oxygen levels occasionally drop low enough to cause mental confusion, can have side effects on a person; claustrophobia, depression, anxiety, and other psychological and mental health issues. Even hallucinations weren't all that unheard of due to tank leaks.

This might be why Stacie saw a ghost standing before her. A ghost from her past. Like how Rose Dewitt-Bukater saw Jack’s ghost at the end of Titanic.

Stacie rubbed her tired eyes and looked from Cathy back to the other red-haired woman in the living room, who resembled her like a clone… only a little older. 

"Ha!" Stacie exploded into a maniacal laughter, "for a second, I thought… I… God, you guys almost had me. Ha-ha… You must be the older cousin from Portland? Cathy, my sweet angel, tell me which of your older cousins that is…"

Beca and this "Beale-cousin" exchanged a worried look, before their eyes returned to Stacie.

"Aunt Stacie, I-I don't have any cousins." Cathy smiled at Stacie, who felt her face blanch. 

"Then, it's Chloe's cousin," Stacie said smugly. "I met a few of them before—all redheads. Like the Weasley clan," she guffawed. She didn't realize her hands were trembling when she reached for the lemonade to chug it down. 

Beca scratched the back of her neck, her eyes avoiding Stacie's. This was never a good sign when this Grammy-award-winning woman behaved like this–almost speechless. It meant she was nervous about something. 

"Stacie," Beca uttered, "this is Chloe."

"No, she's not." Stacie's forced smile remained frozen. "That's not her, Beca."

"She is," Beca insisted, voice weak. 

"No, that's not her. And you fucking know why it's not her?" Stacie shot up to her feet, startling everyone in the room, her hands balled beside her. "Because Chloe is dead! We buried her, remember? We all had been there, t-to her funeral. She died from the car crash and had a broken skull and scars on her beautiful f-face!" she screamed. "That's not our Chloe. Chloe died a long time ago…" 

From behind her, she heard Cathy let out a rasping whimper, while the Chloe-lookalike winced at the severity of this image. Stacie realized she might've gone a bit too far, because Beca was suddenly protective of her family… of this stranger. 

"Calm the fuck down!" she barked; eyebrows furrowed. "Or get out of my house!"

"Beca, don't," the Chloe-double begged.

“Why don’t we try a different approach? One that doesn’t involve hostility?” Cathy suggested, pleading eyes looking at Beca, before shifting back to Stacie. As a show of peace, she gently rested her hand on her Aunt Stacie’s shoulder.

Stacie shook the girl's hand off. "Tell me you don't believe this bullshit!" 

Cathy looked beseechingly towards her mom, hoping one grownup in the room could settle the situation.

"Stacie, I know how weird this might be for you," the Chloe impostor spoke, walking closer a little. "But, please… listen…"

Stacie took a few shallow breaths before slumping back on the chair behind her. There was no way for her to escape this nightmare, unable to wake up from this.

"Remember when our girls were little?" the woman asked. Stacie swallowed the lump in her throat when Chloe hit her with her unique warm smile, she’d almost forgotten existed. Locked away, stashed in the shallow drawers of her mind for a decade-and-a-half. A smile she’d nearly forgotten and didn’t think she’d ever see again. "We used to dress them up like twins because they looked so cute together. And you'd take them to the park and tell people you got pregnant from two different men at the same time," she let out a soft chuckle. 

"Hey!" Cathy protested. 

Stacie struggled to find words; the stranger’s words knocked the wind from her sails, "W-Well, Beca could've told you that," she reasoned.

"I didn't know about that crazy stuff you did with the girls," Beca complained, scrunching up her nose at the redhead beside her, who merely returned a guilty grin.

"Now that explains why Bella and I are so messed up," Cathy giggled, to ease the tension. 

Stacie stood up again, though she couldn't help but feel lightheaded. The rumbling in her stomach let her know that whatever she’d eaten earlier would soon leave her body. "I think I'm gonna have to throw up," she murmured and clasped her hand to her mouth, wobbling unsteadily to the guest restroom.

"Aunt Stacie!" 

Cathy’s voice rang out while Stacie bounded down the hallway to the closest bathroom. She barely had time to open the toilet lid before she expelled her guts. 

The engineer grew cold, and goosebumps prickled once more.

Stacie took a long look at her pale as a ghost face with puffy eyes and a sweaty forehead in the mirror. She was struck with the sudden urge to skim her hands across it and pinch her cheeks, just in case this was some weird fever dream.

*

Stacie found herself ensconced in the soft, cushy couch of the Beale-Mitchell house. In front of her were three bodies.

Her eyes darted back and forth between Beca, Cathy, and the woman who looked like an older version of Cathy who’d changed out of her robe into a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Presumably, while Stacie was in the bathroom and in a disoriented state.

“Hey…” Chloe’s voice was soft and cautious this time around. At the same time, Beca leaned over to whisper something in Cathy’s ear. Cathy dashed towards the kitchen, returning hardly a few seconds later with a hand towel wrapped around an ice pack.

Beca scratched the back of her neck. “I know it’s a lot to take in, Stace.”

Finding her strength, the marine engineer set aside the ice pack and shifted her weight on the couch to sit more upright.

Her eyes narrowed at the imposter, “Let’s get one thing straight…” she pointed a firm finger at the older ginger, “…you’ll not come into my best friend and her daughter’s life to hurt them.”

“Look,” Chloe’s tone took on one of frustration, “there has to be something I can do or say to prove to you that it’s me?”

Stacie remained silent. Unsure how to challenge this person.

“They did blood and DNA tests on me and my parents. Proving that I’m their child.”

A smug grin washed over Stacie. “All that proves is you’re their daughter. Chloe could’ve had an identical twin she either never knew about or didn’t tell you guys about.” Suddenly, it felt good to rule out other explanations and hinge everything on one that seemed super plausible and the most logical.

Cathy scoffed. “Dude! Seriously? Would a twin look as young and as good as her? She hasn’t aged in fifteen years!”

Fuck, Stacie thought.

Chloe reached for her hand. Stacie attempted to yank it away, but her instinct betrayed her and she reluctantly accepted the woman’s touch.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I know you’re scared,” the redhead waited for her words to sink in before she continued, “I promise you, Stacie, this isn’t a trick. I’m… alive… again.”

“We even had my DNA tested in comparison. The results concluded that she gave birth to me.” Cathy gestured to Chloe.

"Then, let me see it!" Stacie demanded, her shaking hand outstretched. "The maternity test. May I see it?”

Cathy left the room and quickly returned, clutching a manilla envelope in her hand. On the back, she read: 

'DNA Forensics Laboratory in Rhode Island–For Accredited DNA Maternity Test.'

A psychedelic-like image instantly formed in her head, mixed with that one clip of a talkshow, her daughter had shown her on TrashTube the other day…

She was transported to a stage. 

A stage belonging to a show that many people, especially Fat Amy, always joked that she’d wind up on. A show for people who were just a little too… amorous. 

People who did a little too much lovin’ in their personal lives.

Except, she was the host, and Beca and Chloe were seated in red chairs to her left.

Cathy sat slumped over and anxious in the front row of a rowdy and raucous audience.

Fuck it. How often does an opportunity like this fall into your lap? Go big or go home.

Stacie cleared her throat. “When it comes to sixteen-year-old Catherine Mitchell-Beale…” she turned to the older ginger, then smiled. “Chloe… you ARE the mother!”

“Yeah!" Chloe jumped up and down, really playing it up. “Woohoo!”

“In your face!” Beca fist pumped, then bolted out of her chair. The brunette skipped giddily across the stage and dramatically ran backstage just because she could.

“Oh, my god.” Cathy shook her head in second-hand embarrassment because of her mothers.

A cacophony of boos and cheers followed.

“Believe it or not, this isn’t the strangest thing to happen on our show…” the emcee said.

Okay…

All delusions and hallucinations aside, the reality was that Stacie glossed over the document. Tears prickled in her eyes; she lowered it to chest level after reading the results.

“Ch-Chloe…” her lip quivered. Her voice was weak.

“Mhm.” Chloe nodded and the two friends met in a warm hug. 

Finally, Stacie Conrad allowed her heart to succumb. Never in a thousand lifetimes did she think she'd find herself on the receiving end of a full body hug from Chloe ever again.

She always smelled terrific, she remembered. She took in the shape and the warmth of her body–so… alive–and being held back tightly. Unlike the last time, Stacie remembered when she held her lifeless body at the hospital. “I m-missed you so much, Red.”

After what seemed like an eternity, she broke the hug. “Is Heaven real?” Stacie asked.

They sat down together at the dining table. Chloe sat alongside Stacie while not breaking eye contact. Stacie felt the redhead’s warm hand cover her own. 

“I don’t know. I remember the accident a little bit…” she paused as if searching for the right words, “It was kinda like… going to sleep, only instead of waking up the next day, I opened my eyes, and everyone was freaking out, and fifteen years went by.”

“Sorta like blacking out after drinking so much, right?”

“Yeah,” came Chloe’s relieved answer. “That’s a really good way to put it.”

“Well, I'mma let you two catch up. The new Fiona Applewaite album is callin’ my name.” Cathy stood up and faced Chloe and Stacie. “Deuces, Pitches!” The teenager flashed the peace sign, then took off for her bedroom.

Beca had brought her laptop into the kitchen and slipped her headphones on. 

“So…” Stacie scratched the back of her neck, “A lot of things’ve happened in this country since you’ve been gone.”

Chloe nodded. “Yeah, I noticed the technology’s different. Guess Apple finally conquered the world and put a computer inside everything?” the redhead chuckled.

“Taylor Swift ran for senator of California, won, and pushed legislation that got federally granted paid maternity leave for up to ten weeks!”

Chloe’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“I shit you not!” Stacie smirked. “Senator Swift? We couldn’t be so lucky. She’s a blessing!”

Chloe sighed, releasing a soft giggle. “Speaking of blessings—How’s Bella?”

With a beaming smile, she pulled out her smartphone and scooted closer to Chloe. 

“She’s amazing. I’m so proud of my little girl, well… she’s not so little anymore. But you know what I mean. Would you like to see some pictures, Chlo? If you don’t think you’re ready, I won’t be upset.”

“Stacie, I appreciate your concern, but I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t ready.”

“Okay.”

Chloe let out an audible gasp, which filled the room when Stacie showed her a recent photo of her daughter. 

“Stace,” she choked out, “Aw… she reminds me of you on your first day of audition for the Bellas.”

“She’s the best painter I’ve ever seen, and she likes writing… and Star Wars.” A swell of pride washed through Stacie while she described her daughter, as always when someone asked about Bella.

“And tall, too. God, she's almost as tall as you! Oh my god, look at her! She’s got your puffy little cheeks. I love it,” Chloe gushed. 

“Would you believe that she used to have pigtails?”

Chloe’s jaw dropped. “No way!”

Stacie flung her thumb across her photo library until the cursor stopped far back into the archives. With a few short swipes, she landed on a photo of Bella and Cathy, both approximately age six.

The picture depicted their daughters posing with Jedi Rey at Star Wars Galaxy’s Edge theme park. Bella, dressed as BB-8, was visibly apprehensive despite being a fan of Star Wars while Cathy–who looked like a blinged out Grogu because she insisted on collecting every bead necklace and toy ring, appeared thrilled. 

The image brought Chloe to tears. “I’m so happy our girls have been lifelong besties.”

The two browsed photos for some time until Stacie closed out the app. “Would you like to meet her?” she offered with a cautious smile.

“Of course!” the redhead said, but looked away.

Stacie quirked an eyebrow. “I feel a ‘but’ coming up.”

“Our babies are all grown up now,” Chloe sighed. “I’m still not used to mine being a teenager. It’s a lot.”

Stacie pulled her vivacious friend into a side hug. “I know it is, Chlo.” She kissed a mop of cascading red hair on her friend's forehead. “I can bring her over this week? Seriously, no rush. We have all the time in the world to catch up now, right?”

“Thanks, Stace.”

“Heck, she’ll need time to process all of this. She’s a lot like me in that regard.”

“Hrrrm.” Chloe scrunched her lips, refusing to let awkward silence spoil this reunion. “I know! We can reminisce some more about college. God, how I miss those times when we were all together—The Barden Bellas against the rest of the world,” she giggled, turning her head toward the kitchen, to call, “Bec?” 

Nothing.

“Bec!” a little more forceful this time.

Again… nothing.

“BECA!!” Chloe shouted.

“It’s okay.” Stacie reached out to touch her friend. Her phone was out and she typed a few letters on her phone. “I just texted her.”

Stacie watched as Beca walked in from the other room and Chloe’s mood switched from frustration to adoration. She flashed Beca her irresistible smile and the sweetest puppy dog eyes.

“What, Chlo?” Beca grumbled.

"Do you still have the Bellas photo album from our graduation?"

"Yeah, it must be in the attic somewhere. Why? Nuh-uh, don't give me that look, Chloe. I'm not gonna go up there. Dude, there could be spiders!"

"Beca, please. I wanna go through pictures and reminisce with Stacie.”

"It’s really dark up there.”

“Yeah, Chlo, it’s getting pretty late and I need to be getting home.” Stacie looked at her friend, hoping to bail her out. What she said wasn’t a lie, Stacie really did need to be getting back home. Today had been an emotionally taxing day on her; and probably the Mitchell-Beale clan as well.

Some sleeps would help Stacie process this ordeal further and work out a way to tell her daughter. It’s not often that one’s entire worldview gets upended like this. 

She tried not to be one of those parents who told their children what to believe. When Bella would come to her with questions regarding the metaphysical or supernatural, Stacie would offer her daughter her opinion which was informed by her training, her education, and her life experiences.

But to counterbalance it, she’d always do her best to remind her daughter that while her experience was unique to her, people of all walks of life had different education, different training, and experiences, and most were worth listening to.

“Oh, yeah, and I still need to rinse Cathy's bottl—oh, never mind…” Chloe’s smile turned upside down. Her words pulled Stacie out of her thoughts and back into the present. "I keep forgetting that my baby is sixteen now," she added ruefully.

“Hey.” Stacie took her friend’s hand, looking with determination in her eyes. “I promise, we’ll go through a bunch of pictures when I come over next time. Cross my heart, Red!”

Another hug, which seemed to linger over a minute, before Stacie reluctantly let go, too afraid her dear friend might slip through her fingers like wet sand.

“C’mon.” Beca put her hand on Stacie’s shoulder. “I’ll walk you out to your car.”

Stacie heard Beca trailing beside her but she found herself more preoccupied by the night life. The street was illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights; the lively sounds of adults chatting with and entertaining guests on their stoops, business at the corner store booming.

Even the local weirdo who dressed like Spider-Man came back from his extended stay at the upstate hospital and was handing out candy and coupons to children and passersby.

It was as if Chloe’s return mended the natural order of things. Suddenly, their little corner of the world felt less chaotic. People were bonding, rediscovering life’s simplest and most basic pleasures. Like sharing cold brews, shit talking bosses or rude unruly teenagers. 

Garages were packed with empty pizza boxes and people wearing various sports jerseys losing their minds watching the Mets obliterate the Boston Red Sox.

Even though it was by accident, the people who gave Chloe a new lease on life, made the world a little better and more welcoming. 

Against all odds, the New York Rangers found their magic during a punishing game three that they flipped in the third quarter allowing the Red, White, and Blue warriors to squeak by with a win. They then dominated the next two games in a row securing the required five wins allowing for the Stanley Cup to come home with the team for the first time in over forty years.

Streets were cleaner.

Traffic flowed smoother.

“Hey, Bec…” Stacie turned to the brunette when they reached her car.

“What’s up?” Beca asked.

“What happened to the people who brought Chloe back?”

“Dunno. Everything happened so fast I kinda forgot to ask. They might still be in jail. I should do something nice for them. It’s the least I can do,” the music producer added.

“I agree. They did a wonderful thing.” Stacie smiled.

“Give Bella a hug and a kiss for me!”

“Will do.”

Stacie climbed into her car. The drive home would give her time to think. Bella needed to know because it wasn't right for Cathy to keep this secret from her best friend and the behest of her mothers any longer. 

*

When Stacie stepped out of the elevator and entered her apartment that same evening, she couldn’t help but replay Chloe’s–and also, Aubrey's and Chicago's–words in her mind. 

The idea of dark magic and resurrection seemed like something out of a fantasy novel, making it even harder for Stacie to wrap her head around the situation. She knew she needed time to process everything before deciding what to do next.

For fifteen years, Stacie constantly battled with grief and tried to find ways to cope since Chloe’s passing. Her life was forever changed, and she had to navigate through the pain while also trying to find a sense of purpose and meaning again. She never let this show on the surface, because Beca needed Stacie to be strong–at least one of them–believing that self-reliance was all there was.

Being a single mother, Stacie had to balance caring for her child with the challenges of entering a field that was traditionally dominated by men. Her journey of working on submarines was not without its challenges. She faced the constant pressure of ensuring the safety and efficiency of the submarine, as well as managing the diverse personalities and dynamics within the crew. Additionally, she had to adapt to the demanding and unpredictable nature of submarine operations, which often required long hours and extended periods away from her daughter, and friends. However, she was determined to pursue her passion and find a way to balance her career with motherhood. 

With the unwavering support of Aubrey and Chicago, as well as the understanding and encouragement from Flo, and Beca–of them taking care of Bella when she was younger–Stacie was able to navigate through the hardships and make her dream a reality. While she missed her daughter during those initial days and weeks–and still did during her long deployments–the fulfillment she was at last rewarded with had paid off in the long run.

Stacie's loyalty and protective nature were deeply ingrained, and she would stop at nothing to ensure the safety of her loved ones. Because if, in the end, and despite all scientific evidences that the woman had been an impostor to fuck up Beca and Cathy’s lives, Stacie Conrad knew that taking matters into her own hands was the only way to ensure justice prevailed. 

With a heavy heart, she would be prepared for the difficult task, if it ever came that far.

Would she, though? Would Stacie be able to resort to violence if—and God forbid—it ever came down to it?

Standing in front of her daughter’s bedroom, she heard her talking to someone, whose voice emanating from loudspeakers she instantly recognized. 

The sixteen-year-old Cathy Mitchell-Beale had been her daughter’s best friend since they were babies, and their bond was unbreakable. The familiarity in their relationship brought a sense of comfort to Stacie, knowing that her daughter had someone she could confide in–just as Stacie used to have in Chloe Beale since she first met her gregarious friend in college. 

The young girls' conversations were always filled with laughter, secrets, and shared dreams. They also occasionally fought, but never long enough as they couldn’t stand being apart from the other for long. As a mother, Stacie couldn’t help but feel grateful for the friendship that Cathy brought into her daughter’s life, knowing that it would shape Bella’s character and provide support during their journey through adolescence. 

“Bells, honey?” Stacie knocked on the door, waiting for her daughter’s response. “May I come in?”

"Yeah. Come in!" 

Bella sat in front of her computer, on facetime with the mini-Mitchell-Beale.

"Hey, Aunt Stace, how are you feeling?" Cathy asked politely with a lopsided smile. Like her two mothers, this teenager could either be all sunshine one second or grumpy the next. 

Bella casually closed some tabs not intended for her mother to see. "We, uh, were… homework."

"Yeah, bet you were…" Stacie gave the girls a suspicious look, before she remembered what she wanted to talk with her daughter about. "Honeybunch," she spoke to Cathy, catching her bright blue eyes on the screen and hoped that Cathy didn’t mention her birth mother’s return to Bella yet. “You didn’t happen to have mentioned… you know, any ‘unnatural occurrences’ that have happened?” she phrased carefully.

Cathy caught on and looked away uncomfortably. “I didn’t, I promised Mom.”

“What ‘unnatural occurances’, Mom?” Bella asked, perplexed, her green eyes darting between her mother and her best friend on the screen. “What are you guys keeping from me?”

“Aunt Stace, please tell her!” Cathy urged. “I hate keeping this in much longer.”

“I’m going to.” Stacie shrugged. “Would you give me a moment with Bella? She can call you back after."

"Yes, Ma’am!”

"But Mooom, we were busy," Bella whined and rolled her eyes before she turned back again to her monitor screen. "Muh wodie showin' me some high-key dank tatts. On Foenem Grave!”

Cathy stifled a giggle. 

"Isabella Rose Conrad, for the love of God!" Stacie chastised, clasping her hands together. "Please, my beloved child, the apple of my eye. Speak proper English!" 

This wasn't the first time she had reprimanded her daughter. Her deliberate behavior seemed to stem from a desire to test her mother’s patience and assert her independence. And despite being aware of the consequences, she couldn’t resist pushing her mother’s buttons from time to time.

"But Mom! You're totally uncool" Bella’s posture tensed up.

"Sorry, Aunt Stacie, I started that," Cathy said in her best friend's defense.

Stacie let out a long-suffering sigh and thought about this for a moment. This was Bella's one and only way of rebellion, and she was otherwise a well-behaved kid that never got in trouble. Why not just let her be a teenager for once? 

Stacie threw her arms up in surrender. "Y'know what, y'all bitches? Whatevs, YOLO!" She added some hiphoppy-gangster-like gestures to her speech, feeling silly but enjoying herself. "Shawty had them apple bottom jeans!" she recited the lyrics with flair, slapping her chest. "Boots with the fur!"

"With the fur!" Cathy sang along, throwing her arms up and moving them to the rhythm.

"Guys, what the–? MOM! Stop it!" Bella's whole face turned dark red as she tried to hide it behind her hair. "You're so embarrassing! I get it. It sounds stupid."

Cathy had her fun. She couldn't stop laughing, clapping her hands as she bounced on her chair. When the girls were little, Cathy was the one who could be cheered up by making silly faces whereas Bella cried more or looked confused.

"Yo, homework 'bout tatts, bruv?" Stacie crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, finishing her act with a gangster-pose. 

"What? Mom, stop it. I swear." 

"Anywayzzz…” Cathy giggled, “Bells, I can send you a snap of her new tattoo, maybe later, 'kay? She got the lotus redrawn, actually.” 

"Lotus... tattoo?" Stacie asked in her normal voice when she thought it was enough humiliation for her daughter. 

"Yah, my mom's," Cathy replied. "Bella asked if she could see it. But Mom's barely walking shoulder-free lately, so, can't take a decent snap..." Despite Bella’s best efforts to get her to shut up, the little ginger continued explaining absentmindedly. Cathy wrinkled her nose in disapproval and sighed heavily as she tapped a few keys on her computer, perhaps ending a slideshow she had been showing. “Don’t worry, I’ll find one of the new design she has now…” 

"What are you talking about, Catherine?" Bella, voice high-pitched and tense, spluttered as she spoke through gritted teeth. "Duh, I didn't ask. You offered to show it to me."

From where Stacie stood, she noticed that Bella's neck turned red when her daughter recoiled at something Cathy might have spilled out. 

"Um, heh, dunno what she's talking about… seriously." Bella coughed in her fist. 

"I promise I'll find those pics, where her lotus tatts are showing on her right shoulder. TTYL, homeslice." 

"B-Bye." Bella quickly closed her own tabs. "I only asked about Aunt Beca's tattoo because y'know, I was thinking of getting one on my back."

Retying her long hair, Stacie ignored her gut feeling that her daughter might by lying and nodded nevertheless. 

"You want to get a tattoo?" She was surprised that such an idea even crossed her daughter's mind. Bella was never the kind of girl who was experimenting with new “teenager hardcore” stuff. She preferred to spend her time engaging in activities that were more aligned with her interests and values. Bella found solace in exploring nature, reading books, and pursuing creative hobbies like painting and writing. And she was normally scared of needles. Or of strangers getting close to her. 

"Maybe?" 

"Okay… and why don't you just ask Beca to show you her tattoos?" Stacie suggested encouragingly, throwing this idea out there to see what happens. She knew her daughter would do things behind her back if she straight out forbade them, just as Stacie did when she was a pig-headed teenager, who caused her parents headache. “We were roomies for a long time, and attended baby swimming courses together. I saw her naked a few times, and her tattoos aren't that extraordinary."

"Oh, God, Mom!" 

"What's the big deal, Bells? It's just Beca."

Bella swiveled on her chair and retrieved a few books from her backpack, spreading them on her desk. "I need to study for chem," she said and flipped through the pages of her geometry textbook, her shoulder-long hair obscuring the side of her reddened face.

Stacie sighed. "Bells, honey, we need to talk, would you mind?" 

She walked to her daughter's bed, which was tidy, had stuffed animals on them, and pink throw pillows. An air of gentle serenity pervaded the bedroom space, a little nightlight from back in the days when Bella was a child and afraid of the dark shed a soft glow on the lace curtains that framed the windows.

The white bookshelf that divided the room in two sections was filled with novels Bella had collected over the years. It was attached to Bella’s desk, which had her art supplies, showcasing Bella’s creative side. 

On the wall, she saw Bella's favorite rock band posters they'd been to when Bella and Cathy were only preteens–concert tickets, polaroid pictures, souvenirs, and wristbands covering the various posters. 

The memories brought a smile to Stacie’s face as she gently touched one of the frames, realizing that her baby girl was slowly transitioning to a young woman.

One frame stood out. Of Bella and Cathy, which was split in two segments, depicting them together in Beca's old backyard before the pool was built. The girls were about four years old. 

The same picture was taken only last year, now with the pool in the backdrop, the playground gone. Same sunny weather, same backyard, almost the same outfits, same poses, same goofy smiles. Only as teenage girls, who re-created a childhood photo. 

That same picture had Cathy enlarged in her own bedroom. 

Stacie turned back to look at her daughter, who fumbled nervously with the long sleeves of her oversized shirt.

"Did… something happen?" Bella asked warily, yanking Stacie back from her tidal wave of nostalgia. "Y'know, I was kidding 'bout the tattoo, Mom."

