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When Abigail and Chiyoh return — finally — from their camping trip, Bedelia grudgingly welcomes them home. She makes a few quips about how peaceful it was, to not have Chiyoh stalking about like a caged panther, to not have Abigail rushing through like a whirlwind.
The house had been tranquil, like when Bedelia had lived here before, during her “withdrawing.” Wine and documentaries every evening instead of Abigail’s preferred reality trash.
Abigail can’t quit talking at dinner, recounting every animal they tracked — and she and Chiyoh only tracked. No hunting. Hunting holds bad memories for Abigail, memories she doesn’t need to examine just yet. Chiyoh is quiet as she usually is, but after Bedelia gently pushes, she details a fox family they saw.
Bedelia doesn’t admit it, but she missed the sound of their voices.
When she and Chiyoh go to bed that evening, they start out as they always do, staunchly on their sides, a gulf between them. That gulf shrinks while they sleep, but tonight, Bedelia rolls into Chiyoh’s arms before she thinks about it, body moving before her brain. Chiyoh gives her the opportunity to pull away, but she doesn’t budge.
“Miss us?”
“No,” Bedelia says even as she presses her forehead to Chiyoh’s shoulder. The feelings about missing her wife and adopted daughter — she doesn’t want to process them. They’re too raw, too unbelievable for her.
Chiyoh’s answer is a soft chuckle. Her fingers run through Bedelia’s hair, like she’s petting a reluctant cat.
“Maybe,” Bedelia grouses.