"TIME WAITS FOR NO ONE," Eomma used to say. 

There would be a slight tightness in her voice, but the phrase would be delivered so gently that none of the children ever batted an eye when she repeated it over and over and over again. She would say this with her soft hair fastened in a stubby ponytail, her gold bracelets jingling as she peeled apples with a knife. She would be wearing that red gingham apron that Appa got her all those years ago. She would smell of fresh laundry and hibiscus perfume. Everything would be painted in yellow afternoon gold and everything would be soft and tender and perfect.

And Appa used to say, "There is beauty in simplicity." He would come home from work, wrinkled and frumpled, but smiley. He would set his keys in the ceramic bowl by the door and come into the kitchen with a plastic bag of Chinese takeout. He would lift his children off the floor and swing them in a circle and say something about a new movie he wanted to see and everything would be soft and tender and perfect. Almost too perfect. 

Sophie would watch from the kitchen table, swinging her legs, wondering how Eomma ran the sharp edge of the blade over her thumb, slicing the peels with such carelessness, yet with such exactitude. She would watch as Appa put his own apron on to wash the dirty dishes in the sink, as he flicked cold water in his wife's direction. She watched as her parents laughed together.

The velvet-dipped image of her parents usually nestled softly in her mind. It was a warm keepsake that she opened up when she felt lonely. 

But today, not even the warmth of the honey-glowed kitchen could soothe the ache in her stomach. 

Today, the memory burned. 

Today, her mouth tasted of mint toothpaste as she glanced down at the white and blue goop on the roadside. 

Eomma was right—time was cruel and greedy and unfair—it pulled her limbs apart slowly. And Appa was right—she should have appreciated the quiet moments while they lasted. Because now, all she wanted to do was run into his arms and cry and apologize and sit in his warmth. She wanted to feel her mother's touch in her hair, hear her short breathy giggles again, breathe in the comfort of both parents.

Slowly, Sophie's gaze moved from the spittle to the pink toothbrush in her hand, to the ugly pile of vomit sitting in the dead grass. Panting, she lifted a water bottle to her lips and rinsed the taste from her mouth, spitting the remains next to the toothpaste.

The spring air whistled across dry grass, quietly shaking the trees by the little beach houses. The sky was a soft purple, almost completing its descent into starry darkness. Sophie thought she could hear the ocean. She could certainly smell it. If it weren't for the obscenities on the ground or her current circumstance, she might've found this spot a little scenic.

"You okay over there, Soph?" Judah's voice sounded behind her. She turned slowly, blinking as the wind tangled with her hair. Her brother was in the driver's seat of the stupid red sedan, leaning across the seat where she had first started to feel nauseous.

She nodded, turning away, embarrassed. "I'm okay. Carsick." Her cheeks were warm. She was embarrassed that she had cried into hyperventilation for the first hour of their road trip. She was embarrassed Judah had to pull over for a vomit break. She was embarrassed Dawn had to dig through their luggage to find a toothbrush and toothpaste. She was embarrassed she had used the last of her water to wash away the taste of puke.

It had been a long drive.

Sophie faced the car once more, meeting the gaze of her younger sister, who frowned sympathetically from the backseat window. "Ready to get going?" the eighteen-year-old asked. Her eyes were red.

No. "Yes." She inhaled a final breath of sea air, dusted her hands off on her jeans, and opened the car door, already feeling nauseous again.

For the past few hours, the siblings had driven in complete silence. The constant drone of the air conditioning had put Dawn to sleep within the first thirty minutes, so Sophie had tried to keep her sobbing to a minimum. Poor Judah had tolerated it all as he mindlessly tapped the wheel with his fingertips. There was a heaviness sitting over the Lim siblings, but each of them knew that discussing the elephant in the room would only drag them further underground. Dawn might've been ready for that conversation, Judah might've been ready for that conversation, but both of them knew that Sophie certainly was not. So they sat quietly, waiting for their final destination to appear in front of them.