"But if you want one, it's okay," Stacie said, sitting on the bed, and leaning back on her arms. She wasn't challenging her daughter; she meant it. "Ask Beca where she got hers. Maybe she can recommend some good tattoo parlors and accompany you."

"I'll think about it." Bella beamed. "What is it, Mom? You said you wanted to talk with me about something?" She closed her textbooks and put them on a pile before her, giving her mother her undivided attention. "Is it about Cathy's mom?" 

"Well…" Scratching the side of her face, Stacie didn't know how to answer this. It was about Cathy's mom, but not about the mom Bella assumed. 

"Look, it's nothing. I asked for a pic of Aunt Beca's new tatts, because I forgot what the old design looked like…"

"As I've said, Bells, I'm sure Beca doesn't mind showing it to you. Just don't be dicks about this; you girls don't have to do this behind her back."

"I know, I'm sorry," Bella said, giving her mom a disapproving look for her dirty language. She tucked a strand of her long, brunette hair behind her ear, and scoffed.

"What? Oh, c'mon! I’m sure you kids use dirtier words behind my back!" Stacie rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, but it’s weird if you talk like that, Mom!”

Stacie sighed. "Anyway, that wasn’t what I was gonna talk with you about…" She took a deep breath, and folded her hands on her lap. "It's about Cathy's mom, but I don't mean Beca."

"You mean… Chloe?" Bella's brows raised to her forehead, her voice a whisper. "I mean, Cathy mentioned the other day that it's the 15th anniversary of her death next month. What are we going to get her? I was thinking of a pretty bouquet." 

"Yah, well… we could get her… um… a 'welcome-back gift', y'know, nothing too fancy…" Stacie threw in, and hoped Bella wouldn't get too frightened. "Like her favorite chocolate, or bake cookies for her."

"Good idea! I'm sure she'd like that." Bella looked thoughtful for a second. "Too bad she won't be able to eat it…" She smiled sadly. "But at least she'd be remembered, like Coco remembered her dad who existed in the Land of the Dead, despite her old age and her dementia. Remember that old classic Pixar movie?"

"Yeah…" Stacie smiled back. This wasn't going to be easy. "Honey, but unlike in that movie, Chloe isn’t in the Land of the Dead… she’s, um, she’s back. She’s alive." 

"Uhh… I'm sure she is," Bella said in compassion. "She'll always be in our hearts, Mom. Even if I don't remember her."

"N-No, Bella, I mean, Chloe is alive." 

"Um… okay?" Bella chuckled uneasily and turned away. She opened her textbooks again, pretending to be busy. "I still need to study…"

"Bella, no, don't do this…" Stacie said and sat upright. "Chloe is alive, Honey. She's staying with Beca and Cathy right now."

"And… why didn't Cathy tell me?"

"Her mom didn’t want that." Stacie shrugged. "I had to be the one to tell you. I just came from their place and talked to Chloe, in person. It's her. Genetic evidence proved it. I didn't believe it myself at first, either, but it's her." 

"And how did that happen?" Bella inquired, her already pale face blanching more. Her demeanor remained one of skepticism as she scanned her mother’s face for clues of deception or a sick joke. "H-How did she do that?" 

"She got resurrected, apparently, by some kind of spell. Necromancers accidentally went to her grave, and performed dark magic, intending to bring back someone else but it turned out to be Chloe." Stacie shuddered. She looked down on her fingernails, picking on loose skin. "Now, she's alive, healthy, physically and mentally at the age she died fifteen years ago…"

"That's… insane…" Bella commented, leaning against the backrest of her chair. “Mom, I’m not in the mood for horror stories right now.”

“It’s not a horror story, Bella,” Stacie said, her voice trembling, tears shooting in her eyes. 

Her daughter had always known her mother to be playful and lighthearted, but this time, there was a certain intensity in Stacie’s gaze that made her words carry weight. Since she couldn’t understand everything on her own, she felt completely helpless.

"Okay, Mom,” Bella said at last, giving her a single nod. “And now it makes sense that Cathy had been acting sus… and also, Aunt Beca, when she accompanied me during my driving lessons yesterday. She seemed… changed. I thought it was because of her new boyfriend, but thank goodness, it's because of… Chloe." Bella swallowed hard as she processed that.

"Bells, Honeybunch…" Stacie said softly, blinking away her tears. "I know this seems like a lot to take in, because it is. It's a lot for me to grasp, too. But I'm happy she's back. She was one of my best friends. And she's alive again. I don't care anymore how. I'm just happy Chloe returned to us."

"I understand that," Bella replied with genuine sympathy in her demeanor, smiling at her mother. "I love all of my close friends, too, and can’t imagine losing any of them. But don't tell them that. Like, bruh! Sherry can be so extra sometimes, Duncan dates avatars, Cosma is a geek. And I hate Cathy right now, I can't even! Ugh! She didn't tell me…" she added, groaning as she turned away, an expression of hurt and betrayal on her face.

"Bella…" Stacie sighed. "She wasn't supposed to tell you…"

"That doesn't matter; I’m her best friend." 

"Don't be mad at her. It wasn't her fault."

"Mom, um," Bella said as she swiveled her office chair back to face her mother. "Does Cathy have two moms now?" 

"Y-Yeah, she does." Stacie, while she was about to get up, was taken aback by the question. "But not legally. Her moms aren't legally married anymore."

"Hmm… and Aunt Beca is still with Luke?" 

"Seems so, yeah." 

"Cool.” Bella let that sink in. “Will Cathy have three parents, then?”

“Honey, I think that’s none of our business,” Stacie chuckled uneasily. “I have no idea. But no matter what kind of arrangement they choose, we will be supportive. They are our friends.”

“I would like to meet Cathy’s other mom, if that’s okay with you,” Bella said with a casual shrug. She didn’t look frightened or overwhelmed with the situation at all. Maybe, Stacie thought as she realized this about her daughter, her little baby wasn’t at all like her old mom. “Can I go there tomorrow after school?”

“Sure, but maybe give them some time for themselves first. Chloe needs time to adjust and reconnect with her family, Honey.” Stacie walked to the door and turned around a last time. Her daughter’s back facing her.

“Sure,” Bella said. “I need to check out this Chloe.”

Chapter Text

CHLOE 

Chloe wasn’t just going to pick up where she left off before the fateful tragedy many years ago. Or pretend that the fifteen years she had been gone left no emotional scars on her family. 

Even though forensic proof and biometric identification confirmed that Chloe was who she said she was, the situation was still quite strange for everyone involved.  

She now had undeniable proof that she was Cathy's mother, but her relationship with her "wife" and her daughter did not improve immediately. 

They didn't suddenly act like a perfectly happy family and deny that her “return from the dead” ever happened. 

Her death had left an impact on everyone else she was important to and had changed their lives for the better or worse. 

Since she had returned, the situation had become more… complicated.

Chloe now had to adjust to life with a woman who was no longer her wife and who was thirteen years older now instead of three. Who no longer needed to work two jobs to make ends meet, but instead owned a prestigious record label in Manhattan and lived in a house on Staten Island—complete with an outdoor pool.

Not to mention the fact that they slept in separate bedrooms... It was strange at first to have to say goodnight in the corridor like they had when they were college roommates.

And Beca was, aside from all of that, in a relationship with someone else—just as she had been in college.

Even though their lives had altered drastically in Chloe’s eyes, she had no choice but to accept the way things were because she still loved Beca. And she loved Cathy. Loved their little family. She was willing to do anything to fit into this new world and reunite with them.

The feeling of being a “stranger” and living in a place she didn't feel like she belonged in gave her the shivers even now. Chloe was haunted by the thought that she was an unwanted guest and a mere parasite despite seeing herself everywhere in this new home, on every picture frame, on digital photographs, and even on her daughter’s face.

Because of the paparazzi, she shouldn’t be leaving the house just yet. She didn’t have a job. And Aubrey and Stacie were the only people that came to see her regularly.

This sense of surrealism still lingered.

She felt trapped in her new life.

Flo, who also lived in Brooklyn, was currently vacationing in Cuba with her niece and sister, and had called a few times to speak to Chloe. But every time she spoke to her, she’d break out in tears and pray to God that Chloe wasn’t some evil spirit who haunted Beca and Cathy’s home.

Aubrey, and Stacie, who had informed all of their other friends beforehand about Chloe’s return and explained everything in detail to them, had been struggling to convince the very superstitious Florencia Fuertes that it was, in fact, not the Mictecacíhuatl—the lady of the dead—or some folklore bruja, but their long-perished friend, Chloe.

“Gracias a Dios!” Flo exclaimed while making the sign of the cross, sobbing as she facetimed with Chloe. This wasn’t even their first face-to-face meeting this week, but the fourth. And every time Flo believed that she had only dreamed the last video call. “I knew I made the right choice not to tell anyone about my pesadilla, so I knew this was gonna happen! You came back to us, my beautiful friend! And look at you! Youthful and healthy.”

According to Flo's superstition, if she told someone about her nightmares (pesadillas), they wouldn't come true, so when she had a dream about Chloe coming back, and she didn’t tell anybody, it was a big surprise when it actually came true. It was very confusing…

“Flo, just enjoy your vacation,” Chloe giggled at her friend’s eccentrics, “we can talk again when you come back home and catch up.”

“I’ll see you in a few days, Chloe! I’ve missed you so much!” Flo kissed the camera and touched the screen as though touching Chloe’s face. “Love you!”

Chloe felt her eyes begin to water. “Stop making me cry, Silly! See you in a few days. Love you, too!”

*

For the sake of helping Chloe in her reintegration and rehabilitation, Beca took two weeks off of work. They made an effort to pretend as though nothing had changed, but the warm feelings that had once been between them were noticeably absent.

It could have been wishful thinking on Chloe’s part, but it was possible that Beca still wanted her the same way, too.

On occasion, Beca would go out to see her boyfriend, only to return home a few hours later in a miserable state. Chloe’s suggestion that she didn’t mind staying in a hotel, believing that her return to Beca’s life would further complicate her relationship with Luke, had angered Beca.

They fought for what felt like the first time. 

“So, you’re just gonna leave me again?” Beca practically screamed, her voice quaking when she stepped back cautiously as if Chloe had hit her. Her whole face was ashen.

“I-I didn’t say I was gonna leave, Beca. I’m just suggesting staying in a hotel,” she replied calmly, not understanding where Beca’s irritation was coming from. “Or I can ask Aubrey if I could live with her, I don’t mind. So, you can have Luke over. It’s less stressful when I’m not around.”

“Yeah, because it was less stressful for me when you weren’t around all these years!” Beca spat. “Fifteen Christmases. Fifteen birthdays. Fifteen anniversaries! Each one harder and more unbearable than the last!”

“Are you seriously blaming me that I… died?” Whatever it was Beca may or may not have fought with her boyfriend about, she took it out on Chloe. “I didn’t ask for any of this!” Her voice betrayed her, body trembling with anger. “I’m sorry if I’m ruining your perfect life now! I certainly didn’t ask to be brought back to life. It… just… happened!” She walked around the living room, throwing her arms up in frustration. 

Calmer, she added, “Beca, I’m only suggesting that I don’t need to live here with you guys. I’m sorry if my presence complicates your new love life.”

“It’s not… You’re not… Don’t be sorry, Chloe. I—fuck!” Beca ran a hand through her hair, her face tear-stained as she struggled for the right words. She grabbed a tissue from a nearby cabinet drawer, to blow her nose. “I just… I don’t know what to do now. Look… it’s not your fault.”

“We can talk about this, Beca.” Chloe walked back to the couch and sat down. From her jeans pocket, she pulled out a tissue to wipe her nose.

They’d spent the whole night talking.

Talking about the things Beca had been keeping in for the past fifteen years since Chloe died.

All the things she’d always wanted to tell Chloe but couldn’t because she was gone forever.

Beca’s whole world was shattered and just when she started making her peace, her one true love came back.

Until, at last, Beca exposed the true source of her anguish...

“I’m so sorry.” Beca’s voice cracked, her jaw clenched and her fists balled on her lap. Her head was lowered as her body began to tremble uncontrollably. “It was my fault, Chlo… I’m so sorry.”

As Chloe studied Beca's delicate body and her pained expression, Chloe’s brows scrunched in confusion. She nibbled on her bottom lip until she realized… this wasn't only about Luke, and it certainly wasn't about Beca apologizing for any former exes she may have had over the past several years.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry,” Beca whispered this time. When she lifted her head, her dark blue eyes were empty and full of sorrow. “I didn’t see the truck. I didn’t pay attention to the road. I-I was burned out and exhausted… I’m so sorry. It was my fault, Chloe. I didn’t see the truck coming…”

Chloe drew Beca closer by grabbing her quivering body.

This was what it was all about—Beca had been blaming herself for Chloe’s death all those years.  

“It was an accident, Beca.” Chloe blinked her own tears away. “It’s not your fault that happened. And I don’t blame you for any of that, you dummy. I have no doubt that no one ever did. You understand me? It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

Beca sniffled and held onto her. She yielded to being held when her whole body shook with sadness.

It also turned out that Beca felt conflicted.

She loved Luke. But she also still loved Chloe; she was only scared to lose her again.

“I told you this before and I’ll tell you this again until you get it: I won’t go anywhere, Beca,” Chloe promised her and took her hand, squeezing it tight. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you and our daughter. I won’t go anywhere, you hear me?”

“Please don’t ever leave me again,” Beca sobbed so hard that it broke Chloe’s heart.

Things were complicated but they could work this out.

That night, Chloe was able to sleep more peacefully. Especially when they both fell asleep on the couch, while holding hands.

Before their daughter could realize anything was off, they got up early and showered in their respective rooms.

And then, there was Cathy. Who for Chloe was just a baby moments ago, who she had just been breastfeeding and sang lullabies to. Was now an inch taller than her, wore makeup, and went to high school.

Even with the final DNA result removing all remaining doubts from the sixteen-year-old, Cathy didn’t just begin treating Chloe like her mother. 

“Good morning, Mom,” Cathy yawned when she came to the kitchen. Her red mane disheveled, her black “Imagine Dragons” shirt hung askew from her left shoulder, her pajama bottoms had “Charlie Brown” printed on them.

“Good morning,” came from Beca and Chloe in unison. They gave each other an awkward look.

Chloe blushed and waved the girl off quickly. “Sorry…” she mumbled and resumed sipping her cup of tea, hiding that tinge of embarrassment that showed on her face.

Cathy walked to Beca and kissed her temple. “I meant to say, good morning, Mom, and good morning… Chloe,” she amended, displaying a strained smile. She didn’t feel comfortable yet as to how to address Chloe properly, but they had agreed on the first day that it was okay to call her by her first name. “How did you guys sleep? Were you up all night?” she asked casually as she grabbed a bowl to pour herself some sesame-free muesli.

“Um… no? How’d you know? Were you snooping?” Beca asked, her brow raised at her daughter.

“No, but when I went to the bathroom, I heard you guys yelling,” Cathy stated with furrowed brows.

“We weren’t… yelling,” Chloe clarified as she swept bread crumbs off the kitchen counter with her palms. “There were only a few issues your mother and I needed to go over in depth.”

“Uh-huh. Cool.” Cathy shrugged and dropped the subject. She went to the fridge. “Where’s the milk?”

“Chloe made us breakfast, Sweetie,” Beca told her daughter. “Scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes.”

“Um… is it made of Tofu?” Cathy inquired as she closed the fridge, eyeing the two women skeptically as if they were planning on poisoning her.

“Oh, I-I didn’t know you were a Vegetarian,” Chloe said.

“Pfft! I'm not, but literally everybody I know is on this Vegan trip now…” Cathy huffed and rolled her eyes, sighing in relief. She put away her muesli and bowl, grabbed a plate, and scooped herself a serving. She took a seat beside her mother, opposite Chloe at the kitchen island. “I’m happy to be eating actual meat at home. And real eggs and not made of wheat. Absolute scrummy, innit, mate?” she said in a British accent and nudged her mother’s elbow, causing Beca to choke on her coffee.

“Dude, we don’t even have Tofu,” Beca chortled to change the subject quickly, looking affronted. “I once made a separate Vegan dish for your Aunt Bree, though.”

“Yeah, I know, Mom,” Cathy replied, laughing. “I’m sure Chloe won’t report you to Social Services because you made me Vegan meals sometimes.”

“You said you liked watermelon smoked ham,” Beca gasped, placing a hand on her chest to feign indignation. “Your Aunt Bree found it delicious! And it was very fruity!”

“Smoked ham doesn’t match with watermelon,” Chloe and Cathy spoke in chorus, then looked at each other, giggling in amusement.

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Beca groaned. “This is the start of the redhead apocalypse...”

*

After her two-weeks off work, Beca returned to the office, while Cathy continued her day at high school. The only difference between their normal routine and now was that Chloe was back with them. Her presence added a new dynamic to Beca and Cathy's daily life as they couldn’t have people over—friends, colleagues… their partners, making Chloe feel guilty about causing such inconvenience. 

Because of Beca's connections and clout, Chloe was able to get her identification credentials renewed, including her driver's license. Since her death certificate was no longer valid, the forensic evidence gathered during her hospital stay and additional laboratory tests were used to update her birthdate. 

She didn't like to think about this whole process that seemed to have gone so smoothly without questions asked, believing that the world was controlled by the wealthy and the powerful. Furthermore, she didn't want to ask Beca about how she acquired all of her credentials without getting into trouble.

And while Chloe was slowly adapting to the changes in her own life, it still felt a little strange to have a teenage daughter all of a sudden—it wasn’t like she had remarried and suddenly became a young parent to a teenager, but that this teenager was biologically her daughter. No feeling in the world could describe how that felt.

Chloe was both excited and a little nervous to reunite with all of her friends. This weekend, the rest of them were coming over to see her. She had been looking forward to this get-together ever since she came to New York with her family. And it had been a while since her friends last saw her.  

The landline had been blowing up all throughout the week. But Beca had insisted that Chloe shouldn’t pick up the phone in case it was a reporter or anyone from the media, prying for details. 

Beca didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily, but Chloe gathered from their conversation that paparazzi had been following her, waiting outside her car, or camped out in front of her office. Others even had followed their daughter to school, so Beca had insisted that Cathy be brought to and picked up by a trusted friend. 

Chloe’s heart sank as she realized the extent of the intrusion into her family’s privacy, yet she wanted to be supportive and be there for their daughter, suggesting to Beca that Chloe could bring Cathy to school instead.

“I can do that. And I don’t need a babysitter, Beca. I can take care of myself,” Chloe grunted as she arranged the decorations intended to bring up outside by the pool. 

Decorations for her “welcome back” party, that Beca had decided for her, picked the decorations on her behalf as if Chloe was a five-year-old who couldn’t do so herself. Who wasn’t allowed yet to leave the house, at least, until Beca had assigned a bodyguard for her. As if Chloe was some famous bitch who needed security. 

“God, I’ve been stuck in this house for the last two weeks,” Chloe ranted. “And we live in New York! I’ve never been to New York before until now. I’ve only seen the Empire State Building and Statue of Liberty from inside your car with tinted windows.”

“There’ll be enough time for sightseeing.” Beca turned her head away, toward the TV that broadcasted the news about a deadly campus shooting, about the person of interest, and the arrest playing out on live TV. She turned the TV off using voice control and switched on the music that played the latest songs of who Chloe recognized was Beyoncé. 

“She still sounds like Heaven,” Chloe commented dreamily. 

“Remember when we had our third date at her concert?” Beca asked as she unloaded the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Chloe knew Beca was merely trying to get her side-tracked. And it almost worked had she not been too frustrated with her situation..

“Yeah… like… we sat in front of your laptop, streamed her concert on YouTube, and pretended we were there.” Chloe rolled her eyes and smiled cheekily despite herself. Of course, she remembered. That was also the moment they had their first time together. But Chloe decided to not let herself be swayed by Beca’s attempts at diversion. “At least you can afford actual dates now,” she said bitterly, smirking at the woman she was once married to. “You can leave the house anytime you want and live your life as you want it. You can even have sex.”

Beca’s face turned purple. “I… God, are we gonna discuss that right now? I need to prepare the buffet for our guests.”

“We can do that together, Beca. I used to cook all the meals for us, in case you forgot.”

"Fine, we’ll do that." 

Beca called for Cathy to come downstairs to help them prepare for the party. 

Moments later, a very grumpy teenager appeared with her phone in one hand. She slouched on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest lazily, her eyes fixed on the screen as she muttered under her breath.

“Mom, can I invite my friends over?” Cathy asked her mother, turning her head to face her, but only to bat her eyelashes sweetly. Chloe could only guess where her girl got this from—certainly not from Beca. “Since Aunt Stacie will be coming over with Bella, I thought I could invite my other friends, too.”

“I’m… not sure ‘bout that.” Beca scratched her forehead. “Is that okay with you, Chlo?”

“Why are you asking me?” Chloe snapped petulantly. “You practically organized this party.”

“Alright, you know what? Let me get a bodyguard first. I’ll make sure to hire a highly trained professional who can ensure your safety. Once they’re on board, feel free to enjoy your time without any worries or restrictions,” Beca said, surrendering. “How does that sound?”

Chloe squealed and clapped her hands excitedly, playing it up to tease the grumpy woman. “You’re giving me my freedom! YAY!” She ran to Beca and hugged her without thinking about the gesture. And Beca returned the embrace.

“Guys,” Cathy cleared her throat, “can I invite my friends, or not?”

“Of course, you can, Sweetie.” Chloe stepped in to respond on behalf of Beca, her arms still entangled around Beca's neck. She winked at her daughter to test the waters as to how Cathy would respond to her. 

To her own surprise, Cathy beamed. “I knew you were cool, Chloe!”

*

Around 10 a.m. Aubrey and Chicago arrived because Aubrey wanted to help them prepare for the party. They sat down to a breakfast she and Chicago had prepared for everyone and spent some time chatting and planning out their schedules for the day. After finishing breakfast, Aubrey and Chloe got to work setting up decorations and arranging the party venue, while Chicago and Cathy went to fetch the drinks and more snacks. 

Chloe was grateful for Aubrey's contribution, as it added a touch of variety to the decorations Beca had chosen in advance for her. The combination of Beca's and Aubrey's choices created a visually stunning atmosphere for the event.

Around 11:30 a.m. Stacie came with her daughter. Beca opened the front door to let them in. 

As Chloe sat at the kitchen island and chopped the vegetables for Aubrey’s finger food dishes, she heard the excited teenager behind her.

“Yo, yo, yo! Whassup bitch,” Bella’s meek voice came from behind her, “ya girl slayed it on the drive over here.”

Chloe turned around, grimacing at the young girl in amusement. “Whaa–?”

“Oh, shit!” The teen suddenly became all shy and flinched at Chloe’s sight. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I-I thought…”

Chloe wiped her fingers on a paper towel and extended her hand toward mini-Conrad. “I’m Chloe, not… 'Ma'am'. God, look at you, all grown and even taller and more beautiful in person.”

“Heh!” Bella stared at Chloe’s hand, until after some initial reluctance, shook it feebly. “I’m Bella Conrad. N-Nice to meet you.”

"We met before, but you were very tiny," Chloe squeaked in her highest pitch of voice, indicating with her hands just how tiny Bella was as a baby.

Bella chuckled. “I’m amazed. You look… You look like Cathy,” she stated and blinked her eyes rapidly as if in disbelief.

“Well, actually, Cathy looks like me.” Chloe grinned. 

“Yah… I’m shooketh!”

Stacie came over to peck Chloe’s cheek and give her a side hug. “Whazzup, Peach! It’s not even noon, yet look at’cha with your luscious hair and makeup on fleek.”

“What?” Chloe pinched Stacie’s side playfully, making her friend squeal. “Guys… speak in a language that I fully understand. You sound like you’re from the future.”

Stacie hugged her head and smooched the side of her face repeatedly, making Chloe giggle as she tried to dodge the kisses. “Help, Beca! No, stop it! Stacie!”

Bella giggled but, at the same time, seemed  engrossed in their interaction.

“Coming!” Beca called. She swatted Stacie’s bottom with a tea towel and threw an apron at her face. “You can nail her after, but right now, help us prepare the dishes.”

“Beca!” Chloe gasped, throwing a reproachful glare at her. “There’s a kid in the room.”

“I’m used to way worse than this.” Bella’s face blushed crimson. “Where’s Cathy?”

“She’ll be back in a moment, Baby Bells,” Beca answered. “She’s out with Chicago, getting booze and snacks. You want to help us or help Aubrey outside by the pool? That woman kicked us out for not getting anything done.”

“Then I’ll go and check if Aunt Bree needs me.” Bella scurried outside quickly. But before she closed the sliding glass doors behind her, she threw a bashful smile in Beca’s direction.

*

An hour before the first few party guests arrived, someone was at the door. Aubrey tied the helium balloons to a chair in the living room and let them float above their heads, admiring her work, before she went to get the door.

When Aubrey returned, she first met Chloe's eyes, before she turned to look for Beca. In her tow was a handsome and tall man, who Chloe instantly recognized.

Beca dried her hands on her apron and went straight to the guy, who took her into a hug.

"Nice to see you," he said, bending his neck slightly to look at her. 

“Hey, glad you came.” As their eyes met, a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Chloe averted her gaze in time before she could see them share a kiss. While Stacie added ingredients to the pot, Chloe busied herself by stirring the soup.

“This is Aubrey, Cathy’s godmother,” she heard Beca introduce him to her group of friends.

“Nice to meet you, Luke.” Aubrey smiled. “I’ll get the balloons outside. See you later.”

“The leggy vamp over there is Stacie.” Stacie waved at him.

