It was the most forceful Erica had ever been, and Dora tried to rise to her words. She wanted to take Erica's hand like a small child but was afraid of the physical contact. If she took Erica's hand, would Erica think that Dora was getting used to the idea that she was her wife?
Inside, the children were lined up, unabashedly curious, a spark of worry centered in the youngest's eyes. Cuppa stood closest to the kitchen, her posture rigid. Everything was different. Gauzy white curtains hung at the windows. The walls were painted a light mineral taupe color. Low lying couches with dark grey linen covers dressed with Belgian flax colored pillows had replaced the antique furniture of her grandma's. Beige and moss green throws draped two plush accent chairs with chunky wooden frames. The dark wood floor was replaced with cold washed stone of mottled greenish-brown, a natural fiber area rug as the centerpiece. Her grandmother's mustard yellow dining room table set and the matching plastic bucket seat chairs with metal legs had been brought back to the dining room, a swirly orange and yellow rug under the dining set. The china had been put back in the cabinet next to others sets of different designs, mismatched cups and plates stacked together, giving the collection a whimsical look. Hanging plants bathed in the natural light. The old family pictures her grandmother had had up originally now decorated the dining room. New family pictures decorated the living room along with several enlarged black and white artsy photographs of the actress, Natalie Wood. Next to the actress's 1960s photos was a picture of Ramani when she was Brenda Wilson, posing against the red Mustang. Serene could see why those pictures were grouped together. Brenda had looked so much like Natalie in her youth, especially when she wore her hair straight.
"This is for you," the middle girl said and thrust a large card in Dora's hand. It had a picture of a mother bird flying back to its nest of waiting babies. Inside, someone had written in pretty handwriting, “Welcome Back Home Mom.” Little flowers and hearts were drawn around the words, and there were personal notes from all of them. Dora glanced over the notes, but didn't read them right then. She looked back up at her waiting children. They were all so white. The eldest girl, Barbara, was stunning, tall with thick, wavy dark hair cut in flattering layers grazing her collar bone, green eyes, a pert nose, and full lips, the skin cracked and dry. Somehow this didn't detract from her looks, only added to them. She wore a fuzzy blue knit turtleneck sweater and high waisted jeans. Her feet were bare and perfect looking, the nails painted a light blue. The two youngest girls were both blond with the kind of mermaid hair that Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin used to have, the sort of hair Dora had always loved. The middle girl, Sara, had light eyes too, but the hue leaned more toward blue. Her cheekbones were high and her nose similar to Dora's own, aquiline and prominent. The youngest, Jesse––Dora had to keep reminding herself that Jesse wasn't a girl––had the same long mermaid hair as Sara, and brown eyes. His features were closer to Barbara's and he held a kind of ephemeral appearance. She did not know what she expected, exactly, when she did meet her son, but this went way beyond a boy who likes to wear dresses. He wore a soft floral rayon bohemian garment, which only added to the pixie-like quality he exuded.
At that moment, Jesse threw his arms around her, pressing his head against her chest. He smelled like cinnamon toast. Dora hugged him back, glancing down at the fair head pressed up against her chest, and then back up, locking eyes with Barbara.
Dora had a sudden thought that Barbara was way out of her league. How could she have anything to do with this girl, so well put together? She looked like she contained vast amounts of intelligence in that pretty head of hers. Barbara was the kind of girl that Dora would never have bothered trying to get to know. The type of girl who was sure of herself, comfortable in her own skin, who got good grades and knew where she was going. If she'd lived on Maui, she would have gone to Seabury, a private school, and intermingled with other well-off white and Japanese kids. Privileged kids who traveled several times a year and left the island after graduating to attend ivy-league colleges. A girl like Barbara would never have visited Serene in her ramshackle country house or run in the local crowd. A girl like Barbara would have lived on a gated estate with horses and the latest new everything. She would have been kind and polite, but held herself apart, separate from someone like Dora.
Barbara stepped forward and Sara followed. The two put their arms around Dora and hugged tight.
"Welcome back," Barbara said, and Sara started to cry.
Dora stroked the girl's head, feeling stricken and overwhelmed. "I'm sorry," was all she could think to say.
"Right, then," Cuppa spoke up. "How 'bout we all have a cuppa tea, get settled in?"
Erica came forward and gently pulled Sara away from Dora. The other two went to sit on the sofa, folding lanky legs up under lithe bodies.
"Do you want some tea, Dora?" Erica asked.
Dora nodded and tucked her hair back behind her ears before sitting in one of the chairs. Sara squeezed in next to her and rested her head against her breast.
"We're out of earl grey," Cuppa called out.
This was obviously for Erica's information because Erica said, "I'll take whatever black tea we have."
"What?" Cuppa called back.
"They're having black tea, whatever kind there is," Barbara spoke up.
They're? Dora frowned. Who was Barbara talking about?
"I missed you," Sara said and wiped at her