At least now, Judah had left the windows down. At least there was sound in the car, oxygen in the car. Sophie found it in herself to break eye contact with her reflection in the window and watch her brother as he drove. She watched how the wind swirled through his dark hair, she watched how his lips pressed into a thin line, how his shallow dimples creased evenly into his cheeks. He looked just like Appa. Her heart started to hurt again, so she glanced down at her palms, the chipping pink polish on her fingernails.

Judah had noticed her gaze. "Hm?"

Sophie shook her head, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I'm sorry about... that," she muttered, gesturing with her head towards the road. Towards the vomit.

He hummed lightly. "Don't apologize."

"Let me apologize," Sophie replied, hardly hearing her own voice over the wind. "It makes me feel better."

His brows moved upward in silent communication. It seemed this was the only kind of communication they had been partaking in for the past few weeks.

"You're going to take a left in about a mile," Dawn piped up from the backseat. Both Judah and Sophie sighed a little in relief.

Finally.

The farther they traveled, the smaller Sophie felt. It was as if her heart were a ball of yarn, and the end of it had been left at their home in Coldwater. Even here—in Eomma and Appa's hometown, where it smelled of orange trees and coffee beans, where the sky was always strawberry pink, where the wind seemed to laugh when it whistled by—there was still darkness here. It was just tucked deeper away, buried in the Delaware sand.

After about thirty more minutes of wind and quiet and Dawn's occasional direction, the little red car finally arrived at its long-awaited destination. 

Despite each house in the neighborhood looking relatively the same—the same beachy colors, white wood, porch swings—they were spread apart with no sidewalk to connect them. Their new home looked a little lonely. Still, they ventured through the neighborhood beneath the shade of the trees, inhaling the sweet, beachy forest scent.

Judah made a sharp turn into the familiar house, drove into the gravel driveway, and parked the car with a slight sigh. He turned the engine off and glanced at his sisters as the fresh silence gripped the air. Sophie was the first to hop out—she was afraid she was going to puke again.

The house looked exactly like she had expected it to. It had that typical grainy white exterior, the wrap-around porch, the creaky steps and blue wooden chairs. Colorful flowers were scattered about, blooming like a watercolor painting across the white wooden backdrop. A surprising amount of grass surrounded the house, but the rest of the property seemed... normal. Normal was good.

Sophie heard her siblings' footsteps crunching on the gravel behind her. She paused and watched them for a moment as they carried their luggage and followed from a distance, waiting for her to ring the doorbell. They looked at her as if there was a bomb strapped to her head. Maybe there was.

She resumed, hopped up the creaky porch steps, and jammed the doorbell with her thumb. The siblings only waited a few moments before Terry, their mother's second sister, appeared at the doorway with an eager grin. "Hello, hello!" she greeted brightly and immediately wrapped Sophie in a tight embrace.

Sophie winced at the sudden impact, but patted her aunt's shoulder respectfully. "Hi, Emo."

"I'm so glad you all are here," Terry said, her twinkly voice bounding from her lips. She released Sophie, immediately pulling the other two siblings into warm hugs.

"It's good to see you, Terry Emo," Judah responded politely. "Um, thanks again for letting us stay. It really means a lot." Sophie caught the look he sent to both sisters and she immediately began nodding, mumbling her own form of thanks.

"Yeah," Dawn agreed. "Thank you so much."

Terry Emo waved a hand dismissively and motioned them inside. "You are always welcome here." She held the screen door open, allowing the trio to dump their luggage in the echoey foyer. Daylight poured in through a circular window above the door and little rainbows ricocheted onto the soft, carpeted stairs. Terry's slippers clapped against the shiny hardwood floors as she led them into the kitchen, where the walls were painted a happy yellow. Even the floor tiles were bright and colorful. It seemed the whole house was screaming at them, be happy! Be happy! 

"I'll let you guys get settled in," Terry Emo said, gesturing towards the stairs with a baby blue fingernail. "There are three rooms upstairs, go ahead and choose." Dawn and Judah immediately grabbed their bags. "Oh, Sophie," Emo called lightly, so only she could hear. "Could you help me with something?"