“I think Beca is calling for you,” Stacie said without fully moving her lips, still smiling at Luke.

Chloe looked over her shoulder and saw Beca waving for her. 

“Oh, God!” she mumbled and begrudgingly turned around before she greeted her once-wife’s new boyfriend with the widest and brightest smile she could muster. “Hey, Luke! You made it!”

“Uh…” Luke let out a soft chuckle as he saw Chloe. “Didn’t reckon this was real. I thought Beca was only pulling my leg.”

“Why would I do that?” Beca replied snappily as she planted her fist on her hip.

“Dunno, thought that was gonna be your excuse to dump me.” Luke shrugged, laughing.

“Anyhoo… Chlo, you remember Luke?” Beca said and gestured casually at him.

“Course I do.”

“Where are my manners?” He composed himself quickly as he extended a hand to shake Chloe’s. “I’m Luke MacLaggen, nice to meet you. So, you’re Chloe. Beca’s wife?”

“Well…” Chloe sniggered and ironed the wrinkles out of her shirt. “I'm actually not her–”

“Yes, that’s Chloe,” Beca threw in quickly, not caring to correct him. “C’mon, Chicago’s outside. Maybe you’d like to help him fix the marquee while I wrap up the final details around.”

*

Colorful streamers decorated the inside of Beca’s home. A sea of multicolored helium balloons bobbed and floated around.

The lower level, more specifically the spacious backyard, hosted the majority of guests. Who wandered inside to use the restroom or whenever they needed to take a moment to decompress or recharge their social batteries.

Aubrey and Chicago took turns keeping their eyes on the guests who excused themselves to go inside, offering them Vegan finger food on the way to the kitchen. The guests appreciated the thoughtful gesture and happily indulged in the delicious Vegan finger food. As Aubrey and Chicago continued their vigilant observation, they also made sure to refill the trays with fresh snacks to ensure everyone had a chance to enjoy them. 

Foil trays with portable flame heaters lined the white foldable tables. Inside the trays were boneless chicken wings, pasta salad, basmati rice, and shrimp. Beca spared no expense, she even made sure Aubrey, who still held to her new vegan diet, had options. Along with her meat-eating carnivore friends and family.

Tampico orange juice, gallon jugs of tea, and lemonade, and Hawaiian Punch were among the choices of beverages.

Cupcakes were the dessert of choice. Beca instructed the bakers to make them with assorted colors of frosting. 

The tiniest and squeakiest former Barden Bella woman, Flo, ran up to Chloe the moment she saw her across the room. 

“Santa Madre de Dios! Mírate, en carne y hueso! Con cuerpo y alma!” Chloe giggled at the string of incoherent words directed at her, hoping that her friend didn't put a curse on her. Flo was in tears, pulling Chloe into a tight hug. “I'm dreaming! Look at you! I've missed you so much, girl!”

"Flo, seriously," Chloe laughed. "We only spoke two days ago, via video call. You're unbelievable!"

"I know!"

"Ginger, did they at least restore you fully with a soul, or what?" Fat Amy, who had lost a few pounds, stood in line to hug Chloe next. Her comment was loud enough for everybody to hear, making Chloe chuckle as she released Flo to get squeezed tightly by Amy. 

“Dude, don’t kill her,” Beca commented uneasily when Chloe tried to wriggle out of Fat Amy’s embrace. 

Luke stood behind Beca with a beer in hand; like a shadow, he remained unnoticed while a courteous smile was drawn across his face.

"So, what?" Fat Amy hugged her even tighter. "She'll be coming back, or won't she?" she joked.

"Dude!" Beca scowled, and once Fat Amy sat Chloe down, she checked if she was okay.

“Back in Tasmania, dingoes gather in packs to howl at the blood moon," Fat Amy said. "Legend has it that their song speaks to the departed and is strong enough to wake them from the big sleep.”

Chloe and Beca exchanged an awkward look as they listened to their Australian friend.

“You know, Beca, my great aunt claimed that brought her back after she got struck by lightning because she refused to let go of her beer can.”

Jessica extended her arms for Chloe, taking her into a warm hug and then examining her overall appearance. “Now that you’re back, I can tell you about Avon and how it’s done wonders for me. We need someone like you on our side.” She introduced her husband to Chloe. "This is Mark. You remember him?"

"Of course."

Mark smiled at her and nervously shook her hand. 

Lilly tapped Chloe on the shoulder, her voice, as always, a whisper. “Can I get Terrance, the homicidal penguin plushie, back? I laid him to rest with you in your casket.”

“I, uh…” Chloe laughed, allowing Lilly to boop her nose. “Great to see you, Lilly. I heard you came all the way from Japan?”

“It took me three boats to get here, but the most exhilarating moment was when I found myself face-to-face with a formidable white shark, testing my courage and willpower to reach my destination.”

“I’m happy you made it,” Chloe giggled.

Emily bounced up and down like an excited little puppy before the tall girl bent down and encircled Chloe’s head with her arms. “I’M SORRY, CHLOE!” She talked quickly and nearly incoherently, like Flo, but only in English. She let go of Chloe’s head, taking her hands into her own instead as she rambled on, “I wish I had accomplished more meaningful milestones that would’ve made you proud before you passed away. You were always my biggest inspiration, and I wish I had taken more risks and pursued my dreams to honor your memory.”

“Honey, you can still accomplish all of that,” Chloe replied and brushed the young woman’s tear-stained face. “God, look at you. You were only a senior in college when I last saw you.”

“Damn, our youngest Bella isn’t Emily any longer,” Fat Amy remarked with an audible gasp, “it’s the freakin’ ginger!”

Emily and Chloe exchanged a look. “I’m 37 now, how weird. I’m older than you.”

“Age is only a number, guys,” Chloe said. 

“At least Beca now has a smashing hot young wife to bang. Right, Shortstack, slap it high!” Fat Amy exclaimed and raised her hand. 

Beca crossed her arms and frowned at her. Luke placed a hand on her shoulder, but Beca didn’t acknowledge him; her face frozen with a scowl. “I'm right here, you know?” he reminded Beca’s friends.

“Ames, that’s enough now,” Aubrey chastised her. In an effort to defuse the tension, she asked the group, “Does anyone want some drinks and try these healthy finger foods we got?” 

“We stocked up the fridge with beer, if you guys want,” Stacie announced. She sat at the kitchen island and chopped fruits with Bella and Cathy for the fruit punch.

Cynthia Rose extended her arms to fling around Chloe, releasing her after a moment. Tears were swimming in her brown eyes; she blinked them away, only to be teasing. “Red, does the cooch work? It’s not like a Vampire coochie, is it?” 

Chloe smacked her playfully. "You mean, all sweet-scented and sparkling like the vamps in Twilight? Sure, it does," she laughed as she threw her head back. They both chortled together, and Chloe could see that this meant a lot to Cynthia Rose. 

The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as conversations and laughter filled the air. The party was in full swing, with guests mingling and enjoying themselves, creating a vibrant and lively ambience. 

Chloe looked around the heads of people, chewing on her bottom lip, before she proceeded to speak up. She cleared her throat and raised her voice slightly to be heard over the chatter. 

“Hey everyone, may I have your attention for a moment?” she called out, causing a hush to fall over the crowd. “Guys, I think we’re not complete yet,” she announced while she counted the number of her friends present in the room. “Where are Ashley and Denise? I asked Beca the other day but she only told me that Denise–and I recite–’joined the Dark Side.' Beca quoting Star Wars had me worried,” she added with a giggle. “But has anyone heard of Ashley and whether she will be coming?” 

All the women turned to look uncomfortably at each other, avoiding Chloe’s gaze. 

“Um… okay, I can call her if any of you has her number?” she told the group chirpily and pulled out her phone from her pocket. Beca even bought her the latest iPhone model, which again, was so unnecessary. Her old phone would have sufficed… Chloe grumbled to herself until she felt a hand on her elbow.

“Chlo,” Aubrey said softly, who had stepped up to her to pull her aside. “Ashley passed away five years ago.”

"What? Oh my God, that's horrible!" Chloe gasped and felt tears pool in her eyes. "What happened?"

Jessica, who stood the closest to Chloe, dropped her eyes to her beer bottle, avoiding her gaze. The other girls started mumbling to each other, each providing what they knew about Ashley's cause of death.

"Doctors said it may have been due to recurring depression. She got pretty reckless with her life and so to remain an influencer, she made YouTube Shorts of herself on top of skylines," Aubrey elaborated, “her latest YouTube Short got removed from her site that someone else uploaded for her. That clip ended in an accident.”

"God, how awful!" Chloe sighed and felt her heart sting. "What does that mean, she made YouTube Shorts?"

"Short-form video clips." Jessica provided. "They last about 15-60 seconds."

Chloe looked back to where Jessica stood. She was always very close with Ashley during their time in college. They even lived together briefly after graduation, until Jessica met her boyfriend, Mark—now husband—and they moved together to New Jersey shortly after. 

It had been rumored before that Ashley was starting to develop some form of depression, getting more and more reckless with her life. Until she began shutting out everybody and started to travel the world to find the biggest challenges offered to her. 

So, when Jessica's boyfriend asked her to move in together and that Ashley might need professional help, Jessica chose her boyfriend and left.

Jessica felt guilty ever since. 

Chloe reached out for Jessica's hand and squeezed it once, telling her with this gesture that it wasn't her fault. 

"How do I sign up for Avon?" she said, beaming all over. 

*

“My dad called me the entire week. He seemed genuinely concerned and wanted to make sure I was doing well,” Chloe told Beca’s parents when they later joined her by the pool and exchanged heartwarming greetings. “Sometimes, he’d call 3–4 times a day to make sure I was taking care of myself and ask how I was adjusting. He even offered to come visit me if I needed any help or support.” She smiled fondly, thinking how her now-elderly father was supposed to be the one who required her assistance, not the other way around. 

Beca, being drunk and laughing, threw in with a wave of her hand, “C’mon, Chlo. Your dad’s a cool dude. If my father expressed his love for me, he’d just miss my head when he threw bottles at me. Right, dad?”

Dr. Francis Mitchell, rolling his eyes, grunted in response. “First of all, I never drank a single drop of alcohol in my life. And what the–? I’d never do that.”

Beca hooked his arm with her father’s, pulling him down to smooch his cheek. “I was kidding, Dad. You do know I’m a dick, don’t yah?” 

Francis laughed bashfully, still looking somewhat uncomfortable because, until now, he wasn’t used to his daughter’s antics. “You’re my little princess, not a dick.”

“Dad!” Beca, acting mortified, blushed all over her face. “You’re embarrassing me in front of my friends.” Beca cherished these precious father-daughter interactions; Chloe could see that—she knew Beca, who gave her a playful wink. 

Until Sheila asked, “Are you guys going to renew your wedding vows?”

Taking a deep breath, Chloe coughed so hard that she almost choked on her beer. She waved off her father as he tried to pat her back to help her breathe again. Gasping for air, she managed to regain control and held up a hand to signal to her father that she was okay. 

“You okay, Honey?” her mother asked. “God, Harold, get her some water.”

“I-I’m fine,” Chloe said. “I’m okay, Mom.”

Beca pressed her lips tight and forced out a smile. “I, um, should go and check what the Vegan pulled pork is doing before Aubrey kills me for overcooking it.”

While Beca was heading inside the house, Luke left his conversation with Chicago and Mark to follow his girlfriend inside. A hand was placed on the small of her back, which made Beca duck her head before she threw a fleeting glance over her shoulder to Chloe.

“This has got to stop…” 

Chloe turned her head back to the one who had spoken. It was Sheila, who had her eyes on the group of teenagers by the other side of the pool, trying to push each other. Sheila’s expression was a mix of concern and amusement as she watched the high schoolers playfully jostling each other. Sensing Chloe’s confusion, Sheila turned to her and said, “They’ll end up falling into the pool with all that pushing.” 

They were all Cathy’s friends. Sherry managed to push Duncan into the pool, he resurfaced and splashed his friends. Laughter filled the air as the teenagers continued their playful antics, seemingly unfazed by the cold water. Sheila couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, adding, “Oh, to be young again”

“I’m glad my daughter met such incredible friends,” Chloe stated with pride, more to herself than out loud. 

Her mother, Margarine, spoke this time, “Beca did well raising her all by herself. She went through so much.” She smiled as she stared lovingly at her granddaughter across the pool. “Yet, look at what she's accomplished. What she provided her daughter with. We’re so proud of our daughter-in-law.”

Francis beamed as he heard that.

“Mom,” Chloe mumbled, an awkward smile on her face.

Her dad placed his arm over Chloe. “We helped her as much as we could with Cathy, but she insisted on handling things on her own. You know your stubborn wife.”

Chloe’s head sank, and she clenched the hand that held her wedding ring. “Guys, we’re not married anymore.” Her mind was flooded with memories of happier times with Beca and a toddler Cathy that flashed before her eyes, intensifying the weight of her emotions.

Francis stepped forward and asked Chloe’s father to have a moment with Chloe, wanting to speak to her in private. As they stood a few feet away from the others, Francis held up his cup before him, his gaze staring into the distance. 

Chloe waited with bated breath for her once-father-in-law to speak his mind.

“I know this is none of our business, Chloe, but you should talk with Beca about this. My daughter isn’t happy with how things are going, and I know her well.”

“She seems happy with Luke, in my opinion, though,” Chloe declared while peering through the kitchen window. Beca and Aubrey in deep conversation. Luke stayed by their side, watching their exchange with obvious curiosity.

“She has been distant and withdrawn lately, and I think it’s important for you to address her concerns.” Francis scratched the back of his neck, like Beca always did when she felt uncomfortable. Chloe assumed that he didn’t feel at ease discussing such issues with Chloe, regarding his daughter’s love interests. “Maybe you guys can work this out together somehow, I don’t know…”

“How? I’m not going to ruin her relationship.”

“Chloe, I’m not going to take sides. Luke is a great gentleman, he made my daughter happy again,” Francis said ruefully, his dark blue eyes turning glassy. “But you will always be the love of her life and my daughter-in-law, and my granddaughter’s mother. No matter the circumstances, Chloe.”

“That’s… That’s like the mushiest thing I’ve ever heard… Dad.” Chloe felt tears sting her eyes and hugged her father-in-law.

She had a wonderful family.

*

As the night went on, Chloe couldn't help but feel grateful for the love and effort her friends—and especially her “non-wife”—had put into making her party so special. 

Until she noticed that two people in particular were missing—Beca and her boyfriend.

Sighing heavily, she speculated that she knew where they had gone because Beca never stayed at a party after it became too overwhelming for her. So maybe, Chloe figured, Luke might have taken her somewhere quiet to decompress and recharge. Chloe didn’t want to entertain the thought of what they might be doing.

Reluctantly, she walked up to the upstairs bedrooms to quench her curiosity as she snooped around in the hallway. Yes, she was curious—and maybe also a bit masochistic—and listened to the suspicious noises that might hint or give out Beca and her lover’s whereabouts and their naughty deeds.

What Chloe didn’t expect, however, was hearing a tense argument coming from Beca's room, where the door was propped open. Perhaps, she reasoned, Beca had left the door open so that she could still listen in on the ongoing party below.

Chloe took a deep breath and realized she should respect their privacy, but she really wanted to know what they were talking about. But as she was about to turn on her heel, she heard her name being mentioned.

“–now that Chloe is back,” Luke said, “what are we, Beca? What am I to you?”

“What do you mean? It doesn’t change anything between us. She’s back, yes, but why would you assume it would change anything between us?”

“I don’t feel like I belong here. Or that I could belong in your life somehow,” Luke lamented, his voice helpless and hoarse.

Chloe heard the rustling sound of clothes and footsteps walking up and down the room.

“W-Why would you think that?” Beca asked. “What did I do to give you this impression?”

“Becs,” Luke chortled, “you didn’t introduce me to your friends as your boyfriend. Not to them nor to your parents. Not even to Chloe.”

“I could do that now?” Beca offered lamely. “I just…”

“You just what? You forgot?” he replied softly. “I can see you’re not over her. You haven’t really moved on from her, have you? The way you look at her… I know that look.”

“I-I’m just making sure she’s doing fine with everything. I…”

“Beca… be honest, do you love me?” Luke asked.

There was a short pause. A deep sigh. Beca sniffled. “I-I do, you mean something to me, Luke.” 

There was another, longer pause, before Beca proceeded, “Look, what I felt for you was real. I swear. It was. You made me happy, even if it was for a short time.” She blew her nose, sniffling again. “I believed you were someone I could be happy with again.”

“But that’s not enough… right?” he concluded.

A short silence.

“It’s like…” Beca began slowly, “it’s like we’re on the same page, Luke, but in different books.”

This analogy made Chloe smile wanly, but she also felt bad for Luke. Because she remembered the ache in her chest and the constant questioning of her self-worth. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of an unrequited relationship. 

“Figured.” A soft chuckle filled the air, until Luke said, “And… am I correct to assume that you’re still in love with her?” he prodded further, his voice still gentle and patient.

“I…”

Chloe was too afraid of Beca's response. Thus, she retreated and went back to the ongoing party. 

*

Everyone got drunk, even the minors who had snuck in their own liquor. 

Cosma got adopted by Lilly, who baptized her with a banana leaf—wherever the heck she got that from. Sherry exchanged Vegan recipes with Aubrey, who suddenly became her new BFF. Duncan, after removing his dorky “The Flash” shirt and revealing his ripped body, briefly became the object of desire of the females present. That is, until he pulled out his squirt gun and sprayed the girls, immediately reverting to being just a boy again.

Neither of the adults had noticed that these kids were drunk. Except for Chloe, but she didn’t want to ruin the fun.

As she looked for her daughter but could not locate her either inside or outside with any of her friends, she peered out the stairwell by the gate leading to the street. Bella sat on the bottom stairs as though she were hiding from the party.

“Hey, Bella,” Chloe said carefully, trying not to startle the girl. Still, the teen flinched when she saw Chloe. “Why are you hiding down here?”

"Oh, hey, Chloe.” Bella's eyes lowered as she fidgeted with the loose threads on her oversized sleeves covering her hands. "I'm waiting ‘till my mom wants to leave."

“What’s wrong? Not enjoying yourself?”

“Nuh, just tired.”

"You can sleep in Cathy's room if you want. I’m sure she doesn’t mind." Chloe closed the gate behind her and walked closer, still keeping a good view of the ongoing pool and barbecue party from where she stood. She smirked at the young teenager. “Why so blue, panda bear?”

Bella returned a meek smile. “I gotta be straight with ya…” she said in a shy voice, laughing nervously. “I'm low-key not a party-girl.”

“I see,” Chloe responded, taking in her surroundings and the gentle breeze that brushed against her skin. “I usually like parties, but it’s not the same anymore like in college. I think I’m getting old.”

Smirking, Bella hummed. Noticing the teenager's lack of enthusiasm, Chloe decided to respect her space. To make Bella feel more at ease, she changed the subject and let her engage at her own pace.

“Oh, have you seen Cathy, though? I’ve been dying to ask her about her driving lessons since your mom mentioned you were taking driver’s ed and kicking ass on the road.”

Bella turned her head away, but there was a mix of pride and uncertainty on her face. “Cathy’s not allowed to drive,” phrased the teenage girl carefully, worried she might get somebody in trouble.

“She’s not?”

“No. Aunt Beca doesn’t want that.” Bella dropped her gaze onto her sneakers and hugged her knees. “Please don’t tell her I told you.”

“I see… I didn’t know that.” Snaring her bottom lip between her teeth, Chloe let out a long sigh. Beca was understandably worried about the safety of their daughter because, for the first time after their talk, Chloe realized the gravity of the car accident that had befallen her wife, resulting in Beca's loss of Chloe. It felt surreal to be alive and witness the impact her death had on her loved ones.

After a moment of silence passed between them, she said more to herself than to Bella, “I’ll talk to Beca about this. Cathy should take driving lessons.”

“Awes!” Bella beamed. “You’d do that?”“Yeah. Cathy should drive.”

Fat Amy cheered from inside, while the other women could be heard squealing as Stacie popped a new bottle of champagne open.

"My friends are a lil wild, huh?" Chloe tried lightly. “Stacie hasn't changed at all,” she laughed.

“Yeah…”

“You should’ve met us when we were in college, damn!”

Bella giggled.

Chloe tried to assure the girl that she understood being this overwhelmed because she remembered that a certain girl used to be like this, too. Beca, who would constantly disappear with Chloe into an empty room, where they'd made out the rest of the night.

However, life had changed since then, and they had both grown in different directions—but, despite their marital or relationship status, it didn’t change the fact that they were still co-parenting a sixteen-year-old teenager now.

"By the way, what's up with that fella Beca came with today, right?" Chloe made a lighthearted attempt at being a sassy gossip monger, which caught Bella’s interest. She tried not to think of the conversation between Beca and Luke earlier.

The teenager turned her head to look at her, a brow slowly rising in a mix of curiosity and amusement. "You mean, Luke?"

"Duh, yah! Ain't that guy such a major simp to be with dat girl? So cringe." 

Bella giggled bashfully behind her hand, her cheeks turning rosy. "Bet! You don't like Luke?" 

“He’s nice, but who doesn’t like that guy?” Chloe drawled.

“I don’t…” Bella averted her gaze guiltily, toward the street, the cars and pedestrians passing by, some of them looking at them curiously as they heard the muffled sounds of the music. “But he made Aunt Beca happy again, so I guess her boo’s all that trippindicular.”

Chloe, chuckling at the kid’s language, watched the spitting image of her best friend before her, her dark brown hair dangling from her shoulders. “Her happiness must mean a lot to you, huh?”

"Wh-What?!" Bella stammered, concealing the flush on her face. “Why would you say that?”

“Look, Honey,” Chloe said gently as she tilted her head sideways, giving the adolescent girl her full attention Chloe knew firsthand the challenges of feeling this confusion and wanted to assure she was loved and supported. “I had a crush on Beca when she was still dating her boyfriend in college. Back then, I didn’t know I was into another girl—into Beca. So, I know what it looks like when someone has a crush on her.”

“Oh, my God!” Bella dropped her blushing face into her hands. “I’m not! I-I’m not like that.”

“It’s fine. To freak out is completely fine,” Chloe assured her. “When I found out, it took me a year to realize and accept it. I continued to date other people. I was with Tom at the time ‘cause I thought I'd eventually get over her, y’know?”

Bella contemplated that. “A year?!”

“Yeah. A year,” Chloe snickered.

“And what did you do to get over… this sexual confusion?” Bella asked hesitantly.

“I married her.” Chloe gave a loud laugh, making Bella hide her face again. “C’mon, Bells. I know you’re in a complicated situation. It’s not going to be easy.”

“Yeah,” Bella conceded, her green eyes glinting sideways at Chloe, then back to her shoes again, “she’s my best friend’s mom. This is so sick, and I’m so gross. She’s twenty-seven years older, too. And she’s your wife. Ugh!”

“I always say that age is just a number,” Chloe proclaimed lightly. “And even though she’s not my wife anymore, she’s still your best friend’s mother. Which is probably the complicated part.” She leaned back and propped an elbow on the upper stairs, staring at her best friend’s daughter’s young face. “I’m not telling you that you should talk to Cathy about this, but you should embrace and accept who you are, and be honest about this with her and the people you care about. It helped me a long time ago.”

Bella nodded. “Thanks for being cool about this, Chloe. Y’know, talking to you feels familiar like you’re the adult version of Cathy. I think she would’ve freaked out if she found out about this… about me…”

“I think she already knows,” Chloe said, making Bella look back at her again curiously. “A best friend knows about this kind of stuff. You know, it was your mom who encouraged me to tell Beca. She knew before I knew.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Your mom is to me like Cathy is to you, Honey,” Chloe elucidated, thinking that this was the simplest explanation she could offer the young girl. “And it helped me a lot when I opened up to Stacie before. It felt great to have her full support.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that. My mom was actually cool before, huh?”

“Oh, totes. And she still is.”

Bella snickered, looking less embarrassed now.

“Thanks, Chloe," she said. “This means a lot to me.”

*

They returned to the party, where most of the people had gone inside since it was getting chilly as the night set in.

Fat Amy and Cynthia Rose turned up the music of the karaoke machine and sang songs with the other girls. Everyone was having a blast. Lilly was sulking. She sat slumped over at the kitchen island since her adoptive daughter got picked up by her real mother an hour ago.

From Chloe’s peripheral vision, she saw Cathy, Duncan, and Sherry sharing shots, offering Lilly, Emily, Bella, and Jessica each a pint, who joined them. Fat Amy wobbled over, and together they downed their shot glasses. Chloe looked away as she was handed over the microphone by Jessica’s husband, Mark, to take the stage.

She began singing the first verse of Titanium from the top of her lungs, swaying to the ballad and rhythm of the music, and remembered the moment when she sang this with Beca together decades ago.

From her side, her daughter skipped over and added in the chorus of Bulletproof, hitting each note despite her inebriated state. Together they created a beautiful mashup of that song. 

Cathy beamed all over as she placed an arm around Chloe, who knew that somehow it was the alcohol in her daughter’s system that let her be this affectionate with her, but she allowed it and wrapped her arm around her daughter’s waist.

How did Cathy know this mashup? She pondered, but something told her that this was exactly what her daughter needed to finally allow Chloe into her guarded heart. 

Something told her that her adolescent daughter finally accepted Chloe as the mother she had long since lost and ultimately reunited with.

Things were wonderful until a furious voice came thundering from the hallway.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Chloe and flushed-faced Cathy flung around, seeing Beca standing there and walking over. She took in the empty shot glasses on the kitchen island and smelled the hard liquor in the air.

Her icy gaze first swept over her daughter, then shifted to Chloe, whom she held responsible for all of this.

