The parts my editor cut

"Did you write "Jenny"?"

Celine lifts a brow; honestly, not the strangest thing she's heard when answering a call from any of the girls. "Good morning to you too, Mira."

"Nu-uh! No cryptic non-answers or crap about how 'you don't remember;' just answer the question: Did you write Studio Killers' "Jenny"? Yes or no?"

Sighing, Celine sits back on her heels; pressing the phone against her shoulder she tugs off her gardening gloves, finger by finger. She'd done enough interviews in her life to know when a question was loaded, and she could feel this one creaking in the air above her like a snow-laden branch waiting to fall. Typically she'd deflect, sidle out of the way of the coming avalanche with a reply that answered the question without truly saying anything.

But this was Mira, who was smart; Mira, who could see around the tricks of a seasoned celebrity because she knew them all herself (Celine had made sure of it); Mira, one of her girls who she'd promised no more lying, no more secrets.

And she loved her- all her girls- enough to honor that.

"Yes."

There's sounds from the other end of the line, the muffled "eep!" of a fangirl trying desperately to keep her enthusiasm in check, and a mildly irritated "why's that a big deal? I told you she did" that could only be Rumi.

"Okay." There was a building glee in Mira's tone that put Celine on edge. "Follow up question:"

creeeeeeeak went the invisibly laden branch.

"Did you write it about Rumi's mom?"

No avalanche could have hit harder.

Mira's question landed in the air with a hearty fwoomp!, leaving Celine as stunned as if she really had been the victim of the spring thaw and found herself buried in wet slushy snow. From the phone, she could hear Rumi squawk, then silence.

They were waiting for her answer.

And oh, did she have an answer.

She had hoped no one would ever ask that...

But now Mira- smart, clever, merciless Mira- had and was awaiting an answer.

One Celine had honor-bound herself to give.

And she would. But first-

"Am I on speaker phone?"

(some things were easier to say when your daughter-in-all-but-name wasn't listening)

Unfortunately, she'd media trained her girls too well and her request- and more importantly the reason behind it- was as transparent as glass. She yanked the phone away from her ear as it erupted with Mira's bark of laughter, Zoey screaming about how "she knew it" and "the fics were right!!!" and Rumi alternating between cries of "Celine!!!" and the agonized groans of the dying. Or, more accurately, someone who just learned her dead-mother had been...desired by the best-friend-who-raised-her-daughter, in the most romantic sense of the word.

She was very glad she wasn't at the Penthouse right now; her cheeks were flaming.

Just then music started to filter through the speakers.

"I wanna ruin our friendship

We should be lovers instead"

"Oh no!" Rumi's voice rose over the unmistakable lyrics of "Jenny." "Zoey! Turn that off!"

"What's wrong, Ru?" Mira's voice was shaking with barely-contained amusement. "It's a good song! That happens to be Celine saying how she looked at your mom and wanted to-"

There was the distinct clattering of a scuffle and a phone being dropped, and Celine decided that was her involvement in the conversation was over.

The peace of the garden returned as she hung up, and Celine sat for a long moment, letting it settle around her before she went back to her weeding. Before she did, though, she opened her phone's music app, pulled up a song, and pressed 'play.'

She sat back, shut her eyes, and the garden melted away. She was back on the ugly ochre carpet of the den before she finally scraped together the wons for a tasteful replacement, back against the sofa. She could hear Miyeong's even breaths as she dozed behind her- she'd been tired a lot, her second trimester-, smell the jasmine and hibiscus of her favorite shampoo, and see the trace of a smile still on her lips from when Celine had jokingly (or, it was a joke to one of them) kissed her temple as she tucked her in.

(feel the way she'd had to restrain herself to keep the kiss modestly near her hairline)

She still remembered the sound of the pen moving across the page, and the longing that burned through the ink.

"I wanna ruin our friendship..."