She nodded, placing her backpack onto the colorful tiles. She followed Terry Emo through the Happy Kitchen, past the round table, towards the back door, which was covered in a silky, sage-colored curtain. Terry shoved the sliding back door to the side, pushed past the screen door, and led her niece out into the backyard, where flowers sprung from the ground like a fairy tale garden. "Do you ever garden, Soph?" Terry asked, kneeling down on the soil. She was growing cherry tomatoes—Sophie glanced around—among many other vegetables.

She shook her head. "I've never had a green thumb," she said, managing a weak smile. "Everything seems to die under my touch." Sophie found it in herself to laugh as she remembered the poor cactus she had managed to kill two summers ago. I thought a cactus would thrive on neglect! she had told a disappointed Judah, who also hardly knew a thing about gardening.

Terry Emo beckoned her to the ground, shaking her head. "You just need a different approach," she responded simply. "Not everything is going to bloom overnight." 

And when she smiled, Terry Emo looked just like her sister. She had the same big eyes, the same wrinkles between her brows and at the corners of her lips. All three of the Song sisters had that signature smile. They had gotten it from their mother who had gotten it from her mother. Sometimes, Sophie wished she had it too—but it was passed down to Dawn instead. It suited her well.

Sophie's eyes began to water before she could even register what was happening. If time stopped, if the picture was blurred, it could've been her mother sitting in front of her, surrounded by blooming pink and white and yellow. 

Only, it was her aunt with a look of pity. 

"Oh, honey," Terry Emo murmured.

Sophie looked down into the soil, blinking away the waterworks. "I thought I had cried all of my tears away," she muttered.

"You won't ever run out of tears, love," Terry responded.

She dug her fingers into the dirt, not caring that she was poking random, uneven holes in the ground, not caring that bits of soil were now wedged in her nails. "I miss them," she said to no one in particular—maybe to the tomatoes.

"You always will," Terry Emo said. After a beat, she continued. "And it's going to be hard."

Sophie glanced up at her aunt. 

The funeral was a flurry of rushed condolences, hugs from strangers, and throwaway sayings that felt shallower and shallower each time she heard them. Things will get better. They'll always be watching over you. They're not really gone—we just have to remember them. Trust, it gets easier.

"Does it get easier, Emo?" Sophie asked. She didn't want the sugar-coated truth.

Terry sighed lightly, placing the cherry tomatoes aside. "There will be some days that are more tolerable than others. Some days you'll feel like you can conquer the world, and other days you'll cry until you can't breathe," she responded softly. "That hole will always be there, they're irreplaceable. And you know that."

Sophie shuddered slightly, but somehow felt grateful for the honesty.

"But that doesn't mean you can't grow," she said with a light smile. "It'll take time." Terry Emo paused for a moment and the backyard birds filled the silence with their springtime songs. "And now you have a place to do it." Together, they glanced around the property, the giant trees that shaded the garden, the white picket fence that matched the exterior. She stood up, offering her hand. Sophie took it immediately.

"Let's get you settled in," she said, brushing the dirt from her clothes. "Jia Emo is going to be back from work soon."

Jia Emo. Sophie missed her kindred spirit.

"Oh, and we were thinking of ziti for dinner," Terry said with a cheery expression. "Dawn loves her pasta, doesn't she? How does that sound?"

Sophie met Terry Emo's kind eyes and the heaviness in her heart lulled for a short moment. She nodded, taking her aunt's hand. "That sounds wonderful."

She followed her aunt back into the beachy white house and into the Happy Kitchen, smelling the lavender and baby's breath and nostalgia all at once. Despite the circumstance, it somehow felt appropriate. It felt appropriate to be here, after the death of her parents, in the home built upon laughter and memory and music.

So she found it in herself to smile, even though it felt like her throat was closing, even though her stomach was churning. She was in the pretty house under the sun. She had her brother, her sister, her aunts. And she would be okay.