“Chloe!” Beca barked, her eyes piercing across the room, “You let our underage daughter drink?” She glared at the other remaining teenagers in the room, except for Bella, the only one seemingly sober. “Who even brought this?”

Duncan ducked his head guiltily behind Sherry, who elbowed him in the ribs.

“Oh, God! Beca, wait, I can explainputting the mic down and turning the music off, turning the music off, Chloe stammered.She stepped toward the furious woman, “ I thought that letting them drink in the house would be better than letting them get drunk and be reckless elsewhere–”

“This is unbelievable!” Beca yelled angrily, checking nearby empty bottles to see if it was hard liquor. “Cathy isn’t supposed to drink! She’s sixteen!” 

The party was over.

Trying to overplay her annoyance and disappointment about the issue, Beca turned to her parents and in-laws, who sat by the pool bar, and asked for them and the other guests to leave. Even Luke, whom she promised she’d call.

Jessica’s husband offered to take Duncan and Sherry home, while Chicago offered to bring Lilly, Emily, Cynthia Rose, and Fat Amy to their hotel. Flo called an Uber for herself as she was the only one heading back to Brooklyn. Stacie and Bella would be staying longer. . 

The tension in the room was almost palpable, with only Fat Amy and Cynthia Rose daring to remark on the ongoing “bitch fight” while they gathered their belongings and bid everyone goodbye.

“This is so irresponsible of you, Chloe!” Beca hissed under her breath while she cleaned up the mess in the living room, collecting empty cups and cans, then closing the blinds.

“Beca, it wasn’t just her fault.” Stacie tried to calm her down while also defending Chloe. “We all let the kids drink.” To keep herself busy, she extracted several Tupperware boxes from the cupboard and helped Aubrey put away the food from the buffet into the fridge.

“You would've spoken up if it was your teenage daughter drinking, Stacie!” Beca exclaimed and threw her arms up in despair.

"Excuse me?" Stacie retorted. "Bella had a shot, too. Right, Bells?"

"Keep me out of this, Mom." Bella's soft voice was barely audible amidst all the yelling and shouting. From her pocket, she retrieved her phone and started browsing.

“Beca, I share the blame, but we can discuss this with less hostility, can’t we?” Aubrey suggested, looking around helplessly. 

Chloe gestured around aimlessly, unsure as to how to resolve this situation and what Beca had expected of her. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay? We’re all tired and exhausted, and it’s been a long day.”

“Am I grounded?” Cathy plopped down on a chair and was barely able to hold her head up from the dining table, her voice unintelligible.

“Of course, you’re grounded!” Beca snapped. “You knew the rules!”

“But Mom! Not again!” Cathy whined with tears in her eyes as she glanced from Beca to Chloe, her facial expression so heart-wrenching that Chloe felt an instinctive need to protect her child. 

“No, she’s not,” Chloe replied and met Beca’s piercing eyes. “This was my fault. I let her drink.”

“Oh, wow…” Beca chortled venomously. “What gives you the right to upend all I've endured and done over the past 15 years, including the rules around here, at your whim?”

“Because Cathy is also still my daughter, Beca!”

"THEN FUCKIN' ACT LIKE A GODDAMNED MOTHER, CHLOE!" 

Aubrey and Stacie exchanged an uncomfortable look and quickly gathered empty cups and beer bottles strewn about. Bella put on her jacket, waiting in the foyer and ready to leave. Cathy whimpered and looked scared as she covered her ears shut. The sight of which made Chloe's heart clench more.

“You’re not being fair right now.” Chloe balled her fists tightly when she spoke again, shaking with anger. Beca made her feel like she failed as a mother. “As if you didn't get drunk at parties when you were about her age.”

“THAT WAS LONG BEFORE I FUCKING LOST YOU, CHLOE” Beca snarled. Blinking away her tears, she scrubbed her hand over her face. “Do you realize that the driver who caused the accident was drunk?” Beca’s face scrunched up in pain at the mere mention of it, her voice cracked as she went on, “And it’s almost ironic how, between the two of us, you’re the one letting our daughter get wasted.”

Chloe’s shoulders sagged as she understood the underlying meaning behind Beca’s anger—it stemmed from her trauma. 

“I’m… sorry,” feeling remorseful, Chloe whispered, her arms around her body, “I didn’t know, Beca.”

Someone coughed to draw their attention.

“We’ll be back tomorrow and help you guys clean up the rest, unless you need us to stay,” Stacie offered and placed a hand on Beca’s shoulder, which she shrugged off. “We all should take a rest, guys, and sleep on this. Please?”

Chicago had returned after he brought the other women to their hotel. Meanwhile, all the guests had left, save for Aubrey and her husband, and Stacie and her daughter. 

Bella patted her crying best friend, who had her head resting on the kitchen table. She flinched at the touch, refusing to say a word.

To keep Beca and Chloe from engaging in behavior they could come to regret, Aubrey and her husband helped clean up the mess in the backyard roughly, so they stayed a little longer. Despite Bella's pleading, Stacie was hesitant to leave, too. Aubrey might have asked her to stay, seeing how the two women kept to themselves as they put away the barbeque, mumbling and watching Beca and Chloe from the backyard.

“Look, I don’t want this to stand between us, Beca,” Chloe said after the storm had calmed, “I have no experience being a parent to a teenager. To me, it was okay if Cathy drank as long as she was in a safe environment. Just don’t punish her because it wasn’t her fault.”

Cathy got up and wobbled over to Beca, hugging her as she cried.

“Please don’t fight, Mom,” she begged her mother. “I’m so sorry. I swear this was the first time I ever tried alcohol. Don’t be mad at my Mommy. Don’t hate her, please.”

Beca sighed and swallowed hard, taken off-guard by her daughter’s action as she met Chloe’s gaze across the room. This was the first time Cathy had officially acknowledged Chloe as her mother. 

“Sweetie, I don’t hate her.”

“Promise me you don’t?” Cathy sobbed as she struggled to catch her breath amidst the flood of tears.

Beca returned the hug and held her daughter tight. “I don’t, I promise.”

Cathy sniffled, withdrawing again from the embrace, her face tear-stained. “Tell her you love her,” she demanded through another stream of tears.

“I, uh…”

Cathy bawled more.

Weirdly enough, Chloe chuckled because she didn’t expect this. She fidgeted with her hands, desperately trying to find something to occupy her attention. The room fell silent, and Chloe's cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Fine,” Beca relented, frowning at the ground. “I love her.”

Instantly, Cathy stopped sobbing. Her voice was all sober all of a sudden, as well as her overall demeanor. “I only had one shot, Mom. It didn’t taste good,” she giggled, winking across the room at a flabbergasted Chloe. “I’ll go and help the others outside. You coming, Bella?” Bella, who had been waiting by the staircase, dashed right behind her.

Cathy left her mothers in the living room, staring blankly at each other. 

*

*

THE JOURNALIST

Neighbors and passersby paid no mind to a faded yellow taxi that careened to a halt a block away from the stucco house. Until a middle-aged woman carrying a briefcase in one hand, a laptop bag around her shoulder, and her phone clutched in her hand, stepped out. Dark circles framed her puffy eyes—a result of sleep deprivation and stress caused by an ungrateful job, from which she barely made a good living. She slammed the door shut and tossed the driver her money.

Like several New York City cab drivers forced to run fares for six to eight hours straight, the man stank; but that didn’t stop him from hurling a string of expletives at the ungrateful and rude 43-year-old woman. She was dressed in a floral print and spotted peplum skirt that’s in the Warehouse SALE for $25, because if all you did was write blog posts for news outlets in your dingy little office, nobody cared about your appearance. 

Out of her peripheral vision, she caught sight of a group of people exiting the house. She turned her head while ducking behind the taxicab. The women were dressed in stylish clothes like one would be coming from a fancy social gathering. They made their way to their respective rides, clearly drunk, while pushing each other playfully.

“Goddamn sewer rat!” the journalist mouthed off to the cab driver speeding away and exposing her hiding spot. She quickly hid behind another vehicle and watched as the women said their goodbyes to each other and got into their rides.

Not wanting to draw any attention, she walked the street down and sat on a bench to have a better view of the music producer's house, pretending to be some woman waiting for her Tinder date. She kept a close eye on the security people guarding the front door and waited for the right moment to strike.

With her phone, she took photos of the well-kept home and picturesque scene of the neighborhood to capture the idyllic suburban lifestyle the former college DJ had achieved. She watched cars and passersby going about their business, and tried to gather her thoughts as to how to proceed from there on. After some time, the same vehicle from earlier returned, parked in front of the stucco house, a man stepped out, and went inside. 

The dark-haired woman slid her laptop bag up her shoulder, then crossed the street with her shoulders flat and a "don’t fuck with me" attitude, spelled out on her face. Her heels clicked on the stone steps as she inched closer to the door. 

With a taupe-colored manicured finger, she jabbed the doorbell, her dark locks swirled in the wind. Seconds later, the door opened, and the journalist froze when her former Bella sister’s younger version greeted her with a curious smile. From her luscious brunette hair, the sea green eyes, as if Stacie Conrad’s college-self was staring back at her. Except that this teenage girl seemed too shy to be the sexually confident and busty woman from college.

“Hi?” the girl said bashfully, almost hiding behind the door. “Are you here to pick someone up?”

From the foyer, the journalist could see into the kitchen, where bottles and plates were scattered everywhere. Not one for pleasantries—not that she’d even know what to say to this Stacie mini version—she sighed. 

“Where’s… I’m looking for….” The woman looked at her notes to collect herself. Sure, she was slightly taken aback as she had no idea that Stacie Conrad had a daughter—she wasn’t that surprised, though, knowing that woman’s promiscuous history from back in the days. The woman looked up at the tall teenage girl again, smiling a little. "Beca Mitchell-Beale. May I talk to her? I’m an old friend, actually."

“Okay, and yet you double-checked her name on your notes?” the teen asked, somewhat mischievous as she grasped the doorknob tightly. “I'm kidding. May I ask who you are?” 

She threw a glance over her shoulder, while her fingers fumbled nervously with the long sleeves of her oversized shirt.

“I’m Denise,” the journalist replied, extending her hand to introduce herself formally, “Denise Reyes. God, look at you. You remind me so much of your mother, Stacie Conrad. Her, Chloe, Beca, and I used to be in an a cappella group in college. The Barden Bellas.”

“Yeah, um, that’s cool!” The teenager gestured for the woman to come inside. “I’m Bella. Well, Ms. Reyes–”

Denise waved her off. “Call me Denise.”

“Oh-okay, Denise,” Bella corrected. “I’ll call Aunt Beca.” She scratched the back of her neck. “She’s outside, I think. Let me go check.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Envy filled her veins as Denise examined the house she imagined a famous music producer would own, she scowled and watched as the Conrad teen informed the homeowner of their last-minute guest. 

Miss hotshot Grammy-Award winner set a garbage bag on the tile floor, then placed empty beer bottles down on the table and followed Bella to the foyer, calling out urgently to Aubrey and some guy who looked to be her lover or some sort. Both were outside, moving in chairs and tables together with–whom Denise recognized–was Stacie Conrad. 

So, half of the Bellas had been around tonight. And Denise Reyes wasn’t invited? How dare they?!

Beca turned to a red-haired, also very leggy teenager, insisting with a stern look to stay in the backyard. 

Denise noticed the teenager's profile, her familiar features, and was instantly hit with a wave of nostalgia about her happier days back in college. 

She figured that Chloe must've been the birth mother, but she didn't expect that the two looked almost the same. Since Beca Mitchell-Beale protected her private life at all cost, there were no photos of her daughter in the media.

Denise was aware that the Chloe Beale she remembered had long passed away. She had followed the news of that fateful car crash fifteen years ago, where Chloe was DOA. It was all over the media. And still, Beca Mitchell-Beale managed to rise to fame like her wife's death didn't mean anything.

Denise was pulled back from her reverie when she heard the girl speak. “Why, is it the police? Who is it?” the teen redhead asked, trying to peek towards the foyer.

"She said she was a friend from college and knew you!" the other teenager explained to the music producer.

Realizing how each girl reminded Denise of their respective mothers, she felt another surge of nostalgia hit her. She cherished the times during her first year in college, until she made the foolish decision to choose love over friendship and ditched the Bellas in her sophomore year. She hooked up with “Bologna” Barb from BU Harmonics when the girl became the group’s leader after failing her senior year.

The Barden Bellas had never asked Denise to return to the group, just as they had done with Beca Mitchell, making Denise feel as though she had never been wanted or cared about by them in the first place.

She shook her bitterness off, trying to focus on her former captain.

“You girls, go help Aunt Stacie outside, ‘kay?” Beca ordered mini-Chloe and mini-Stacie. 

While Beca shooed them away, Denise spotted a stranger with similar features to the ginger teen, mindlessly bobbing around outside with Stacie. The stranger moved too quickly for Denise to get a good look. 

A feeling of secrecy and collusion nagged at her. 

Oh well, it didn’t matter… even if suspicion welled up in her gut.

“Denise!” Beca exclaimed, eyes wide. “What a surprise! We haven’t seen each other… in like… decades!”

“Too bad we drifted apart after graduation.” Denise turned her eyes to Aubrey and the man standing right behind her, a protective arm around the blonde’s hip. “Hey, Aubrey. Nice hairstyle and… new boyfriend? I always thought you and Stacie… ah, never mind…” she trailed off, not allowing herself to get sidetracked by this LUG. 

“Hey, Denise,” groaned Aubrey, gesturing towards the broad-chested hunk by her side. “This is my husband, Chicago. How has it been?”

“Well, I happened to be in the area,” Denise said, “and noticed you guys were still up.”

The man gave her a courteous nod.

Beca checked the time on her wristwatch. “It’s almost 2 a.m. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Look, Beca, I took a Greyhound bus to your home, hailed a taxi driven by the worst-smelling foreigner I’ve ever encountered in my life, to drive over Hell’s Half Acre to find you…” having a Barden Bellas Reunion without me, she finished in her thoughts. She wondered why these twats looked at her like she was a complete lunatic. 

Inhaling deeply, she tried composing herself as she squared her shoulders to regain her dignity. “But don’t worry, I’m here for personal reasons, to say hi to my former sisters.” She flicked her short, dark curls behind her ear, and showed Beca her phone that she wasn't recording. She opened the side pocket of her briefcase and retrieved her notes. “According to my sources, grave robbers in Rhode Island have unearthed your late wife's casket. And a woman, about Chloe's age when she died, claimed to be Chloe herself–”

“Are you serious right now?” Beca interrupted her fiercely, startling Denise that she dropped her notepad. “Dude, it's in the middle of the night! And I thought you weren't here for work-related issues?” 

“I'm just making small talk, Beca,” Denise said calmly. “Relax.”

“Relax??! I should relax?” Beca’s jaw dropped as she exchanged bewildered glances with the couple beside her. “Dude, I know that I suck at small talk, but I'm well aware that that isn't small talk. Get the fuck out of my house!”

Crouching to pick up her notepad from the floor, Denise tucked it away again and adjusted her laptop bag on her shoulder.

Just as it was with all celebrities, she realized how all this fortune and fame must have gone to this cranky woman's head. 

Beca Mitchell-Beale believed she was more important than anyone else in the room, just because she owned a record label in Manhattan and won three Grammys. Denise rolled her eyes; she'd always thought very little of this talentless rug bug, who only dated some man as a PR stunt.

Denise hadn't anticipated this disrespectful behavior at all, not after all the effort she'd put into locating the Mitchell-Beale’s residence on Staten Island in the middle of the night. She had strongly believed that her former friends would at least be happy to see her again. But… she was mistaken.

“I think you should leave,” Aubrey chimed in as if she owned this place. 

“Is she paying you as her bodyguard or what?” Denise snapped angrily after being treated with such disrespect.

A pair of security people appeared from behind her and tugged her arm, but she swatted them away.

“Dude, leave, before I call the cops!” Beca threatened her.

“I need an interview with you. I fired my assistant for messing up my schedule all the time,” Denise said hurriedly, checking her calendar on her phone. Security latched onto her more firmly this time. “I will move my 2 p.m. appointment for you. Tomorrow. Deal?” 

“No!” Beca scoffed. “My schedule is completely booked this month. And to be honest, I don't want that interview with you.”

“Beca, is this how you treat a former Barden Bella sister?” Denise asked. “Is this for getting back at me? You guys never forgave me for switching to the BU Harmonics in college, did you?” 

“What does that have to do with anything right now?” Aubrey snapped, flabbergasted. “Get the fuck out and get some help, Denise. You must have a real chip on your shoulder because you're living in the past.”

“Wow, where's that coming from?” Denise asked, not believing what she'd been accused of.

“Hey guys. What's going on?” 

Another redhead, slightly shorter than the blonde Posen dyke, appeared from the backyard, carrying a stuffed trash bag in one hand and a broom in the other. Oblivious to the tension in the room as she had AirPods in her ears, she removed them and tucked them in her shirt pocket.

Until she met Denise’s eyes. And instantly recognized her.

“Denise?” the ginger said, the only person in the room greeting her with a genuine smile.

A chill crept up Denise’s spine. Her heart thumped rapidly. Her breath hitched.

A woman whom she hadn’t seen in over two decades because she was, by all accounts, deceased, bounded towards her. 

“Ch-Chloe?” Denise almost choked on her saliva. She dropped her laptop bag and briefcase as her arms turned to rubber, another thud indicated that her phone slipped from her fingers, too.

It couldn’t be… her. 

This woman lacked any visible signs of aging, and no makeup on earth could erase wrinkles, or crow's-feet, that well.

“What’s g-going on here?” She found her voice.

“Guys, did anything happen?” the familiar woman asked her gang of friends. Beca moved back to the redhead and tried to push her back into the next room. 

“Chlo, I got this,” Beca told the woman softly. “Denise was about to leave, anyway.”

“Oh no. I wanna know what kinda evil magic you demon dykes are doing," Denise seethed, "because your motherfuckin’ ass is supposed to be dead?” 

“Whoa, there! Put your tone on a leash!” Aubrey warned, her nostrils flaring. “You dated women before!”

“So, what? Or else you'd speak to my manager?” 

Denise glared back at this entitled, privileged bitch. Goodness, at least Denise managed to outgrow that “phase” of her life, turned it off and never looked back again. She should've told this blonde dyke this, but the commotion and soft muffled voices from next room caught her attention again.

Chloe-fucking-Beale was alive!

If Denise was first to get her hands on this story, she'd be swimming in money like Scrooge McDuck. She would finally be able to move out of that Hell hole she and Shingles were forced to live in.

While Denise was aware that her behavior was unprofessional as a journalist, she was also taken aback by the situation that these bitches were trying to hide from her—as if they didn't trust her. 

“Denise, leave now, I swear to God,” Aubrey stepped forward, trying to block the view of what was going on in the next room, “before I lose myself. GET OUT!”

“Yeah, fine! Ugh…” Denise picked up her stuff from the floor and scowled at the Posen-bitch and her pretend-husband, who had not uttered a single word. Must be a foreigner or a mute, Denise mused, because a handsome stud like him cannot be perfect.

“Hmmmph!” Denise reached into her briefcase. She fumbled for her tape recorder or anything to record this incident, not realizing that she literally had her phone in her hand. But she knew the snobby music producer wouldn’t consent to her and her family being recorded. 

Furthermore, Denise was unwilling to risk overstepping any lines. Thus, she left the premises when the security people escorted her.

“Don't touch me,” she fumed, shrugging their firm grasps off from her arms.

She needed to come back with a plan.

*

With the lights from the streetlamps dotting her face, Denise Reyes pulled out her phone again and began drafting out a very pissy entry for her newsletter, blogs, and every social media platform she had. 

“This isn’t even for me,” she mumbled to herself, “this is for society!”

But first, she needed coffee and to ring up her editor to work on this case.

ASAP.

Chapter Text

Beca Mitchell, you wound me.

Even if three of the original Barden Bellas aren't there, the group is still getting back together—for a reunion. 

This feels an awful lot like the same hypothetical question: Would the Beatles have carried on without John Lennon? No.  

Fresh off the back of finding out that my pet turtle has bipolar disorder—on top of his Shingles—I found myself uninvited to the latest Barden Bellas get-together.

How much stress can one woman endure?

Beca, help an aca-bitch out.

Work with me here.

Last spotted at a prestigious Café with her A&R representative in Manhattan, Beca Mitchell-Beale, famous record producer, seemed carefree and utterly in love.

What are you hiding?

~ Denise Reyes - Associated Press
 Editorial Division
 Hashtag Headlines

BECA

In a twenty-story Manhattan skyscraper, Beca Mitchell-Beale had her record label’s headquarters set up. Titanium Records, Inc. boasted a sleek and modern design with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered breathtaking views of the city. Her office was a spacious corner suite that exuded an air of prestige and success. 

A large mahogany desk and a comfortable seating area were designated for meetings with clients and artists, where a secretary served them ground coffee, an assortment of teas, soft drinks, and biscuits, or sandwiches. Beca’s personal touch was evident in the carefully curated artwork and music memorabilia displayed throughout, reflecting her passion for the industry. The natural light streaming in through the windows created an inviting and inspiring atmosphere, making it the perfect place for creative collaborations and strategic planning.

She lost count already on how many times she’d checked her phone for a reply from Chloe, who took their daughter to school. Not that she worried about Chloe’s driving skills, but it was her first time leaving the house since she came back home with them, and the first time driving around Staten Island—without security.

Beca felt her anxiety throb in her chest, her hand reaching for her phone again.

‘Text me if you get there.’

Beca (6:55 a.m.)

A knock on her office door startled Beca, making her jump. She placed her iPhone down and browsed her schedules on her computer for today, when she realized that Luke just walked in, carrying two coffee cups in one hand and a bag of bagels in the other. 

Beca felt guilty, since the last time she talked to him was at the party, which was a week ago. She realized that she had been avoiding him ever since, for not responding to his calls or messages.

“Good morning, milady,” Luke greeted her smugly. “I’m sorry for disturbing you so early.” He placed the cups on her desk and took a seat on the cushy chair before her, a smirk on his handsome face. “But because your first meeting isn’t until 9 a.m., I assumed you’d fancy having a quick breakfast with me?”

Beca squinted at the time at the bottom of her monitor screen, then opened a few files on her desktop.

“Sorry, Luke, I need to prepare for the interview with a huge radio station this afternoon, and the upcoming podcast interviews,” Beca said dismissively as she skimmed through a site for research.

“It’s just a small breakfast, Becs,” Luke argued gently, trying to convince her. 

“To be honest, I already had breakfast with my family earlier.” 

Beca tried to sound apologetic, her eyes shooting fleetingly in his direction without breaking her task as she researched the latest newcomer artists on famous social media platforms. She didn't have the nerves nor the energy to deal with him today.

“Oh, I didn’t know. Since you normally leave the house without anything in your stomach.” Very carefully, he pushed the cup of coffee across the table. “But you can have some coffee.”

“Uh… yeah, thanks.”

The silence between them felt awkward. Although things had changed between them, nothing felt final. They wanted one last chance to talk things out calmly before making a final decision about their relationship. 

But Beca had been preoccupied with family issues, particularly her “wife,” who insisted on taking their daughter to school today all by herself. Moreover, Chloe had argued that she didn’t want security when out shopping and having lunch with Flo and Jessica, since it would draw more attention to her. She reasoned that she had lived for thirty years without a bodyguard and was very capable of handling a few hours by herself in New York without messing it up.

“So, you got a moment to spare, though?” Luke asked from across the table before he sipped on his coffee and took a bite from his ham and cheese bagel.

Distracted, Beca reached for her phone again and sent her “wife” another text. Her hands were growing clammy, and her feet tapped nervously on the ground. What if the paparazzi chased Chloe around town, followed her to school, or harassed her by taking pictures? 

Knowing Chloe and how she’d deal with them, she’d probably panache her way through the paparazzi’s cameras or use kindergarten techniques by sticking her tongue out at them to infuriate them.

Still, Beca was worried.

‘Is everything okay, Chlo?
Did you find her school?’

Beca (7:20 a.m.)

Beca heaved a sigh and ran her hand over her face, looking straight into Luke’s eyes. As usual, and in keeping with how he always dealt with her personal disruptions, he stared at her as if nothing were out of the ordinary. As if the world stood still, so he could listen to whatever Beca had to say.

“I know we talked about this,” Beca started, “but I can't focus at the moment. You see, Chloe left the house for the first time today, and I’m worried she might get in trouble.”

“Did you finally set her free and allow her to live like a human?” Luke chuckled, hiding his grin behind his bagel. 

Beca’s mouth flew open in indignation; it was far too early for such jokes. “You make me sound like I’ve abducted my own wife and held her hostage.”

“She wasn’t allowed to leave the house for three weeks,” Luke merely stated with a casual shrug. “She’d been dead for fifteen years, only to be alive again, and get stuck in a house. That was a real case of 'out of the frying pan into the fire'.”

“Are you kidding me right now? I explained the situation to you, Luke. The paparazzi were after her. After our family. And I’m worried about our friends, too. I didn’t want to put her in danger and risk… and risk…”

“And risk losing her again,” Luke finished for her, “I get it.”

Beca dropped her gaze to her phone. It buzzed on her table. Immediately, she picked it up and read the message.

‘Relax, Bec’

Chloe (7:33 a.m.)

‘Where are you?’

Beca (7:33 a.m.)

“Listen,” Beca sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling irritation building, “we agreed to break up. You weren’t happy with how things were, and I’m glad you told me. I respect your feelings. But I can’t change the things that stand between us, Luke. Chloe is back in my life, and it means a lot to me. So, it means…”

“It means, you choose her.” Luke crumpled the bagel bag into a ball and finished his coffee. 

“She’s my daughter’s mother,” Beca reasoned lamely, giving him a small smile. 

“That’s all she is to you?”

Without regard for how rude she might come across, Beca checked her phone as soon as another text message rolled in.

‘Mission Accomplished.’

‘Just dropped off the package. XD’

Chloe (7:45 a.m.)

‘I got worried. Why didn’t you text me sooner?’

Beca (7:46 a.m.)

“Aw’right,” Luke said at last and picked up his trash like the gentleman that he was. “I’ll see you around, then, Ms. Mitchell-Beale.” With a sorrowful expression on his face, he got out of his chair and resumed the subordinate role he had held until recently. He straightened his upper body and held his chin up to stare outside the window, then back again onto Beca’s desk that had her family’s picture frame on it—it was one of herself with Chloe and their five-month-old daughter. 

Following his gaze, Beca stared back at him squarely, but she resisted the need to feel sympathy for the one dude she had let into her well-guarded heart before her late wife came back to her. 

Luke was very professional about their situation. Because they had discussed this beforehand—that, in the event they didn’t work out, they should still be able to work together professionally. “I have a couple of talent scouting appointments this morning, Ma’am, including one with a really promising songwriter I’ve been communicating with for the past few weeks.”

“Sounds good,” Beca said and smiled at him. “Send me their details later.”

“I think you already have them.” He returned a smile as he walked backward toward the door, clicking his tongue. "It's Emily Junk."

"Emily? My friend, Emily?" Beca blinked. She had no idea Emily was interested in working with Titanium Records. Why didn't she say something? "I'm baffled."

"I talked at the party with her. I didn't know it was the same client I had been in exchange with for weeks. Guess she wanted to impress with her talent rather than network her way into a job." Luke laughed. "Small world, indeed."

Once the door fell shut and Beca was finally able to gather her thoughts, another text rolled in, startling her once again. The message from her wife was only a reply to Beca’s earlier text, but it sent shivers down her spine all the same…

‘Did you want me to text and drive
 and get into an accident?’

Chloe (8:23 a.m.)

‘Too soon, Chloe...’

Beca (8:24 a.m.)

*

Titanium Records’ first-floor staff canteen served hot, freshly prepared meals daily. The menu featured a variety of options, including vegetarian and gluten-free dishes, catering to the diverse dietary preferences of the employees. Additionally, the dining hall had a cozy seating area where the staff could relax and socialize during their lunch breaks.

Around noon, Beca sat together with her PA, Sammy, and a couple of colleagues from other departments in the canteen. In the past few months, Luke had taken her out, or she would go to this department, so they could have lunch together in a diner. 

It felt less stressful now that she didn't have to worry about leaving her workplace and rescheduling meetings just because Luke wanted some privacy for them.

"They have chicken & dumplings on the menu." Sammy, a 22-year-old college dropout, who had been Beca's assistant for two years, commented with a wave of her hand, "I think I'll try that." 

After getting their meals and getting settled at a table, Sammy checked her phone. A thoughtful expression appeared on her face. 

"Yikes!"

"Didn't I tell you not to watch porn at work?" Beca remarked smugly, causing her colleagues, Robby—from Marketing and Promotions—and Betty—from the A&R department—to snicker. 

"Miss Beca, I just checked your emails," Sammy explained. "And this just came in!"

"Nuh-uh, I still have about–" Beca looked at her wristwatch, "6 minutes left of my break. Let me enjoy this, dude."

Sammy placed the phone down and tapped the table nervously. 

"The poor girl will pass out," Betty observed, her dark eyes full of concern. “How’s Chloe adapting, Beca? She should drop by again. I missed her. Is she working again?”

“No, not yet. Though she mentioned she’d like to return to work as a vet again or something else,” Beca replied.

Robby finished his second dessert after eating caramel pulled pork with French fries. How this guy can eat so much and not gain weight has always baffled Beca—ah, the wonders of well-functioning metabolism. While his wife and two daughters worked out twice a week to stay physically fit, they remained on the chubbier side. He once told Beca that only at work he could eat this much, as his family would go berserk on him for devouring whatever his heart desires.

“I don’t think I’ve eaten a better meal in days than this,” Robby grunted as he leaned back, rubbing his bloated belly. “My wife will suspect adultery if I return home feeling fulfilled.”

“Screw you, Rob. Wish I could eat more than this salad.” Betty pushed her empty bowl aside.

Beca, checking the time on the digital clock on the wall, turned to her PA. "What was it, Sam?"

The young woman then showed her boss the blog article. Authored by someone Beca knew from college a long time ago, who also just very recently had paid her a visit.

Denise Reyes.

*

CATHY

"Bells," Cathy shrieked very excitedly, her phone held up high as she waved for her best friend, "you'll never guess who commented on your picture! Hayden-fuckin'-Schmidt! The cutest guy at school. YAAAS!"

"Cool," Bella drawled, "what picture, though?"

"That pic of you on your first day of driving. Look!" 

[ripped88 left a comment] 'Nice.'

"He wrote like… one word, Cathy. Chillax," Bella retorted wryly, rolling her eyes as she continued to finish her sandwich. Clearly unimpressed.

"But he noticed you. I can only dream of him commenting on one of my Insta pics." Cathy let out a dreamy sigh. She took the seat beside Bella and unpacked her lunchbox, surprised when she found a very colorful meal in there—vegetables cut in various shapes, basil sprinkled omelet, and a bacon & cheese sandwich cut in triangles. "Wow. Chloe really went out of her way to prepare this."

"You now have two wonderful moms," Bella said cheerfully, showing genuine happiness for her. 

*

In the school's cafeteria, Cathy sat in the same spot with her closest friends where they usually sat—far away from the bullies but not too close to belong to the misfits and geeks. Her eyes wandered to the table with a group of seniors, Harvey among them and looking hot as fuck when he slurped on his milkshake and occasionally flicked his dark curls back. 

"... it's this classic Netflix series 'bout a guy, who's made of rubber and wants to become the king of the pirates…" Cosma talked animatedly about her latest obsession.

"The live action, season one of that series, first aired in 2023, with each episode lasting about an hour," Duncan elaborated, "and season nine will air this Fall. I'm so excited. Nami is a ten; still my fave character of all time."

"Really? What d'you guys think?" Cosma asked her friends.

Cathy Googled who they mean and looked up that character's picture. "Oh, she was cute in season one," she commented and showed Bella the picture. "What d'you think, Bells?"

Bella gave her a sideways glance, shrugging. "Dunno."

"Let me see?" Sherry leaned over the table and examined the picture. "Nice haircut. I like pink."

"I mean her face," Cathy clarified and squinted at the image to have a better view. "She's got a cute face. Right, Bells?"

"Seriously, I don't know. She looks nice, yeah. But so does the pirate guy." Bella was suddenly nervous and deflected the attention from her. "Anyway, you guys want to hang out after school?"

"Miss introvert, Bella Conrad, asking us to hang out?" Sherry teased, "vibe-check: has Hell frozen over? But sure. Let's go to Cathy. I was gonna ask her mom 'bout her work with Taylor Swift."

"Heh…" Bella dropped her head and flicked breadcrumbs from the table. "Can't we go check out Duncan's new Avatar girlfriend and hangout in Nevermelt?"

Cathy looked from Bella to their friends. "I'd love that. Duncan wanted us to meet Myrrhina a while ago." 

"Is that even her real name?" Cosma asked. "Myrrhina, he-he."

"As far as I know, Duncan named her that." Sherry retouched her makeup and gave a cheeky smile.

"Fine, to Nevermelt we go!" Cathy announced. 

Sherry, Duncan, and Cosma discussed a few shows on streaming platforms and which of them were worth binge-watching, while Bella listened to their friends absently. 

Cathy nudged her best friend's side, making Bella jump. 

"Oh, God! What?" 

"Can we talk?" Cathy asked her timid friend. 

"Yah, what's up?" 

"Not here."

They quickly finished their lunch and excused themselves from their friends. 

*

As they walked together, Cathy eyed the slightly taller Conrad girl warily. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was off with her best friend since the party. She was way too quiet for Cathy's liking—or, quieter—than usual. More withdrawn.

"Bells, by the way," she said, ecstatic, pulling out her phone and browsing her photo gallery, "here's that snap of my mom in a bikini where her tattoo is visible."

Bella's face blushed, her gaze focused ahead. "I don't want to see it, Cathy. It's fine."

"You sure? She must be about thirty in this picture, like Chloe's age now. Look."

Bella swatted her phone and turned her head away. "Dude, seriously, I don't want to see it. That's Aunt Beca—your mom. Show a little respect," she snapped.

Cathy furrowed her brows, irritated at her best friend's behavior. "It's actually a picture of a cat, Bells. Like I have nudes of my mom on my phone…" Cathy let out a long sigh and tucked her phone away. 

Bella's face was still flushing crimson, she grunted in annoyance.

"You being so sus lately." Cathy said. "Are you mad at me?"

"Ugh, no, of course not." Bella smiled softly at her. "This isn't about you, Silly. I'm just tired, is all."

"Okay." Cathy took a deep breath. She might as well bite the bullet. "Look, Duncan likes Avatars. My moms probably like men and women equally, but hopefully still love each other. And I like Harvey, and that's all cool, y'know?" 

"Um…"

"Just saying that whoever you like, it's all cool, Bella. Whether guys or… girls."

"Oh, God! Who told you? Did Chloe tell you?" 

"What?!"

"How did you know, then?"

"Girl, c'mon," Cathy chuckled, "you've had a crush on my mom since we were thirteen. As if I didn't notice."

"OH MY GOD! You never told me that you knew?!" They stopped walking, Bella looking at her in utter mortification. Her whole face turned beet-red.

"I, uh, well, I didn't think it was gross or something,” Cathy said nonchalantly. “Since I have two moms."

"Cathy, God, that's your mother I had a weird crush on. You should be disgusted with me!"

"Dude, you always treated her with respect, and she loves you like her own daughter. If that's how you're showing your affection to someone who means something to you, then your future girlfriend will be some lucky bitch."

"Thank… you, I guess. God, how embarrassing." Bella, face flushed, dropped her head into her hands, as if to hide and become invisible this way.

"I'm your best friend, Homeskillet. Embarrassing you is literally my job." Cathy burst out laughing.

"I hate you!" Bella grumbled and shoved her playfully.

They giggled.

"Besides, there's someone else I like now," Bella, after she somewhat recovered from this humiliation, admitted after some reluctance. Her low voice barely broke through the chatter and rumble of the other students in the hallway.

Cathy bounced up and down excitedly. "Gawwd, who? Tell me, tell me, tell me!" 

"Since Chloe is single, you think she'll go out with me sometime?" 

Cathy's jaw dropped. "WHAT THE FUCK? You’re having a crush on my other mother now? What on Earth is wrong with you?"

"You didn't mind when it was Aunt Beca." Bella shrugged, suppressing a smirk. 

"But that's gross, dude! Chloe is my biological mother… That's… incestuous!"

“What, no? I'm not related to her.”

Cathy's lips quivered, tears stung in her eyes. She was speechless, and she couldn't explain why this hurt her much more.

“I was kidding! I never thought I could freak you out like this!” Bella threw her head back and laughed from the top of her lungs, earning a couple of playful punches from Cathy. 

“You can't do this to me, like, bruh! You're like my sister. My mothers are off-limits from now on!" 

“You think either of them would ever go out with an underage teen?” Bella rolled her eyes. “They'd go to jail!”

*

"D'you find Chloe pretty?" Cathy asked curiously, feeling smug all of a sudden and wanting to retaliate and get even with the Conrad nerd. 

"From a neutral standpoint?" Bella asked, genuinely contemplating this question. "Yeah."

"Like, attractive and cute?"

"Hmm… I guess, yeah?" Bella replied nonchalantly.

Cathy flung her curly red locks over her right shoulder and wiggled her long lashes at her best friend. "And does she remind you of someone?" she asked teasingly, hiding her playful giggle behind her notebook.

"Not that I know of… why?" 

"Seriously? She doesn't remind you of someone you know?" 

"She reminds me of Black Widow, I guess. Bet she looks sexy in black leather and armor." Somewhat aloof, Bella flipped through her textbook as they sat down on their respective seats. "Why?"

"Ugh. Never mind." 

Bored as she was and still having time before their teacher arrived, Cathy checked her social media feed. Her fingers scrolled through the comment section of the last video she'd uploaded on BirdieTalk. Most of the comments gave her validation that she got talent in singing; it made her smile and a little proud, too.

But then she came across the posts she'd been tagged in by a user who recently started following her. Cathy's brows furrowed as she skimmed through the comments…

“Incredible vocals from the daughter of
legendary record producer Beca Mitchell-Beale.
And yet, her own mother appears to be too blind
to perceive the budding prodigy who is right under her nose.”
 ~ DeniseReyes_journalist@BirdieTalk  

“I must speak with this girl’s mother, who has returned
from the grave. Sorcery, of course, was responsible for
the kid’s extraordinary singing ability.”
  ~ DeniseReyes_journalist@BirdieTalk

“What’s wrong with you?
 Maybe her mother doesn’t want her in the spotlight.
 Leave the kid alone!”
  ~ stuck_in_pylea@BirdieTalk

“U rock! Dat voice amazin!”
 ~ hauntingClouds@BirdieTalk

“Not bad”
 ~ anonymous@BirdieTalk

“The teen’s own mother, a music producer and label
owner in New York City, hasn’t caught on to
her daughter’s skill. That’s all witchcraft,
according to my sources.”
 ~ DeniseReyes_journalist@BirdieTalk

“More! Sing more covers, girl!”
 ~ brilliant_brun3tt3@BirdieTalk

“Do me a favor, Chloe Mitchell-Beale, and leave
your fortified house to meet with me for an
interview. Your dearest friend.”
 ~ DeniseReyes_journalist@BirdieTalk

Before Cathy could show the comments to Bella, their teacher walked into the classroom. He slammed his briefcase on the table and demanded the class to return to their seats and be quiet.

"It's time for a pop quiz," he announced.

*

Duncan's bedroom was in the basement. The floor was made of hardwood, rustic style with cool neutral colors, in red, white, and some black. In front of his flat screen TV laid a gamer-style carpet, several quirky artwork and oversized wall decor were hung along the wall, movie posters of the 2009, 2022, and 2025 "Avatar" franchise. An open wardrobe with baskets. His desk, scattered with an unfinished Lego model of the iconic Millennium Falcon.

Duncan had his own mini fridge, behind it laid hidden his secret stash of cheap beer his older brother got him, though his female friends didn’t drink beer. And Duncan had no male friends he hung out with.

He took over the room when his older brother went to college last year.

Cathy and Bella were chilling on the couch while Cosma was plopped down in front of his bookshelves, examining the manga comic covers. Sherry sat on the office chair and flipped through some issues of the MAXIM Magazine.

Since Duncan's mother had insisted that he get his guests snacks and soft drinks, he dropped by the grocery store, grunting in annoyance as he left. 

“I have no idea who that is,” Cathy told Bella while they browsed the comments below her vids on both TikTok and BirdieTalk.

“Maybe just a troll on the internet.” Bella sighed. She tapped the profile of the username, then read the description below the picture. “She’s legit a journalist. Check out her blogs. She’s from Atlanta… Dunno why her name rings a bell, though. Hmm…”

“If my mom finds out about this, I don’t know what she’ll do.”

“This is bordering on cyberstalking and harassment of a minor. I’d report or block her if I were you,” Bella suggested. “But take screenshots of her nasty comments first, in case you need to sue her.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Kitty-cat,” Sherry called for her attention, a MAXIM magazine on her lap. As she smirked at the cover, then back to Cathy, she held it up and said, “Did you know that your mom is on the 2023 issue?”

Bella’s face turned a bright shade of crimson, which she tried to conceal by coughing into her fist. Cathy gasped in utter disbelief upon seeing her mother, emblazoning the front cover. 

“WHAT?! I didn’t know!” Cathy shrieked and went to see it up close. Bella scrambled right behind her as Cathy took it in her hands to examine it, to read the headlines across the front page. “New York’s Rising Star, Beca Mitchell-Beale—The Sky’s The Limit.”

Only a black lacy bra, a white unbuttoned shirt concealing her shoulders, and hot pants—which she tugged down slightly to reveal the lace of her panties—covered her mom’s entire body. Cathy grimaced while inspecting the overall photo and concluded that her mother, as the model, struck a very seductive pose for her liking while staring bedroom-eyed into the camera. 

She didn't know this side of her mom. She gagged at the image, but before she could drop the magazine like a hot potato, it got snatched out of her hands.

“This is… outrageous!” Bella exclaimed, infuriated, and took the magazine from Cathy’s hands. “You should talk to Duncan about this!”

“Maybe he didn’t know?” Cosma said in his defense, who was still sitting by the manga comics.

“Maybe the issues are from his older brother?” Cathy speculated, and watched as Bella rolled the magazine up. “Uh, Bells?”

“Leave it with me for safekeeping,” Bella offered, still flushed-faced but determined, pointing the rolled up magazine at Cathy’s face. “You can’t trust anybody these days!”

“Sure, Bells…” Cathy sighed and rolled her eyes.

*

After Duncan returned with loads of snacks, and his mother fixed them sandwiches and milkshakes, they all settled in front of his gaming console by the TV.

They put their 3D goggles on and entered the fantasy world of Nevermelt.

Landing in a landscape dominated by white dust and dotted with white mountains and hills, Cathy was immediately transported back to her vacation to Switzerland with her mother when she was twelve years old. The crisp, cool air and the faint scent of pine brought back vivid memories of their hikes through the Swiss Alps. As she gazed at the vast expanse before her, Cathy couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. Except that in this fantasy world, the freezing temperature didn’t affect their bodies.

Nevermelt was a free-roaming MMORPG in which players can adopt personalized roles of various characters (or “Avatars”) and interact with one another in a fantastical setting. Users can also generate their companion to interact with in a variety of ways, including sharing experiences, exploring the open-world environment, and forming romantic relationships or long-lasting friendships.

At some point, Duncan summoned his girlfriend, who he mentioned he'd spent hours and days to create. He was very proud of his work. 

And when she finally appeared in front of the girls, Cathy's eyes bulged when she looked from the pretty avatar girl to her best friend, who stood shyly beside her.

They were approached by a tall, slender Avatar girl with long, wavy brown hair and a timid grin. Her go-to outfit was a baggy button-up shirt paired with skinny black, ripped jeans, and high black boots.  With her teal-colored complexion set aside, Cathy noticed that the Avatar reminded her of someone in particular.

And it wasn’t just Cathy who noticed this.

“OH EM double GEE!” Sherry squealed, giggling hysterically as she pointed at the Avatar-girl, “Duncan’s avatar girlfriend looks like our Baby Bells.”

“Sweet Jesus!” Cosma’s jaw dropped. 

“WTF?” Cathy laughed. “Deadass got caught in 4k, Snowflake?”

“N-No, she doesn’t…!” Duncan, red-faced and all, looked mortified. He motioned for the avatar girl to disappear, but the game was glitching, so she merely smiled at him and called him a stud. “Th-that’s not true! She doesn’t look like Bella!”

“Uh?” Bella uttered. “I don’t see it, either. They’re only messing with you.”

“No, just look. The army green, long-sleeved shirts, the ripped, black skinny jeans?” Sherry burst out in more laughter, dropping back, and holding her belly. “The same earrings. OHMYGOD!”

“No cap, Duncan, aww… you’re low-key into real girls.” Cosma remarked teasingly, snickering behind the controller she held in front of her mouth. 

Bella’s cheeks were beet-red.

“We… had no idea, homie.” Cathy nudged Bella’s side. “Got yourself a secret admirer, huh?”.

“You guys are so mean!” Bella huffed, coming to Duncan’s defense. “Maybe he created us all… right, Duncan?”

“Uhmmmm…” the blush on Duncan’s face deepened, seeping up behind his neck. His dark blue eyes blinked with some guilt, betraying him. “Yeah… I saved ‘em somewhere, man. Can’t find ‘em now. Maybe next time.”

“Not sure if that’s cringe as fuck, or super sweet,” Cathy said and placed an arm around Bella’s shoulder, teasing her by poking her side. “But I’m shipping it.”

*

[1.2k likes]

[337 comments]

Denise_Reyes
 commented: The mother of this kid is a reputable music producer in real life, but fails to recognize her daughter’s skills. Surely, she isn’t that talented.

Denise_Reyes
 commented: I must speak with this girl’s recently resurrected mother. 

Denise_Reyes

commented: I used to sing in collegiate a cappella before; we won the championship before. This is atrocious. 

fantastic_beast20

replied to Denise_Reyes: Some people being trolls for attention. Shut up, Denise! If you don't like her TikTok, then unfollow her.

“Check out Denise’s new comments on your TikTok,” Bella said and held her phone in front of Cathy. “That woman’s so unrelenting!” For a second, Bella’s face scrunched up as if she remembered something. “Wait… Now I know. Denise. Denise Reyes. She came to your place after the party. That journalist.”

“Really?” Cathy puffed out air, her eyes narrowing to tiny slits. “That woman my mom had thrown out?”

“Yeah. That’s her.” Bella scratched her head. “Can’t believe she’s doing this. Just to get to your mothers.”

“Shucks. But man, whatever wets her harbor.”

They spent some time together on a park bench close to Bella's house while Cathy waited for Chloe to pick her up.

As Cathy took her friend’s phone, a few text messages popped up on the screen. 

‘Didn’t mean to be a freak.’
‘Sorry.’
‘We cool, bruh?’

Duncan (4:45 p.m.)

“Aww, your Romeo just texted,” Cathy wooed, snickering in amusement as she rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. 

Bella didn’t look affected as she snatched her phone from Cathy’s hand. “I told him not worry about it. He’s making this more awkward now,” she grumbled.

“Ohh, so you’ve been texting with him this whole time?” 

“Yeah, we’ve been texting and video-calling, but it’s nothing unusual, since we discuss a couple of video games together that we both enjoy,” Bella explained matter-of-factly. She crossed her legs and propped her elbow on her knee, staring off into the distance.

“No wonder you’ve been ignoring me lately, since you been busy with your new lover,” Cathy teased, acting jealous and indignant.

“Bruh… He’s not my new lover.” Bella rolled her eyes. 

“D’you think he’s cute, though?” Cathy asked out of curiosity and leaned back against the bench. 

“Uhh, that’s hard to tell,” Bella said contemplatively. “I’ve known him since he was a nasty little brat who smeared gum in my hair when we were in preschool. Or pulled my chair back, and I hit my head.”

“Poor Duncan when he ‘accidentally’ tripped and lost a few of his front baby teeth, though,” Cathy sniggered evilly as she rubbed her hands together.

Bella giggled and swatted Cathy’s arm. “Girl, you got in trouble by your mom for hurting another kid. But I remember that even though my mom didn’t tolerate that behavior, either, she took us both to the Aqua Park, and we had so much fun.”

“Yeah. Aunt Stacie got me ice cream with extra sprinkles.” Cathy cast her gaze into the distance, watching people go about their daily routine and activities, such as that middle-aged man walking his bulldog or a young woman jogging while pushing a baby stroller in front of her. There was another woman in a trench coat, sitting on a bench while reading a book. As the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something felt unsettling, but Cathy couldn’t put a finger on it. She tore her eyes off the dark-haired woman and smiled at her best friend. “Since Duncan isn’t that nasty little boy anymore, do you think he’s cute, though?”

“Cat, we both grew up with him,” Bella reminded her, bumping Cathy with her shoulder, “he’s like a brother. A bro. A homie. A bro-mie,” she giggled.

“You meant, your Bro-meo?” Cathy teased and burst out laughing; Bella swatted her thigh.

“You’re a dork.”

After a short pause, Cathy went on, “Bells, um, and you wouldn’t develop romantic feelings for anybody you shared a childhood with?” she prodded, chuckling awkwardly as she had no idea what she was out for.

“Nuh, that shit’s weird,” Bella said. “I’m not saying that I don’t think Duncan got rizz—on the contrary,” she added in an afterthought, ocean-green eyes glistening in the sun as Bella scrunched her nose up to consider a notion, “but it would be weird to date someone who’s like a sibling to me.”

“Yeah,” Cathy chuckled, “totes weird, right?”

*

CHLOE 

When Chloe waited while the food was cooking in the oven, she found Cathy lounging on the couch and browsing her phone. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight, grateful for the peaceful moment amidst the chaos of the party preparations. She took a deep breath, knowing that she would soon have to jump back into the hustle and bustle to ensure everything was ready on time. 

Curious about what her daughter was so focused on, she peered over her shoulder to see that she was engrossed in scrolling through blog articles. 

“Wow, I don’t recognize that platform,” she commented. “Is that Tumblr?”

Cathy quirked a brow at her, giggling. “What the heck is Tumblr?”

Chloe hummed thoughtfully. “Well, it’s a social media platform where you create blogs and design profiles to showcase your interests and talents.” She released a long sigh. “I never got it, either. So, what’s that?”

"There are a few more social media platforms now than there used to be over ten years ago… look!" Cathy explained to Chloe, who sat beside her on the couch in the living room and listened with genuine interest. Her daughter's face gleamed with pure joy as she explained the functionalities of her–in Chloe's eyes–a futuristic gadget and the importance of social media.

Cathy sifted through her smartphone's content, which was displayed on a 13-inch, high-definition, 3D projection screen. She switched from one application to the other, by swiping in the air, as though turning a book's pages. "Uh, wow! I got over 2,300 new followers overnight. How's that possible?"

"What does that mean?" Chloe asked her daughter. 

"My account has either been hijacked, or they are all pornbots, or… well, they also hit up my inbox; not checkin' that now. The number of views on my latest TikTok video has increased, too." Cathy showed her a video where she sang the song, “Landslide” in front of the bathroom mirror of what looked like a hotel suite. She was pretty talented, her melodic tones filled the closed space that amplified the sound of her voice. It was obvious that she was Beca’s daughter, too. 

Cathy blinked at her screen, where she showed Chloe the number of followers increased with each ticking second and continued to climb rapidly. She seemed surprised as to what had caused this sudden surge in popularity. "What in the name of Grimsbane is happening?" 

"What?" Chloe asked, snickering at the familiar name. "Grimsbane?"

Cathy looked at her, smiling smugly. "Yeah, our archenemy, when I was little. Mom and I used to play fort, and Sir Grimsbane was an evil sorcerer monkey that we defeated in combat."

Chloe laughed. "Mr. Grimsbane was your mom's Biology teacher in junior year in high school," she said cheekily, "She told me before that he resembled an evil monkey because of his hairy face. He scolded Beca a lot for sleeping in, like all the time."

"Oh, Sir Grimsbane is based on a real person?" Cathy dropped her jaw, flabbergasted. 

"Yeah. Your mom didn't tell you?"

"No, I thought we made him up…"

"If your mom still has her high school yearbook, I can show you his picture," Chloe whispered conspiratorially behind her hand, winking at the awestruck teenager who was so much her mirror image. 

“I’ll get it from the attic next time,” Cathy whispered back, giggling behind her hand.

They both looked behind them toward Beca, whose eyes narrowed as she continued to browse her laptop, seemingly unfazed by their curious glances. 

“Dudes, what?” She shook her head, smirking to herself, as Chloe and Cathy kept giggling mischievously. “Chlo, I swear to God, if you’re teaching our daughter dirty jokes, I’m gonna have to ground you again.” 

“Aww…” Chloe’s smile turned upside down. “You meanie!” 

*

BECA

"So, what's your plan for your anniversary?" Cathy asked her mothers when they had dinner together. 

Chloe's cheeks blushed, which she hid behind her wine glass, a playful smirk plastered on her face. While Beca almost choked on her roast beef.

"We're not celebrating that, Sweetie," Chloe told her daughter on Beca's behalf, "since we're no longer married. And I'm sure your mom's boyfriend wouldn't like the idea if she spent her time with someone else." Chloe cleared her throat and picked in her mashed potatoes, a soft smile on her face. 

"Why do you always bring him up?" Beca snapped.

*

“So,” Chloe started after they finished having dinner. Cathy immediately excused herself as she was going to meet up with her friends online for an ‘urgent meeting.’ “When can our daughter start her driving lessons? It’s about time, and I think she’s ready.”

“Oh, my fuckin’ God,” Beca groaned in frustration while she cleaned up the table, “are you on me now? Or is this you trying to suck up to her?”

“I’m not sucking up to her,” Chloe snapped, “she doesn’t know that I’m having this conversation with you. But, I think you ought to reconsider. I totally understand what you have endured since you lost me. But it’s time to lay the pain to rest, Beca.” She smiled warmly at her. 

“This isn’t easy for me, Chlo,” Beca breathed out. 

“Look, I’ve been given a second chance at life, so it’s time for you to move on from the past now. Let our daughter grow up. Let her drive around town and experience the struggle of driving during rush hour herself,” Chloe giggled, trying to ease the tension. “I don’t want her to end up like some bitter woman when she’s thirty: single, begging her mothers for money, and wasting her life away in front of the television.”

Beca dropped her gaze to the table. She didn’t want this for Cathy, either. Despite their daughter’s self-confidence and stubbornness, she deserves the chance to achieve success in life without having one of her mothers to stand in her way.

“We can talk to the school’s principal together,” Beca suggested, “and sign her permit for driver’s ed.”

“Thank you.”

Squealing happily, Chloe walked up to Beca and pecked her cheek, causing them both to blush.

“Don’t… mention it,” Beca chuckled awkwardly and cleared her throat.

Nope, this didn’t take her off-guard at all. But that goofy smile on her face lasted for some time.

*

"I'd like to have sex."

Beca, very slowly, turned her head to look at Chloe. 

"What, now?" 

Chloe scoffed and rolled her eyes. "God, not with you. I mean, I'd like to go on a date and y'know…" she tried to explain as if she was asking for permission, "it's been a long time and I miss being physically intimate with someone."

"You want to meet other people?" Beca asked just to clarify that she understood this woman correctly. 

"Beca, you have a boyfriend. You can have your fun with him. I’ve accepted that we aren’t  married anymore. So, since I'm single, I'd like to mingle." Chloe placed her chin on her palm. She stared directly into Beca's eyes. "I'm not asking for permission, Bec. I just… I need you to understand that I need some… normality in my life."

"And sex with a stranger is what you consider… normality… in your life?"

"Jeez, now you're being judgmental? I'm a woman with urges, too. You're the one with a boyfriend," Chloe huffed and scowled at her. Her cheeks turned flushed with anger. She walked to the kitchen to clean up. 

Beca stormed after her. The thought of Chloe contemplating meeting other people she could hook up with irritated Beca to her core so much that she felt a blinding rage inside. She ran her hand through her hair to compose herself.

"The world out there is different now, Chlo, it's not like in 2019, where dating happens via Zoom," Beca said, trying to be calm about the notion of Chloe wanting to sleep with someone else. 

"I'm very confident that I can take care of myself."

"I, uh… Jesus, Chloe. But you should be prepared and not get plunged into ice-cold water…"

"Bec, to me… our last date together was a little over a month ago. It was the best thing ever. And I miss having that kind of experience…" Chloe said ruefully as she rinsed off the pots, not looking at Beca. "I understand I can't have that with you anymore because you have–" 

"Go out with me," Beca interrupted her. 

Chloe's face snapped in her direction. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," Beca sighed, "go out with me. I mean, um… you need to be prepared for your dates. It's not the same as it used to be over a decade ago."

"Wouldn't that be a little weird?" Chloe asked skeptically. She stopped what she was doing and watched as Beca took a tea towel to dry off the rinsed pots. "Since you're in a relationship. I don't need preparations, Bec. It's cute that you care, but seriously… I'm sure I can adjust."

"Will you go out with me or not?" Beca demanded more firmly now.

Cathy walked into the kitchen, stacked dirty plates on the counter, then loading them into the dish washer. "Oh, my God!" she squealed giddily as she pulled her mothers into a group-hug. "You guys are going on a date? I'm so excited."

"Um… but…"

"Your mommy didn't say 'yes', sorry to disappoint you, Sweetie," Beca groaned, guilt-tripping Chloe with a smirk. 

Cathy looked expectantly at Chloe, her hands folded together in front of her. 

"But…" Chloe's mouth hung open as she first met Beca's eyes, then her daughter's. "Fine. It's a date, then."

Beca beamed and high-fived Cathy. 

"I'm so excited!" Cathy squeaked happily.

"This weekend, then. It's my only available schedule." 

"Yeah, are you sure?" Chloe asked, somewhat reluctant, "This weekend, you say?" 

"Yes, this weekend. I'm looking forward to it."

"Oh, my God, Mom," Cathy exclaimed, her bright blue eyes sparkling with joy and excitement. She took Beca's hands into her own, "We need to go shopping." 

*

"This is like a déjà-vu for me," Beca said uneasily when she stared across the table at her "date." Except the last time she went out with this same woman, they were still married and head over heels for each other. Well, Beca still loved her, but she wasn't sure about Chloe's feelings for her.

And she didn't want to entertain the thought of what happened after their dinner date all those years ago. She shook off that sense of unease that threatened to creep up from the pit of her stomach, triggering her anxiety once again.

She stared outside the window—cars and pedestrians passing by, an ordinary, uneventful evening in New York City. The city lights illuminated the bustling streets, casting a warm glow on the faces of those walking by. She felt a warm, comforting hand brushed the top of her own, making Beca turn her gaze back to Chloe.

“A penny for your thoughts?” she said with a chirp, her smile weary, not realizing that Beca was fighting back painful memories. Beca jerked her hand back and hid her trembling hands below the table, out of Chloe’s sight. “Sorry, old habits die hard…” Chloe bit on her bottom lip, then reached for her wine glass instead.

"No, Chlo, it's just… it’s been a while," she said, taking a sip of her water.

“What do you mean?”

Beca took a deep breath and released it through her nose, a crooked smile on her face. “I mean, it’s been a while since I last went on a… date.” 

“I thought you just started dating again not so long ago?” Chloe smiled, cocking her head to the side.

Beca laughed awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She nervously tapped the table, eyes scanning the interior of the fancy restaurant. “I meant, a date with you, Chlo. I’m just a bit nervous.”

Chloe gave her a strained smile. “I… understand, but don’t be,” she said coquettishly as she twirled a loose curl around her fingers, “besides, this isn’t your first date with me.”

Dropping her gaze to the table, Beca countered, refusing to relax, “but it’s the first in fifteen years.”

“You never had hookups?" Chloe dared to ask. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer, her voice dripping with that familiar playfulness Beca had always loved about this woman. 

“You really want to know?” She arched an intimidating brow at Chloe, a grin tugging at her lips.

Chloe shrugged and forced out a comprehending smile. “I’m curious. Why not?”

“There were a few,” Beca admitted regretfully, “But I’ve never dated anybody else until… well, I was ready again.”

“You haven’t dated anybody in fifteen years…” Chloe gulped, a look of astonishment on her face, “Until British Hotbody came into your life, huh?” she concluded, like in the old days, she was playful, reminiscent of the carefree laughter and joy that once enveloped their lives, from friends, to lovers, to married couple. “I’m kidding, Bec. I’m happy for you and—”

“We broke up.”

“What?”

“We broke up…” Beca repeated, meeting Chloe’s sky-blue irises for the first time this evening, “last week. I ended it.”

“Oh… I don’t know what to say, Bec,” Chloe said, coughing in her fist to hide that little smile threatening to form on her lips. “What happened, though? You seemed legit happy.”

“It didn’t work out. We’re colleagues, I mean, he works for me and… it wouldn’t have worked out in the long run…” Beca said, her shoulders sagged, “I didn’t tell you sooner because there’s been a lot of things going on recently…”

“I totally understand that.” Chloe tucked another curl behind her ear; she seemed at a loss for words regarding the news, struggling to express her emotions. Her eyes darted around the restaurant, searching for the right words to convey her feelings. “Beca,” she hesitated, “I hope my return didn’t ruin your life...”

“It didn’t!” Beca said quickly, reassuringly. She reached out to touch Chloe’s hand on the table. The first time she initiated physical contact with her. “Chlo, you didn’t ruin my life,” she scoffed, smiling affectionately at her, “You were the only one who could fix it.”

*

As the evening progressed, they made more eye contact with each other and began to engage in light-hearted conversation, sharing stories and laughter. The initial awkwardness dissipated, creating a comfortable atmosphere between them that Beca had missed so much.

Shortly after Beca's return from the restroom, she sat down beside Chloe and playfully teased her about whether she would mind. After all, she needed to talk to her about some personal issues that she didn't feel comfortable discussing out loud from across the table.

Chloe rolled her eyes, nudging Beca to the side. “Geez! Just admit you wanted to be close to me, Beca Mitchell!”

“It’s Beca Mitchell-Beale,” she corrected, pinching Chloe’s side, which caused her to squeal.

“But technically,” Chloe said gently, “we’re not married anymore.”

“But I kept my name, so…” She sneered.

“Have you decided on your meal, Ma’am?” A waiter in his early twenties appeared by their table, dark hair combed back neatly into a tight ponytail, startling them.

“Yes, could you recommend something good from the menu?” Beca asked the young man.

Chloe tried to stifle an audible gasp while turning the pages of the menu card, whispering to Beca behind her hand. “Can we even afford these meals? Gosh! $28.00 for tenderloin steak?!”

“Chlo, for the hundredth time," Beca chuckled, "ignore the prices and order anything you want.”

*

“So, I went shopping with Cathy the other day,” Chloe said as she enjoyed her juicy spareribs, “you spoiled her.”

Beca raised a brow at her while cutting her tenderloin steak. “How?” 

“She didn’t let me get clothes from the resale shop, where I saw some fancy items for 10-20% off when we passed it. And she didn’t know what a resale shop was.”

“Oh. No, she and her friends don’t shop there because Cathy and Bella barely find clothes in slim sizes,” Beca explained. “Also, the credit card I gave you wouldn’t have worked there, Chlo.”

“No?” Chloe asked. “Why not? Is it restricted?” 

“It’s not accepted. And they would look weirdly at Costco or K-Mart at you if you paid with your credit card for a $3 shirt.” Beca shook her head.

Chloe pulled out her wallet to check her credit card and only now noticed the logo with her name on it. “You gave me an AmEx Centurion® Card?” She dropped her voice and spoke behind her hand. “Holy crap, the Black Card, you have to be invited to get one! B-But, Beca, I don’t need this to pay for groceries.”

Beca laughed.

*

“I talked to Aubrey the other day…”

“So, Aubrey heard about Denise, too?” Chloe asked. “Stacie and Flo told me. I had no idea. I’m not familiar with all the high-tech social media stuff,” she groaned. “I feel old.”

Beca rolled her eyes at her. “Seriously?”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“She’s cyberbullying our daughter, just to rile us up.” Beca gritted her teeth in anger. “This is unbelievable.”

“I can’t believe Denise is behind all this.” Chloe groaned, reflecting Beca’s confusion over a former Bella sister causing them harm. “What do we do now—report her to the police? We got to do something. Maybe I can meet with Denise and talk to her in person?”

“No fucking way you’re doing that, Chlo.” Beca snapped. She pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes scanning their surroundings. She might have a plan, but it was risky. “I’ll try to think of something…”

*

After they finished their meals, they each ordered their favorite desserts. Beca noticed that Chloe looked deep in thought while she fidgeted with the wedding band that had once sealed their union. She hadn’t touched her crème brulée yet, which she usually devoured in record time.

“Hey,” Beca nudged her side, “why so quiet? You finally shutting up is not something I’m complaining about, but it’s freaking me out.”

“Bec?” Chloe mumbled, “why do you think all this… happened?”

Despite her general inability to recognize subtle differences, Beca immediately grasped what Chloe meant.

“I’ve always believed in Heaven, you know? And in God’s plan,” Chloe said, reaching for her spoon and poking the sugary surface of her dessert, “but if I died, why did I come back to life?”

“Maybe it wasn’t God’s plan for you to ascend to the Afterlife because there’d be no point,” Beca guessed. “I have no idea. I’ve never thought about that before. All I’ve ever cared about, after you were gone, is that…” she swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath, “that our daughter doesn’t lose both parents.”

Chloe took Beca’s hand into hers, tears welling in her eyes as she looked at her. “I’m grateful that you survived, and not me. I wouldn’t have handled losing you, Beca. I wouldn’t have been strong enough.”

“Hey, shhh, don’t say that,” Beca said softly, interlacing their fingers and squeezing Chloe’s hand. She felt a lump in her throat that she tried to force down. “I struggled mentally through those first few years, but I had to pull through for our daughter’s sake. All of our friends and families, especially Aubrey, Stacie, and others, were there for Cathy and me. I know I wasn’t always a good mother to her, but I tried the best I could.”

“You did more than just ‘try your best,’ silly,” Chloe laughed, kissing the back of Beca’s hand.

Beca’s cheeks flushed. “You know, maybe your purpose of being here is to evaluate if I did my job right as a mother,” she joked, tears suddenly streaming down her face. She wiped them away, feeling embarrassed for shedding tears so openly in a public place.

Chloe giggled, squeezing back Beca’s hand. “You passed with flying colors,” she said, beaming.

In a dramatic gesture, Beca swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. With a sigh of relief and a giggle, she said, “Phew!”

When she first went out with Chloe many, many years ago, she felt exactly like this—with butterflies in her belly and feeling giddy like an idiot.

For an instant, everything stopped as their gazes met. Beca felt her heart jackhammering violently in her chest.

“God,” Chloe whispered, “I’d really like to kiss you.” Her eyes drifted down to Beca’s lips. “Is it weird if—”

Beca moved forward and gently kissed her, taking in the softness of her wife’s lips on her own. How heavenly she smelled, she used the same perfume she’d used all those years ago. The warmth and softness of her skin as she cradled her face.

When she withdrew, Chloe’s smile grew.

“Happy Anniversary, Chloe.”

*

Beca took off work early to go see Aubrey and Chicago. She called Chloe on her way there and told her she needed to meet with the couple privately and that she’d be back soon. Chloe didn’t mind and asked Beca if it was okay if she spent time with Cathy after school and if they could go to the mall together.

“Chlo, Jesus!” laughed Beca in amusement as she clutched the steering wheel tightly, “why are you asking me for permission? She’s your daughter, too.”

“I know,” Chloe whined, “I only asked in case you were serious about her being grounded.”

“She’s not grounded. I mean, you took the responsibility for her actions. So, you’ll get the punishment instead,” Beca teased, smirking even if Chloe didn’t see her face.

Chloe giggled, her voice playful and flirtatious. “Oh, Bec. I can’t wait.”

Beca laughed. “See you later.”

“Bye. I love you,” Chloe said and ended the call.

Beca was rendered speechless for the remainder of her drive to the Walps' residence.

*

“Take this, Beca,” Chicago said assuredly Beca looked over her shoulders and then in every direction. Her security guards remained unmoved, guarding her in every direction.

She twitched when she felt something cold and sturdy touch her palm. Her eyes widened.

“It’s a Colt Cobra chambered in .38 special.,” Aubrey explained.

“G-Guys, I don’t know about this,” Beca cast nervous glances in all directions once more. “I don’t like guns.”

Aubrey pursed her lips. Beca understood where her friend was coming from. Aubrey loved her dearly; she and Chicago wanted to look out for their friend. Crazy people had her and her family in their crosshairs now, combining that with an edge of desperation, and it made for a deadly combination.

Their suggestion, well-meaning as it was, seemed extreme for Beca.

“Look. Let me think about it, okay?” Her palm closed around the grip. She could feel the bumpy texture of the polymer. She didn’t want to fiddle around with it for fear of it accidentally going off.

Not that her friend had handed over a loaded weapon without securing it beforehand… Beca, not knowing how to check the chambers or if she should ask Aubrey, placed the Colt Cobra on the kitchen counter, scrutinizing it as if it was the root of all evil. 

Could she even shoot at another human being if her loved ones were in danger? 

She'd do anything to protect them. 

Cathy and Chloe are her whole life…

"We'll take you to the shooting range," Aubrey suggested and placed a hand on Beca's shoulder, "you and Chloe. So you guys can train and build confidence in the usage of guns."

"I'm not sure Chloe might like this idea," Beca stammered and felt her heart race. 

"Are you kidding me?" Aubrey laughed. Chicago chuckled in amusement as he exchanged a look with his wife. "Chloe was the one who suggested we convince you."

"God! That woman!" Beca groaned. "I'll think about this, guys."

*

Beca Mitchell-Beale: Hoarder, Fraud, or both?

Would you believe it? Twenty years after their golden days, the former Barden Bellas are planning their reunion tour like the Backstreet Boys did in 2022. 

Even revived a long deceased Barden Bella sister from the dead like this was some freak show. 

I kid you not!

It seems hotshot music producer/impresario Beca Mitchell-Beale found herself on the receiving end of a miracle so outrageous that even the Vatican’s committee on beautification might need to fetch the single-malt whiskey and pour one out. 

And no, I’m not talking about her work on Summer Pennridge’s new album… divine as it may be.

Turns out, grumpy cat in human form had her late wife… resurrected.

Go ahead… do a double take; put on a clean shirt and wipe down your table from the spit take you just did. You didn’t misread that.

I said, ‘Beca Mitchell-Beale’s wife was resurrected.’

The family left Rhode Island, and are now kickin it back here in the Big Apple.

A few days before, the music producer was last spotted out on a date with her A&R representative. Does this spell the beginning of Beca Mitchell-Beale's polyamory existence or the end of her affair with the British hot stud?

Chloe threw paps, the “suck-it” sign, while she was spotted shopping inside Macy’s at the mall with her teenage daughter, as if nothing funky transpired. 

How much does the resurrected woman know about her wife's new boyfriend?

You, the people, have a right to know, and the truth shall prevail.

Whatever the secret to rebirth is… the Mitchell-Beale’s owe it to humanity to share such a gift. 

More information on the Barden Bellas’ reunion and any possible plans for an event will be announced soon. 

Chloe Mitchell-Beale can’t hide forever! 

  ~ Denise Reyes - Associated Press
 Editorial Division
 Hashtag Headline

Chapter Text

CATHY

Cathy let out a wistful sigh as she perused the comments section of her crush's Insta post. Most of them their mutuals—both online and in real life—loony, pubescent chicks losing it over the aspiring rock star with that killer smile. 

She quit the app and went to her Spotify playlist, trying to get some distractions. Shaking her head, she pushed her locker closed, listening for the faint sound of the latch. When she heard it, in went her earbuds as she tapped her phone screen again to hit shuffle on her playlist, triggering a pleasurable blast of distorted guitar sounds and drum beats in her ears.

Cathy huffed in frustration after a particularly taxing and frustrating trigonometry review, not believing that she missed out on a perfect score by a single point. She felt low-key like a complete loser compared to Cosma and Bella who once again aced their tests.

If she ever came into the possession of a Time Machine, she’d travel back to find the evil son-of-a-bitch who insisted trig be part of Staten Island school curriculum, grab ‘em by the shoulders, shake them and ask why they bein’ such a playa hater for recommending this nonsense in the first place?

Cathy couldn’t vent about it. Not yet anyway… since her best friend, her wodie, her ride or die… Bella, was across the hall, getting chatted up by Sherry.

Cathy’s vice wodie, Cosma adored mathematics, adored all forms of academics really, but right now Cathy didn’t need someone playing Devil’s Advocate.

Bopping her head while vibing to the beat, she traversed the hallway, intending to meet up with her chicas when she felt a hand grasp her shoulder. During a good part of the song, too. Right as Angus Young’s solo from Highway to Hell started wailing in her ears.

As Cathy turned around, she was face to face with a woman a head shorter than she was, with faded black curls and dressed in Nordstrom’ clearance rack clothes. Vexed, she removed her earbud, her eyes drifted to the fake Louis Vuitton purse. 

“...Denise Reyes. I'm a journalist from Hashtag Headlines.” The woman extended her hand. “You must be Beca Mitchell-Beale's daughter. You look a lot like your other mother, Chloe. We were Barden Bellas in college.”

“Huh? Wait… ‘Reyes? Denise Reyes’? You’re the woman who keeps commenting on my stuff…” Scrutinizing the woman's unfamiliar features, Cathy thought that she’d recognize if she was a Barden Bella. Since her mother kept in touch with them on the regular. 

“My apologies, kid.” A loose dark curl slipped behind Denise's ear as she nervously followed the other students walking past. Or she may have been concerned about security. “I was trying to reach out to you.”

Begrudgingly, Cathy accepted the handshake then looked over her shoulder, down the hall at her best friends. Both Bella and Sherry remained locked in animated conversation, showing each other something on their phones. Oblivious to their friend’s apprehension or the fact she was being accosted by a strange woman.

When Denise’s smile faltered, Cathy felt a twinge of guilt. “Sorry, I-uh… I just don’t recall my mom ever mentioning you.”

Denise glared at her for several seconds, her left eyebrow twitched.

“Oh! I know…” She pulled out her phone. “Wanna see a photo of us the night we won ICCA’s?”

Cathy looked over her shoulder again. “I really need to get going.”

“Please, kid? Spare a couple of minutes?” Denise said, casually. 

“Oh-okay.” Cathy scratched the back of her neck.

If the woman possessed the photos she claimed she did it sure took her a while to produce them. Cathy watched long finger swipe after long finger swipe, watched as the woman closed tabs, then opened new ones as if she was doing a deep dive through the bowels of Instagram.

“Check it out. That girl there is me.” The woman held her phone up for Cathy to see, zooming in on the picture.

Cathy looked at the photo. Her eyes glossed over the woman talking to her and honed in on her mom’s. Her two mothers, not yet a couple, but on top of the world. Her mom, Beca, was so happy, it was hard to accept that once upon a time she could be so smile-y and carefree.

“That’s… neat.” Cathy looked up from the picture on the phone. “My mom has that same photo framed, actually. What do you want from me?”

“Oh… well. You’d be doing me a tremendous favor… if you did something for me.” 

“Hmmmp… What favor?”

“I’d really like it if you’d talk your mom into giving me a prime time exclusive. She's been ignoring my requests and e-mails, you know?” Denise implored, a pitiful smile forming on her lips. She straightened her shoulders and puffed out some air. “Must be her assistant being so incompetent. Maybe she hasn't forwarded my requests to your mom?”

“My mom's busy.”

“Kid, I need this interview with her.”

This so-called journalist, Denise, was bristling with an energy Cathy could only label anxious. A scoop such as this might be important to this woman’s career. 

She thought how her mom was always in high demand because, as far as Cathy could tell, everyone wanted to talk to the Grammy-Award-winner about her music and album releases. But now, in light of everything that had transpired in the past few weeks, it was about Chloe—the woman who returned to life.

If Cathy thought it was an odd request, she certainly didn’t voice it. “Like I said, my mom’s really busy, work and whatnot.” She let out a forced, airy chuckle “…and Chloe, she’s got a lot on her plate right now. But like, if you want you can give me your phone number, and I’ll have her call you?”

“So, it was Chloe I saw the other day,” the woman said through gritted teeth, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “and not just my meds kicking in.”

“What?”

The woman coughed in her fist and stared up at Cathy again. “Alright, kid, are you going to do this for me?”

“I’m not really sure this is how it works, Ma’am… Ms. Reyes,” Cathy told her, backing away somewhat, “and my mom will be pissed that I was talking to strangers, so… I gotta go, dude!”

“No, wait!” Denise snarled, her face turning purple. Clutching her phone tightly, the journalist returned to her photo library, this time opening a video clip of two high school girls. “I’ve been watching you, Cathy,” Denise said ominously. “You and your bestie.”

She pronounced the word “bestie” as if it was a nasty thing.

The woman held her phone up to Cathy, whose gaze shifted from the clip back to Denise, then back to the playing clip. 

The video was simple, nothing incriminating. Just Cathy and Bella hanging around together on a park bench, by the park nearby Bella’s apartment. It was their way of decompressing and de-stressing. It reaffirmed that no matter how terrible things got, they’d always have each other. That the two of them were each other’s solitude. 

They kept each other going.

A blushing Cathy could be seen smirking as she swatted her best friend's arm while staring deeply into her eyes. Bella couldn't help but giggle as she leaned in and gently nudged the other girl with her shoulder. 

Cathy remembered clearly what they both discussed that day. It was innocent. But the way they interacted in the video as they chatted and looked at each other might easily be misconstrued as something else. 

Like a secret romance.

“Dude, where'd you get that?” Cathy snapped as she tried to snatch the phone from the woman's grasp.

Hair prickled on the back of Cathy’s neck. This was a grown-ass woman, roughly the same age as her mom… spying on her.

Cathy felt unsettled.

Denise tsked, an evil smirk weaved its way onto the despicable woman’s face. “Ya know… like mother, like daughter? What a sweet video of you and your bestie. What would your mother say if she found out her precious girl is secretly batting for the other team?”

“Dude, my mom would be proud,” Cathy said firmly. “And in case you forgot, she's openly queer?”

Denise’s triumphant sneer crumbled, she backtracked a little. “And what about Bella?” 

Cathy swallowed. “How’d you…”

That vicious sneer returned to Denise's face, her dark eyes lit up. “Yeah, I know your bestie. Bella. Stacie Conrad’s little spawn.”

“B-Bella and I aren't dating, you twat!” With her fists balled, Cathy growled, losing her patience and manners. 

Not that she and her childhood bestie hadn't been teased and accused of dating before—and Cathy was the last person to object to that—but fact was, Bella hadn't come out yet. For a reserved girl like Bella, this would only make things worse. Being the spotlight was something she always detested.

“If you want me to delete this proof of your secret lesbian love affair with your bestie,” Denise cackled, “then get your mothers to have an exclusive with me. Soon!”

Cathy refused to cry. Refused to shed a tear and let this horrible woman wield that kind of power over her. The walls of the school constricted, suddenly they felt narrower.

Sherry and Bella’s voices seemed miles away.

The only way out was through. “I-I’ll see what I can do. My mom, she’s a tough cookie but I can try to talk to her,” she added quickly, “just, please, don't be mean. Keep Bella out of this.”

Denise dropped her phone into the pocket of her black slacks. “You’re the best! You’ve got your Mama, Chloe’s, heart, I see.”

“Thanks?” Cathy feigned a smile. Anything to get this over with and make this woman go away.

Denise reached her claw forward to grab Cathy's elbow, to seal their deal, squeezing tight until it hurt.

“I’ll be back, kiddo!”

“Don’t touch me!” Cathy shouted, yanking her arm away from the rude woman’s grip.

“Oh my gawddd, Cathy?” Sherry’s thick accent carried down the corridor.

“Cay?” 

The girls dashed towards their friend.

Denise turned away and broke out into a brisk job, rounding the corner and smacking the side exit door to make her escape.

“Are you okay?” Bella noticed Cathy rubbing her arm so she reached out in compassion to do it for her. 

“Thank you, Bells.” She smiled weakly. “I’m fine.”

“Who was that, Cathy? I don’t like her. She’s bad news. I felt it from her aura,” Sherry consoled.

“That was the troll who’s been hounding me on socials. Apparently, she’s a journalist, Cathy mocked with finger quotes. “She’s gonna make up lies and whatever. Ugh.”

“Dude! She’s the one who came to your house the other night.” Bella's lips pursed in anger. “Aunt Beca had her mean ass thrown out. “She’s one salty bitch!”

“Honestly, Cathy, forget her, she’s trash.” Sherry scanned the crowd of people looking for the woman who accosted her friend, making sure she was actually gone.

“Girls!” Sherry squawked with sudden vigor, causing Bella and Cathy to meet her gaze with equal intensity. “Why don’t we hit up the new Vegan Cat Café I’ve been tellin’ you about?”

Cathy rolled her eyes playfully. “Why not? I could use a distraction. You game, Bells?”

“Bet.” Bella smiled as she wrapped a protective arm around Cathy's shoulders, pulling her close.

Seriously, why would anybody even believe they were an item?

——

Single Mother, Polyamory, Resurrected Wife? Beca Mitchell’s 2035 Bingo Card is on Fire!

Beca Mitchell-Beale, quit playing games and hook me up with an exclusive with you and your resurrected wife. 

Don’t make me beg.

Speaking of begging. I’m begging to know the secret of how you landed such a prime hunk in Luke McLaggen? Seriously, the couple is so photogenic. 

The two were photographed outside of Manhattan’s famous Copacabana, dressed to the nines, with their elbows interlocked and everything.

Might there be plans for a Mitchell-McLaggen heir, hmmm? God, he or she would be beautiful. 

Does the wife know? Are they a throuple?

All this juicy gossip about whether or not it’s a taco & sausage party at Casa Mitchell-Beale keeps getting me distracted from my upcoming exposé regarding your wife’s not so subtle return from the land of rainbow bridges and golden streets.

This former singer turned voice of the people must keep her focus. Her eyes on the prize.

~ Denise Reyes - Associated Press
Editorial Division
Hashtag Headlines

——

Manhattan, New York City

BECA

“Try to relax, Beca.” The interviewer smiled.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous? I’ve got a bunch of interviews under my belt.”

Beca’s team - her lawyers and her manager - thought it best for their client to take control of her own narrative before zealots, conspiracy theorists, and politicians did even more damage. 

Right now she sat before Miles Cooper of NBC Nightline.

A show that along with Dateline and 48 Hours, Beca used to jokingly call “the murder trio,” because every episode was essentially the same: a woman married a dude with a good career only to turn up missing years later with her husband as the prime suspect.

Those three shows made an entire generation rethink purchasing a life insurance policy.

Occasionally, however, they produced some useful content.

Today needed to be one such occasion because later in the interview, the producers planned to bring out Chloe to sit beside Beca so that the two could offer an emotional plea to viewers. Hence, why she was nervous. 

Most of her past interviews had little bearing on anything outside of perhaps a little bad publicity or job loss.

This time there were large stakes.

“Ouch, hey!” A producer bumped into her. From the corner of her eye, a gaggle of producers, reporters, and crew swarmed her. Each one had their smartphone out, holding them in front of Miles with looks on their faces alternating between concerned and opportunistic.

Beca felt a tap on her other arm, this time from Chloe who’d wandered over in confusion. “What’s going on, Bec?”

The air shifted in the room; Miles fixed his posture. “Excuse me, Beca, we’ll have to reschedule this interview.”

Beca’s heart rate accelerated. Her security was chilling out in the green room, leading Beca to realize how vulnerable she and Chloe were in the moment. She was oblivious to the sudden shift. But she knew from experience: when the majority of people around were feeling uneasy, then it was cause for concern.

The interview had been highly anticipated, projected to be a rating boost for the program. 

Like many of her fellow Americans, Beca considered herself a casual view of Cooper’s show. She’d never known him to be off.

Whatever this was, it had to be pretty major.

“The president is dead,” the anchor said.

“Trump?!” Chloe’s eyes lit up, a sneaky smile curled on her face, causing everyone to look at Chloe like she was an idiot before they remembered her story. 

“No, Walker,” came Beca’s irritated retort, not at Chloe but at the palpable shift of tension in the air and the chaos breaking loose. “They threw Trump out on his fat orange ass years ago, after one term.”

“Chloe…” Miles started explaining like she was a child, “We’ve had three more presidents since then.”

“This fucker was old, too. Like Cryptkeeper ancient,” Beca remarked, relieved that some whack-job terrorist hadn’t seized the building and threatened to take Chloe hostage.

“Hold on!” Beca reached into her pocket to grab her ringing phone, her assistant’s number appearing on the display. “Yeah, I just heard,” she said. “Little late on the news, don’tcha think, Sammy? I knew I should’ve hired Tree Paine,” she teased.

Beca listened to her assistant speak for a few seconds. “What does this mean for us?” she asked, putting on a strong face. 

Miles excused himself to answer a call, presumably from his producers. Beca’s security team rejoined her; they too were making calls. Chloe had her face buried in the new smartphone that Beca bought her, and judging by the lack of perplexity on her former wife’s face, it seemed as though Chloe was finally getting the hang of the new technology. Thanks to their daughter’s sharp tutelage.

Beca listened to Sammy explain that while the president’s death would be a national tragedy, it was great for them because it meant the press would get off their back since news media was a business at the end of the day. 

Like all companies, they compete with each other. 

In specific cases like this, focusing on “yesterday’s news” proved futile because they needed to try to outdo their competitors by racing to break new leading information first. 

Their battle was far from over, but the tide had turned.

Now, Beca and her family had a little time to breathe and strategize.

——

Staten Island, New York City

Days later, when some of the hype died down, Beca, Chloe, and their daughter began venturing back out. Attending public functions and participating in family activities, though not without a state-of-the-art security detail.

People cannot be watched 24/7, as Beca would come to find out at a parent-teacher conference at Cathy’s high school. 

The event was mandatory—one at the beginning of the year, followed by one at the beginning of the second half.

Her eyes haven’t popped out of her skull from all the covert, and sometimes blatant eye-rolls she hurled at the people asking Chloe the stupidest fucking questions.

“Is it true that when you die, you crap yourself?”

“Seriously, dude?” 

The man’s wife appeared to share the same sentiment because she smacked him upside his head.

Chloe scoffed and stormed off. But Beca wasn’t done with the man yet.

“In what world do you think it’s appropriate to ask someone that kind of question?” Beca narrowed her eyebrows, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The man shrunk under Beca’s scrutiny. He looked to his wife, probably in hopes that she’d bail him out, only to find her glaring at him like Beca was.

“You are a jackass!” Beca stormed off, too, before heading in the same direction as Chloe. She called sternly to her daughter, “Catherine, let’s get moving!”

Beca attributed this immaturity and deficiency of manners to the South Park or Rick & Morty mentality, where immature douchebags believe it appropriate or even funny to ask the grossest questions or say the most repugnant things with zero shame or self-awareness.

Of course, those questions were never borne of genuine innocence or ignorance but out of a desire for power and domination from people who delighted in making people feel uncomfortable.

“Paul!” A middle-aged woman with graying hair cried out as Beca caught up to Chloe. She held up a picture of a younger man with curly black hair. The man was in his firefighter’s uniform. “Please,” she begged uncontrollably, tapping Chloe. “My Paulie! I need to know if you saw him in heaven?”

Chloe covered her face in shame. 

“Where’s my baby boy? Was he there?!” The woman tapped Chloe harder while holding the picture in her other hand.

Chloe sniffled, her sobs became more frenzied; Cathy followed right behind her, with a frightened expression on her face.

Beca’s face turned pale. She hated seeing Chloe cry, hated seeing her daughter afraid and on the defensive, while trying to brush past the crowd of people to get towards her mothers to protect them.

“Ma’am, don’t cry,” a random woman rushed to console Chloe. “You’re one of the blessed ones,” she smiled. “A miracle!”

Beca became nauseous.

The media’s harassment might’ve died down, but Beca knew they were a long way away from the harassment from regular people stopping.

“That’s not cute. She’s, like, way too old for her. If that wasn’t Beca Mitchell-Beale, the Grammy Award-winning producer, you can bet they wouldn’t be together.”

“If I die and come back twenty years later, please move on with someone else.”

“My father died of cancer in 2021! Did he come back to life like this woman?!”

“Queers shouldn't be this blessed!”

The judgmental whispers buzzed in her ears. Beca looked over to Cathy, certain she’d heard them, too. Their words–harsh and mean. Her daughter maintained a stoic composure, but her mother’s intuition knew better.

Beca regretted coming to this function. It was a mistake to think that the three of them could pass themselves off as a family unit.

People were too judgmental and immature to grant them peace and treat them with respect. 

It was time to leave…

Beca flashed Cathy a concerned look, then gestured towards the door with her head. She watched her teen take Chloe by the hand and guide her toward the exit.

The hallways were less packed, making it easy for the trio of women to slink through. Without regard to how long they’d been walking, the three spotted an exit door, guarded by more security, which led to the parking lot.

“My Boyyyy!” a familiar voice wailed, forcing the trio of women to pick up their pace while they sprinted through the packed parking lot, trying to find their car. Beca’s heart raced upon hearing frantic footsteps catching up to them. “Pau… Paul,” the same distraught woman hyperventilated. “I know you s-sa-saw my P-aulie in heaven! Help me, please.” 

A lone elderly woman didn’t pose a threat, but the five or six equally frantic and hysterical people who joined her in chasing after the family, certainly inspired panic. Their speed increased and the distance gap between them and Chloe, Cathy, and Beca grew shorter.

Cathy reached the car first. “Mom! Chloe!” she called out to them. Beca rebuffed her daughter’s hand, gesturing with her head to Chloe instead.

Cathy pulled Chloe into the backseat seconds after Beca hopped into the driver’s seat.

Cadunk. The locks clicked. Inside of her purse Beca’s hand palmed the smooth pearl grip of the revolver, her pinky rested on the fringe edge of the holster, ready to flick it off at a moment’s notice. Her other finger edged towards the button to roll down the window once she remembered that Chicago and Aubrey told her to never shoot through glass.

A decision loomed over her. One of life and death. Adrenaline pumped while Beca languished over a hasty decision.

Her family was potentially in danger.

But… the crazy woman and the mob of people with her are probably overwhelmed with emotion, too.

With that, Beca saw herself in the people chasing them. What she might’ve become had she not sought help in managing her grief. A desperate folks clinging to any lingering hope…

Beca, as the terrified mother, came to her senses because she knew all too well what it was like to occupy such a morbid and hopeless void. 

She released the item inside of her purse.

In the backseat, Cathy stood on her knees but was thrust forward then jerked backwards when Beca popped the clutch to back out, then popped it again, launching the car forward.

“Careful!” Chloe said, grabbing her daughter's arm.

“Fasten your seatbelt, Catherine!”  

“Yes, Ma’am!” 

The parking lot exit loomed closer, allowing Beca to breathe a sigh of relief.

In the backseat, Cathy held her mother protectively in her arms.

When gridlock hit Beca in her professional life, studio magic could be called upon to fix problems—most of the time.

Unfortunately… re-dubbing or hiring a session player wasn’t going to fix this.

It’d take something akin to real magic.

Beca relaxed her grip on the steering wheel, when an unexpected yet risky idea came to mind.

She’d need the help of the very people who gifted Chloe a second chance at life.

She had to track them down.

——

Mitchell-Beale House…
Staten Island, New York City

Beca, Chloe, and Cathy scrambled through the front door, trying to avoid the downpour of rain, which began once they left the school. 

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Beca moved to check on her but Chloe wouldn’t look her in the eye—maybe she was blaming herself for the incident that had just happened at the school, Beca couldn’t tell—and ducked past her to flee upstairs towards the bathroom.

“Chlo, you alright?” Beca called after her.

Cathy wrung out her wet hair. “Yeah, um… I think imma do the same. And listen to some music, I guess.”

Following Chloe’s lead, Cathy trailed up the stairs. 

Beca, meanwhile, trekked across the foyer heading towards the dining room, shedding her wet clothes and then quickly tossing them in a nearby laundry basket.

On her way to the laundry room, Beca found a pair of shorts, which she put on along with a hooded sweat-jacket. 

After dumping the wet clothes in and starting the machine on a quick cycle, Beca made her way to the kitchen table to sit down. Using one hand, she pushed aside the mail, which was loosely fanned out across the table and then with her free hand, grabbed her phone to scroll through her contacts. Anxious to put her plan to save her family into action… assuming it was even feasible. 

Fuck feasible. It will happen. Failure is not an option, Beca thought.  

She needed the advice of her friends.

“Aubrey,” she spoke clearly into the receiver, “can I put you on a conference call with Stacie? There’s something I want to run by you two?”

“Wh-ye-yeah, sure, Beca. Just a sec.” Aubrey sounded uncertain and distracted, the rustle of papers and a printer whirring and clattering were heard in the background.

“Alright, hold on.”  Beca tapped a couple of buttons. “Stace, you there?”

“Is everything alright, Beca?” Stacie asked. She was out of breath, panting heavily. “I'm in the park right now and taking a jog; damn, my sides! Wish I was the sport-freak I was twenty years ago.”

“You know when I last took a jog or… a walk? Which was never… We’re getting old, dude!” Beca chuckled. She scratched the back of her neck. “Hey, listen, you’re on a three-way call with me and Aubrey.”

“Hey, Bree.”

“Hey, Stacie, you could’ve asked me to run with you, bitch,” Aubrey laughed.

“Hey, you said you were busy, so I–”

“Guys, listen! I’m calling you because I…” Beca paused and took a deep breath; her hands were trembling.

“Beca, what is it?” Aubrey asked, concerned.

“I saw the news the other day,” Stacie provided, “is this about that? And Bella knows from Cathy about the incident at the school. I'm sorry, girl.”

“What incident?” Aubrey exclaimed into the phone. “Are you guys alright?”

Beca's mind trailed off as she listened to Stacie recounting the story about what she knew from Bella, and Bella from Cathy. Beca confirmed the story, adding minor details. Her daughter must've gossiped with her best friend the second she was alone in her room.

“Son of a bitch!” Aubrey barked angrily. “People can be so cruel!”

Beca groaned at the thought of what had happened. “Yeah, it's got something to do with that. Look, I want to track down the people who brought Chloe back to life.”

"Why would you want them involved?" Aubrey asked.

“Because there has to be some magical thing; some spell they could cast which would protect us? They could enchant my house, like Hogwarts or something? I don’t know…” She slumped over the table and massaged her temples.

“Beca!” came Stacie's over dramatic gasp.“What if those people are serial killers? I’m not so sure inviting them to your home is a good idea.”

“I concur with Stacie; those people could be dangerous. Where’s the gun I gave you?”

“It’s still in my purse, Aubrey.” 

“Have you thought of moving to the Bahamas and starting a new life?" Stacie’s voice shifted to a more serious, less pessimistic tone.

Beca giggled despite herself. “That would’ve been my last thought if everything else fails. Maybe Chloe and I could open a little tiki bar by the harbor?” She’d look so sexy in a grass skirt, Beca fantasized. Damn, focus, stupid brain! “And Cathy could sell banana candies at the beach. Fuck school!”

“You can take my daughter with you,” Stacie offered with a huff, “because I ain't dealing with a depressive teen, whose best friend lives on another continent.”

“The Bahamas aren’t a continent, Stacie!” Aubrey remarked. “It's in North America. We vacationed there when the girls were little.”

“I know, Miss Smarty-pants!”

“Guys, could we please focus a little?” Beca grumbled. “Look, my gut is telling me these are trustworthy people. Of course, I'll have security nearby when I invite them into my house. I'm not stupid."

“Beca,” Aubrey spoke after a brief pause. “Fine! I trust your judgment on this.” Beca could visualize her friend’s soft, assuring smile through the phone.

“Please be careful,” Stacie insisted. “And keep us updated, y’know, before you move to another country.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Beca smirked. “Thank you guys. Love you both!”

“Love ya too, Beca!” Stacie and Aubrey said in unison.

——

If Beca thought that her first phone call was anxiety inducing she really felt nervous about calling the next person. At least Aubrey, Stacie, and the other Bellas accepted her. They’d seen her at her dorkiest, at her most idiosyncratic, and even during her deepest despair. 

“Cedric…” she breathed into the phone when the call connected. The gruff voice of Titanium Records head of security and investigations greeted her. “I’m doing fine, Ced. How’s Angie?”

“Awww she’s great, Ma’am. She’s actually out on a run right now. How’s your little lady?” 

Beca pinched her forehead. “That’s actually what I wanted to call you about. This isn’t an easy request, Ced… but -”

The man cut her off. “But nothing! After my car broke down and you dropped everything to make sure I had a ride to the hospital for Shenae’s birth, I told you then and there, I’d owe you the moon and the stars. What can I do for you, Big B?”

The producer laughed. “I need you and Sammy to look into some people.”

“Uh-huh, what kind of people?”

“The kind I don’t want anyone knowing that I’m looking for. There’s four of them. Three men and a woman.”

“Mmmkay, mmmkay,” the man mumbled absentmindedly, likely jotting the information down on a pad of paper if the clicking of the pen was anything to go by. “What else?”

Beca huffed, “Call the Providence Police Department and get in touch with officers Keith Slater and Garrett Michaels. They arrested four people for trespassing at Chloe’s grave. The two officers might be able to provide you with more information regarding their arrest. Say, you call on my behalf. Oh, and I posted their bail a couple weeks ago. Hopefully, they’re still somewhere in Rhode Island?”

“Public record, good. Makes my job easier.”

“There’s one more thing, Cedric?”

“Shoot,” he said.

“Please be discreet about this case.”

“But, of course, boss.”

“They’re necromancers.”

Cedric cleared his throat. “Aight, heard ‘bout that. When Angie comes back, I’ll tell her I’m leaving and then book a flight to Providence. If those guys had a car, I can check the local impound for receipts.”

Beca let out a sigh of relief. “Tell Angie, next time she wants tickets to see literally anyone, to hit me up,” she chuckled.

The two chatted for thirty more seconds before Beca ended the call. With that taken care of, she looked over to the refrigerator, then to her oven. The day’s events left her in no headspace to cook. 

Beca figured Chloe shared the same sentiment so she pulled up her Chrome browser and googled the phone number for Pastore’s, an Italian restaurant she and Cathy were quite fond of.

Beca ordered two small pans of meatball ziti for her and Cathy–her daughter's favorite–and an order of Chicken Alfredo and bread rolls for Chloe. Dropping her shoulders, Beca leaned back against the ornate iron chair. She gasped softly at the feeling of cold metal touching her warm back.

This plan has to work, Beca sighed.

——

Later…

“Chlo! Can we talk, a sec?” Beca beckoned her former wife while she loaded plates into the dishwasher after an unbearably quiet and awkward dinner. Only Cathy had been quite chatty to fill the silence, sharing about that new Vegan Cat Café that went viral on social media and how she couldn't get used to the taste of oat milk. 

“Sure,” Chloe said absentmindedly, watching her daughter traipse toward the living room. “What’s on your mind, Bec?” The redhead grabbed a plate to help Beca load.

Grabbing the final dish, Beca gave it a quick rinse under some water before placing it in between some prongs. “I need you to trust me, alright?” She closed the dishwasher and pressed the button to start it.

“Beca… what’s going on?” Chloe asked.

The brunette frowned.

Chloe fixed her expression. “What? Of course, I trust you, Bec. Completely.”

“Good. Because I think I’ve found a way out of this.”

“Out of what?” came Chloe’s perplexed answer.

“This harassment from the media, from crazy people who want to harm you, or put you on some kind of medallion because they think you’re a saint.”

“Go on…” Chloe said.

“I’ve got some guys tracking down those, uh… necromancers who brought you back to life. Actually, no scratch that; that’s not the right word. Sorcerers or wizards is a better description. I think they can get us out of this.”

Chloe cocked her head. “What d’you mean?”

“Like, I wanna bring them here and find out if they can cast some kinda spell thingy to make this go away… or something.”

Chloe blinked. “Can your people track ‘em down?”

“Yeah,” Beca affirmed, finding her confidence.

“I don’t remember what they look like, Bec. How will your people be able to find them?”

“Don’t worry, Chlo. Cedric and Sammy have their mugshots so they know what they look like, and their car was impounded which might lead them to the next clue?” Beca shrugged.

“You know what?” She stared at Beca determinedly. “You’re right. It has to work, we just need to have some faith. Power of positive thinking, you know?”

Beca nodded. She might or might not have indulged in a self-help book or two in her day as a means to cope during those times where Chloe’s absence hit her the hardest. 

“But you’re not fine are you?”

“What?” Chloe balked. “I’m alright, Becs.”

“No. No you’re not,” Beca challenged. “Don’t shut me out.”

Chloe poked her head from out of the kitchen. “I think Cathy’s found a movie. Why don’t we join her?” she smiled.

“Don’t change the subject!”

Suddenly, Chloe dropped her head in shame. “Our daughter is being stalked, harassed at her school… where she’s supposed to be safe and making memories with her friends!” Her lip quivered.

“I know, Chlo, that’s why I want to-”

“It’s all because of me, Beca!” Chloe’s head jutted up. “None of you are safe because I’m putting us in danger!” she sobbed, prompting Beca to move in to hug and console her.

“Oh, Chlo. That's not true,” Beca soothed her, stepping closer. “It's because of cruel and envious people out there. We're gonna fix this, I promise.”

Chloe‘s voice broke, “Am I, am I…” she swallowed. “Gonna die again?”

Beca went pale, chills overtook her. “That’s not gonna happen Chlo,” she assured her; she rubbed her former wife's  back, hoping to console her. “I promise. There has to be a spell they can do to fix this. And I'm not gonna let anything or anyone take you away from me and our daughter, again.”

“I’m… scared,” Chloe whispered.

“Me, too. But we have to try. This isn’t gonna go away. Denise is going to keep whipping people into a frenzy.”

Chloe mumbled some kind of agreement. 

“We’re in this together. I got you,” Beca whispered soothingly.

“Okay.” Chloe looked at her with shiny blue eyes full of security and trust. A look which faltered almost as soon as it came. “We should tell Cathy. See what she thinks about this idea.”

Begrudgingly, Beca nodded her agreement. “We should,” she said, smiling a little, “she's not a little girl anymore, after all.”

——

“Cathy, a word?” Beca announced, half staring at her daughter and the all too familiar movie playing on the screen. 

Cathy muted the television right at the part where Regina George explains to Cady why Janis Ian had beef with her. “Sure…” she groaned exasperatedly.

Chloe and Beca sat beside their daughter on the couch where they spent several minutes explaining the plan to track down the people who resurrected Chloe and recruit them to help.

“Guys, this is crazy. Not to mention, dangerous.”

Chloe didn’t respond. Instead, Beca said, “That’s what Stacie and Aubrey said, too. Called ‘em earlier. But, no risk, no fun. Right?”

“Uhh… wha–? Mom, are you on drugs?” Cathy giggled. Her expression suddenly shifted with the next heartbeat; she looked at Beca with some resolve in her bright blue eyes. “I guess it has to be done. I can’t let Denise ruin Bella’s life, so whatever those people can do to help us out…” Cathy fumbled with the remote control in her hands, her eyes fixed on the muted TV screen. “She’s my best friend and I’ll fight orcs or zombies with my bare hands to protect her.”

“Does this mean you approve?” A proud smile tugged at Beca’s lips.

“But they won't harm Chl… my mother, right? In case they do help us and their spell backfires, I mean…” Cathy clutched the remote tighter. “Or I'm gonna kick their asses,” she added, frowning.

“No, sweetie, it'll be alright,” Chloe said, exchanging a look with Beca, who could only nod in return

“Then heck yeah, guys!”

——

“Janice isn’t a lesbian,” Cathy balked. “Nuh-uh. You’re on crack,” she pushed back on Chloe’s theory. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, watching the movie play.

“Sweetie, if Janice wasn’t queer coded and so blatantly in denial, then she wouldn’t have taken it personally and harbored a vendetta just cause Regina told people she was a lesbian,” Chloe insisted.

Listening to her favorite ladies bicker and bond over Mean Girls afforded Beca minor relief since it meant they weren’t crying and moping anymore. Moments like this passed for a normal evening for the average family. While grace calmed her family now, she welcomed the distraction. 

Crazy people like Denise, or zealots, or people zonked out of their mind with grief and despair threatened these peaceful moments with her family who was just beginning to fall into a sense of normalcy after a tumultuous couple of months.

Beca glanced at the phone sitting by her side on the blanket.

Last she heard, her contacts were investigating a lead regarding the magical foursome. Beca learned that after their release on bail, the four bounced around some hotels in the greater Rhode Island area because the lady in the group mouthed off to the hotel clerks, threatening to place a plethora of hexes on them.

——

“Chlo?” Beca knocked on the door of the guest bedroom. “Are you still up?” She heard a soft padding across the floor, the unmistakable sound of someone scrambling for the door.

“Heyyy,” Chloe yawned then rubbed her eyes. “‘s going on, Bec?” she yawned again.

“Can I come in right quick?”

“Of course.” Chloe opened the door wider to allow the petite brunette entry, when she walked into the room, Beca sat at the foot of the bed.

Beca had offered Chloe to sleep in their bedroom with her a few weeks ago, but, after a long discussion, they decided to take things slowly. For the sake of their daughter. And to allow some normalcy and peace to settle over their lives first.

Hopefully, after all of this was over, Beca could share a bedroom with her wife again.

“Cedric and Sammy found the magical weirdos…”

Chloe joined her on the bed. “I sense a ‘but’ coming?”

Beca nodded. “Yeah, uhhh… so like after I posted their bail, they stuck around for a while but then they disbanded. The two dudes left and Ced and Sammy could only find the woman and the chubby dude.”

Chloe sat in silence as if she were pausing to reflect and take in what Beca had just told her. “What’s our play?” she said after a beat.

“Cedric and Sammy are talking to them now. I think they might be able to convince them to come down here and talk to us.”

——

“Bec, that’s the fourth time you’ve glanced at your iPhone.” 

“They’re late. What if they couldn’t find the house or…” they changed their minds?

Then… as if fate intervened to assuage her worries, the doorbell rang.

Beca bounced off from her living room couch and sprinted to the door. When she opened it, she was greeted by a woman almost six inches taller than Cathy, with jet black hair flowing down to her shoulders and her skin complexion slightly darker than her companion’s.

Her portly companion, who could barely hold eye contact, appeared much shyer. His hair was red, only faded and thinner. He wore light blue jeans along with a blue and white striped button down shirt.

Both looked to be in their late twenties.

“Hi…” Beca cleared her throat, unsatisfied with her awkward greeting. “Please come in.”

“You produced Summer Pennridge’s album!” The mysterious woman fan-girled, unnerving Beca because she couldn’t parse out whether the woman before her was friend or foe. 

“Among other things, yeah,” she chuckled nervously.

The woman turned beet red with excitement, staring at Beca expectantly. Her fierce eye contact intimidated the petite music producer but her smile was welcoming and assuring. 

While Beca led them through the foyer, the duo cast looks in every direction. “Holy Crap-muffins. I’ve landed in Falcon Crest!” 

The man looked at his companion. 

“A show that my Großmama and I watched all the time.” She rolled her eyes.

Beca recognized the foreign term of the woman’s giddy statement. “Großmama? Isn’t that German?”

“Indeed. I'm German-Japanese,” she said, still in wonderment of the large house. 

“Chlo! Cathy!” Beca shouted. “Our guests are here.”

“Welcome to our home,” a sunny lilting voice greeted the guests. Chloe emerged from one of the upstairs rooms with Cathy behind her. Suddenly, she stopped to study their guests.

Beca’s wife and daughter, a dark-haired, tall woman who embodied a few stereotypical aspects of a witch, and a shy guy didn’t quite know what to make of each other. 

“I’ve seen you in my dreams a lot lately. Y-You’re a lot easier on the eyes than Lazlo Green. That’s for sure.” The tall woman’s cheeks reddened. 

Chloe gave the woman a confused look. “Huh? Oh right, the seer guy you thought you were resurrecting. Beca told me the whole story,” she giggled. “I can’t thank the both of you enough, for what you’ve done for me.” She extended her hand for them to shake, which they timidly reciprocated.

“You’re welcome, Miss,” the dude mumbled under his breath, his eyes on the same page of his handshake, lacking in confidence and drowning in shame.

“Miss? We're probably the same age!” Chloe scoffed playfully. “I’m Chloe,” she put her hand on her daughter’s back, between her shoulders. “And this is my daughter… Cathy.”

Cathy's blue eyes sparkled, and her palms were clasped in an expression of gratitude. Her daughter threw her arms around the mysterious woman and her companion, pulling them into a group hug. Their female guest exchanged an awkward side glance with her companion before she patted the girl’s back.

“Thanks so much, guys!” Cathy said. “You brought my mother back!”

When they pulled back from Cathy, looking quite embarrassed because it wasn’t a big deal to them, the two introduced themselves properly. 

“I’m Number Two,” the woman said. She gestured beside her. “He’s Number Four.”

“Guys, I’m pretty sure your mothers didn’t put numbers as names on your birth certificates, like you have no value,” she scoffed at the thought of this, “you brought me back to life. We’re past strangers at this point now.” 

“We… prefer to use code names,” came Number Two’s quick, sheepish reply.

“Well, we prefer to use real names here. C’mon tell us your names. Your secrets are safe with us.”

“Oh-okay…? I’m Marnie,” she cleared her throat. “Marnie Grace Lichtenstein.”

Chloe smiled at her. “You have a beautiful name, Marnie Grace!”

“Or… just Marnie,” the woman corrected.

“I-I’m Sven,” the portly man said. “Sven Jorgensen.”

“Welcome.” Chloe offered her soft hand for the man to shake. “Now… Marnie, Sven, make yourselves at home… I’ve baked cookies!” Chloe singsonged. 

Beca lolled her head back, “Chlo,” she groaned. “They’re here on official business.”

“And our guests have traveled a long way to see us, Bec. They can munch on some cookies while we talk turkey.”

“Our dining room is quite lovely,” Beca said with a swell of pride. “Would you two mind if we discussed things there?” Beca asked. 

“Sure, why not?” Marnie followed Beca to the table, but not without nudging Sven in the side to move. 

Cathy broke off from the group to assist Chloe with cleaning up the kitchen, plating enough cookies for them and their guests, and putting the rest in Tupperware bowls. 

Beca listened while Chloe explained to their incredulous daughter that while it sounds strange, placing a couple of slices of bread in the cookie jars actually keeps them soft for days.

Beca turned to their guests, “So… you both seem pretty cool. I bet you guys have had all sorts of fun and wild adventures together, huh?” she asked, trying to initiate small talk to diffuse the awkwardness.

“Oh, yeah! This one’s a handful. I’m always swooping in to save her neck.” Sven elbowed Marnie lightly.

Marnie leaned back. Her tall slender frame reminded Beca of a tree leaning in the wind. She folded her arms across her chest; her eyes narrowed at her companion. “Really, du kleiner Feigling? I seem to recall you cowering on the ground like a scared helpless turtle before I chucked my enchanted necklace at you and saved your silly ass two-seconds before they pummeled you.”

“What in the heck are you guys talking about?” Beca asked.

“Alright… we might have gotten into a fight in an Arby’s parking lot with some college kids, cause I-”

“Cause she mouthed off to them!” Sven interrupted.

Marnie glared at him then swooped in front of Beca. “He dropped a curly fry on the ground! Then picked it up to eat it” she threw her arms up animatedly. “Echt eklig! I couldn’t not call him out…”

“Interesting…” Beca said.

“Get this! He told me ‘Mind your business, Twilight Reject!’ So I hit him back with ‘Yet I was good enough for your mom!’”

Cathy busted out laughing.

Sven blushed. “Told you she was a handful,” he mumbled under his breath. Embarrassed to look anywhere but down at the tile floor. The man even held his hands behind his back.

Chloe returned with two plates of fresh baked cookies while Cathy carried a tray with iced tea and glasses. Once she placed it on the table, she retreated back into the kitchen where she returned with a pitcher of ice water

“Help yourselves, guys.” Chloe smiled. 

Marnie sat at the head of the table while Sven elected to sit at Marnie’s right.

Beca began. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve summoned you two to my home because my family is in trouble. The fucking media is harassing us, my child is being stalked at her school, Chloe gets acosted by zealots or deranged lunatics everywhere she goes.”

“I don’t know where or whom else to turn to. You dorks are our only hope!” 

“And how can we be of service? Sven asked.

——

Marnie bolted out of her chair, quickly rising to a standing position. “Hello, Boob King of Boob-Opolis…” She repeatedly smacked the open palm of her left hand with the back of her right hand while addressing her companion with playful energetic passion. “…we can’t send that journalist lady to a deserted island cause it wouldn’t do any good. Having her go missing would only cast more suspicion on this family.”

“She might come off like a wacky, insane witch but she’s got a good heart. Plus I’ve really grown on her,” Sven said.

“Good to know,” Chloe said with a nervous smile.

Cathy, Chloe, and Beca kicked around ideas but after a while Marnie just took over the meeting. Not that Beca was complaining, Christ, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d laughed this hard. Weirdly enough, she thought that Marnie had a similar vibe with Emily, as they both seemed alike, personality-wise.

The dynamic between the two couldn’t be clearer. Marnie was the driven, assertive goofball with a flair for the fabulous and outrageous, while Sven embodied the bumbling yet well-meaning sidekick whose meandering “forget to look before he leaps,” personality often earned him Marnie's ire. 

Beca smirked around her glass of iced tea. She reached for another cookie from the plate while Marnie continued to explain to Sven the flaw in his plan.

Marnie sat back down and patted his hand appreciatively. “Good try, but that ain’t it, chief!”

“Guys, couldn't you just make Chloe a necklace or something that protects her and makes her invulnerable whenever someone approaches her with ill intent.” Beca looked eagerly at Chloe and their daughter, who both shrugged. “You know… make her like that Luke Cage guy?”

“Sounds cool in theory but what if Chloe wants to shower, or take a bath?” Sven counted.

Marnie backed Sven up. “Or it gets caught on something and ripped off or she loses it? Bye bye protection,” she flicked a thumbs down sign.

“Dang.” Beca leaned back in her chair.

“I’m thinking we could try time travel. Go back and stop that journalist from ever poking around?” Marnie suggested.

“Butterfly effect, Marnie.” Sven cautioned. 

"Ach! Stimmt auch wieder,” she said, earning a confused look from her companion. “I said, you were right!”

“These are big ideas, are you guys sure that you can pull them off?” Chloe inquired.

“Girlie, please, you are looking at the person who single-handedly exorcised Japan’s infamous Yoshimoru Forest!” 

Bewildered, Chloe looked at Beca. “Have you ever heard of that place?” she whispered.

Beca shrugged. “Isn’t Lilly from there, or something?”

“Yeah, probably. Either that or Area 51?”

Beca turned back to Marnie. “Was that a dangerous place?”

Marnie leaned into Beca’s personal space. “I’ll put it to ya this way: before I showed up, that place made the Blair Witch look like My Little Pony.”

Beca swallowed the lump in her throat. “Okay.”

Marnie leaned back. “I also once mailed an amulet to Emily Blunt with explicit instructions on when to wear it. Next thing she knew, she won an Oscar!”

Cathy, Chloe, and Beca swapped impressed looks. 

“Ahem!” Sven cleared his throat. The portly man leaned forward in his chair. He teepeed his fingers. “I suppose y’all think it was a coincidence that _sinsofpegasus defeated Hungrybox in the infamous 2029 Super SmashBros. World Championship?” he pursed his lips. “There I was, at home alone on a chilly autumn night, sitting in my recliner with my eyes glued to my laptop screen when on a whim!” He smacked the table. “I uttered a few magical words and changed the course of history.”

Everyone at the table exchanged awkward looks. 

Outside of the house, crickets chirped. 

“Interesting…” Chloe nodded.

Marnie sighed. “Look, he might be a boob but he’s the best in the business when it comes to reciting incantations. He resurrected you and you didn’t come back a zombie or all Frankenstein’d, did ya?”

“She’s got a point Chlo,” Beca said.

“Guyssss…” Cathy groaned. “We’re getting off-topic and it’s getting late. I want to go play my new game, Amnesia: The Dark Descent.  So, let’s try to think up a solution.” Cathy paused for a second as if she just had a lightbulb moment. Beca recognized that expression from Chloe.“Amnesia… hmm… maybe that's it. What if we erase the memory of Chloe's death?”

“Our memory?” Beca asked her daughter, incredulous. “Why would I want that?”

“No, mom,” Cathy said patiently, “listen. If we erase the memory of Chloe's death from everyone in the world, then nobody would ever know about her case.”

Their two guests let that sink in. “That's not a bad idea… It might work.” Sven suggested.

Marnie paused for reflection. “Has its issues. She’ll have to endure an endless barrage of soccer moms hounding her about her skincare routine. Wondering where the flippity-fudge her wrinkles or crows feet are?”

Chloe laughed. “Honestly, that’s a small price to pay.”

Beca squeezed Chloe’s hand. “Would everyone forget? Like, all of our friends and family, too?” She swallowed thickly.

Marnie and Sven looked at each other. “Not entirely…” Sven said. “We could make it so everyone except for those people you or a designated proxy willingly told about the resurrection, remembered. Everyone else, yeah! Blank slate. Chloe, it’d be as if you never died. All records of your death would be erased or re-written.”

“You’re sure you guys can do this?” Beca glared at them. So, help them God, if they screwed this up…

“It’s gonna require extra items. Items that’ll take a couple of weeks to procure.”

“I can offer you security guards for protection!” 

Marnie smiled. “Nah. It’s all good. We know how to protect ourselves.”

Beca faced Chloe. “Chlo… what do you think? Is this really what you want?” 

“It is, Beca.” The redhead nodded firmly.

“There’s one last thing…” Sven cut in, causing the ladies to look at him worriedly. 

“What?” Beca winced.

“It must take place at her former gravesite,” the man said.

“Why?” Cathy asked. “So, we have to travel to Rhode Island?”

“It's where the whole enchantment started,” Sven sighed, “so it'll be more powerful.”

“Man, we just came all the way from Rhode Island,” Marnie whined. “But it can't be helped, I guess.”

Whew. Beca lolled her head back in relief. “That’s not a problem. And sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It’s all good,” Marnie concluded.

An hour-and-a half later, the Mitchell-Beale family bid their new friends farewell.

The plan was risky…

Very risky indeed, but Beca and Chloe were now confident that it could be pulled off. 

——

12:06 a.m.
East Greenwich Cemetery
Providence, Rhode Island

Four headlights polluted the blanket of night, covering the hauntingly sparse cemetery as two vehicles slowed at the entrance where they turned, cautiously, wanting to avoid rousing suspicion.

Chloe’s resurrection took place at night. The worldwide memory wipe spell would take place at night as well. 

Humans weren’t meant to visit cemeteries after dusk. The witching hours invoked an invisible magic that fostered paranoia in the bravest of souls.

Beca flinched at the warm hand enveloping her own. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Their car slowed to a halt, and she shifted the gear into park.

“I’m here, babe. I’ll always be with you,” Chloe assured her with a firm squeeze.

“Y-yeah. I know.”

This place brought several harsh memories. However, this was the first time in Beca’s recollection that a chill hadn’t crept down her spine. 

Chloe leaned over to kiss Beca. “Just say the word and we’ll leave. No questions asked,” the redhead nuzzled Beca’s face.

“Chlo, I’m not gonna crumble. I can like, totally, do this one more time,” she huffed and kissed Chloe back. 

“Guys, get a room!” Cathy grimaced at her parents’ PDA, but it was obvious that she was happy for them. She retrieved two flashlights and checked their batteries, readying them.

A mint colored van pulled ahead of them, then parked. Out stepped Marnie and Sven from the front. The duo circled to the back of the large van and plucked open the doors. Inside rested a large indigo trunk upholstered in velvet.

While Marnie and Sven gathered the items they needed for the spell. Beca, Chloe, and Cathy unbuckled their seatbelts and then popped open the doors on their car. 

The fall air was muggy but cool. The sound of gravel crackled off of their footsteps. 

Beca and Chloe joined hands and walked silently up the sullen, dew-stricken hill, their flashlight illuminating their path. A word not spoken between either of them. 

Chloe wore her feelings on her sleeve, yet Beca watched the mother of her child cast forlorn looks in all directions; she couldn’t help but empathize about how weird it must be to take it all in. 

To return to the place her body and soul rested for almost two decades.

Beca’s denim jacket clung to her tight form, keeping her warm in the chilly fall weather. She watched as Chloe took in everything around her. Chloe’s newly purchased leather jacket looked great on her and made her fiery locks pop. 

The family walked up a hill until, behind some bushes and by a beautiful small tree rested a cross amidst a patch of wildflowers and red roses, they happened upon a mound of fresh dirt. Still soft and wet; and the rectangular outline of a headstone.

Chloe coiled her arms around Beca and Cathy. “I-I love it. You picked a beautiful spot,” she placed a soft kiss on both of their cheeks.

“I never thought in a million billion years you’d be here standing above it,” Beca whispered.

Chloe forced a laugh. “You know what they say, Becs? Truth is stranger than fiction.”

“One thing’s for sure… I don’t ever wanna come back here till it’s time for you guys to be buried… together,” Cathy commented. “When Bella and I are old ladies with graying hair and crooked teeth.”

Wet rustling leaves coupled with the sound of footsteps drew their attention from the plot.

Marnie and Sven approached them. Each carrying different things. Marnie, a sparkling purple velvet pouch, and Sven a container with the ingredients. 

“Alright, chums! Let’s do this!” He clapped his hands together. “Step forward, Chloe. Stand before your grave.”

Chloe did as she was instructed.

Marnie reached into her pouch. “This is a thistle branch from Romania’s Moss Swamp,” she placed gently on the mound of soil in front of Chloe.

Sven tossed several dozen clovers of Mulvarian Root - found in the Trichur Forest in Kerala, India - until a circle of clovers surrounded them.

“Can this spell ever be undone?” Cathy wondered.

“Only if we perform a restoration charm.”

“It’s gonna work, Sweetie. I have faith in them,” Beca assured her daughter.

“Hold onto this.” Marnie placed a green vine with purplish petals into Chloe’s hand. “It's a Purple Swamp Flower, collected from the Great Black Swamp, in Indiana.”

Marnie met Chloe’s eyes in earnest. “I need to cut your finger. Your blood is needed for the ritual, that’s the only part that might hurt,” she explained while taking Chloe's hand.

Chloe cocked an eyebrow but accepted, nonetheless. “Ugh. I hate blood. And I was training to become a vet before all… this.” Chloe hissed when Marnie cut the tip of her finger with a blade, and suddenly dark crimson pooled. 

“Just like this?” The redhead coated the Purple Swamp Flower with her blood, skepticism evident in her voice. 

“Mmmhmm,” Marnie hummed. 

“Alright, Sven, show us the magic.”

Sven began to shed tears. “Th-That’s the first time you ever called me by my real name, Marnie.” 

Groaning, Marnie rolled her eyes at him, making Beca giggle. “Hurry the fuck up, it's getting cold!”

“Calm down… Maleficent’s younger sister! Are ya in a hurry to go audition for the new Tim Burton movie?” he snarked back.

Marnie threw him an impressed smirk. “Ron Weasley’s got jokes after all,” she mumbled under her breath.

Sven positioned himself directly in front of Chloe. “Take hands everyone. I will now begin the incantation.” 

Credo Credo fechan, credo lan,

Credo i Dduw ac Ifan,

Rhag y dwfr, rhag y tan,

Rhag y sarffes goch ben-llydan!”

Thunder clapped.

Lightning illuminated the clouds.

However, instead of rain, a golden mist manifested above Chloe where it hovered for several seconds before swirling downward and finally dispersing on her. While light blue energy bolts sparkled and fizzed across the night sky, streaking in all directions.

Everyone stared at Chloe until a serene smile tugged on her face. “I think it worked, you guys. I feel unburdened.”

“Me too,” Cathy suddenly spoke up.

“Me three,” Beca looked at Marnie and Sven who were high-fiving each other. “Thanks,” she said with tears streaming down her eyes.

“Now I forgot to mention that one of the side effects is a wicked stomach ache so you might want to hurry up and find a bathroom, Chloe.”

“What?” she snapped at him.

Marnie slugged Sven, who laughed. “He’s kidding you guys,” she side-eyed him.

“Oh geez!” Chloe laughed. “Thank you guys so much.”

“Really, it was no trouble at all,” Sven said.

“I don’t think we’re ever going to forget you three,” Marnie joked, offering Beca a fist-pump.

“Likewise,” Beca said, staring awkwardly at the woman’s fist, then bumped her fist with Marnie's. “If the spell really worked, I owe you tons, guys!”

She turned to Sven, extending her hand to shake his. “Good job, dude! Thank you for everything.”

Cathy gave them both a high-five, but she couldn't resist flinging her arms around them. She first hugged the taller woman, then the portly guy, giggling excitedly like a small child. Again, they exchanged awkward looks, returning the embrace half-heartedly, but smiling all over. 

And at last, Chloe. Whose eyes shimmered with grateful tears under the beam of moonlight and their flashlights. She had her hands folded before her, then she extended her arms sideways to offer them both a hug.

“We'll see you soon, I'm sure,” she said.

Marnie and Sven, waving back at them a last time, walked down the winding paths back to their vehicles, saying their goodbyes in the process. Sven was carrying the rest of the items they had used back to their van.

Beca remembered something and quickly bolted right after them. “Hey you two. Wait up. I’d like to give both of you something for helping my family.”

Beca handed Marnie and Sven each a manilla envelope when the three of them were alone. 

The duo held their envelopes up to the light from inside of the van. Inside were stacks of cash and some papers stapled together. It appeared to be a contract of sorts. Marnie’s lips moved as she read over the contract, “This is an employment contract for R–”

“Shhhh,” Beca brought her finger to her lips. “It’s a surprise. I haven’t told Chloe yet,” she smiled. Looking over her shoulder at Chloe, who was retrieving something from the trunk of their car.

Marnie leafed through the wad of cash in her envelope. “This is… like, a lot. I-I can’t.” She attempted to hand the envelope back to Beca, who simply shook her head.

"I insist," the producer smiled. "Please, you'll offend me if you don't." Beca placed a reassuring hand over Marnie’s. “Guys, you gave me and my daughter more than we could've asked for. Even if it wasn't your intention.” 

“I don’t think I've ever seen this much money in my whole life before,” Sven said, tears already forming in his eyes. “You’re giving us a new future.”

Beca nodded. A warm smile rested on her face. “I’ve come to believe that a secure future is a heck of a lot better than a temporary one.”

——

CHLOE…

“G-5,” Chloe counted under her breath.

Chloe leaned down to place flowers on the unmarked grave of Lazlo Green.

“Gosh, I’m usually not this nervous…” She looked down the hill to see Marnie and Sven driving away in their van and Cathy and Beca waving goodbye. Chloe looked back down at the plot before her. “Thank you,” she said. “We’ve never met before but I feel like I owe you thanks because had it not been for you, I’d have never been given this gift.”

The redhead sniffled, she reached up to wipe away her tears. “I promise I won’t let it go to waste. I’ll do my damndest to make sure you aren’t forgotten either, okay?” 

Chloe felt the tickle of wind against her face. She smiled and walked away to rejoin her wife and daughter.