Ghost laid back in the chair and stretched. "You're right!" she said to her wife. "Dis be da bomb!"

Killa smiled smugly. "I be right all da time. You jus' not noticin.'"

Ghost wiggled her toes in the water. "Ya was right to have anudder baby. We do need ta help dem people. Dey is very nice."

"Yea, an' now we get downtime so we kin experience our money. We so busy wif da Soldier Pack we gotta rememba to take da time for ourselfs." Killa relaxed as the Vietnamese woman began working on her heels with a sander.

"That no lie," said Ghost. "Dey doin' real-well, except fo dat Sheila."

Sheila was a lover of one of the Soldier Pack, and a drug addict and thief. She'd been caught breaking into another soldier's apartment, and was now in jail. The soldier was allowed to stay, but "Mouse" had it explained to him that he needed to find a better class of woman to date. He agreed, and became even more quiet in embarrassment. Mouse and Yodeler were on a trip to scout out locations in Arizona and Nevada for new shops.

"We gotta find places to send dem ladies," said Killa. "Dey is awesome. Dat Kym got her own bike done in two weeks." Kym was smart and very strong, and could lay down a perfect welding bead. She was half Thai and half African-American, and all attitude and good humor. "Dat girl gonna go far, run her own shop. Been takin' dem small business courses, too."

"Da girl great wit’ da customers, too," said Killa. "Put her far out from us. She not be needin' much help."

"'Kay," said Ghost.

"Den we gotta get tree new ones off da list."

Ghost waved her hand. "Already set up da emails. Just gonna send 'em when we find da place fa our girls now." She groaned in pleasure as the technician worked on her heel.

"You ever feel we did da wrong ting?" asked Killa.

"Wif da Soldier Pack? Naw. We get moah work done now, mo bikes out. Done taken care of our backlist. I even got time ta teach dem new Wolfpack how ta make da miniature bikes. We keepin' up wif da orders there."

"We need a vacation," said Killa.

"Jamaica, baby," said Ghost. They both laughed.

* * *

Gregory pointed to the photo on the screen. "What's wrong with this picture?" he asked.

Sergeant Avery "Grade A" Aames raised his hand. He was tall, good-natured, with brown hair, brown eyes, and an easy smile. The best thing about him was that he was completely forgettable, something worth taking advantage of in the game of protection. Gregory nodded at him to speak.

"Out of position. The principal is too far away to prevent a snatch."

"Good," said Gregory, and pointed at Private First-Class Julie "JJ" Jones. "JJ?"

"The principal is at a weird angle; offset, and too close to the fan. The fan could stab her with a knife, or even a pen."

"Good," said Gregory. "And the way to prevent the stabbing part?"

JJ held up her screen. Body armor had gotten a lot lighter, and could go under clothing. Stars liked revealing clothing, but could be convinced to wear "cool" leather jackets. The body armor went into the price of the protection.

"Jacket number two, Sir. This actress likes to wear red."

"Good," said Gregory. "Red?"

Staff Sergeant Aileen Kerry was a very natural redhead, who wore her locks braided back. She had the tilted green eyes, gold freckles, and porcelain skin of Irish ancestry. She also had keen eyes.

"The guy on the right has a gun," she said. "Black matte; probably a small-caliber. He's also not club security or Meghan's security, either. The club likes beefy guys, and she likes female security. And, the woman on the far left is supposed to be an ecstatic fan, but she looks almost bored. I would say she's Meghan's security, and that she has a bead on the guy with the gun. I think she has a weapon hidden by her notebook."

"Whoa," said JJ. "Nice catch."

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is situational awareness," said Bannon, from the doorway. "The pictures may seem silly to you, but you're learning what to look for. I've got an excellent VR company using Google Glass to create an environment for you to practice. So, first, go through these scenarios, then you'll compete with the two other teams to create the best VR scenarios. This way, you'll train each other, and then you will actually be training those that come after you."

"Yes, Sir," said the soldiers.

"We won't let you down, Sir," said Kerry.

Bannon smiled. "Bannon High Desert Security is going to smoke everyone else," he said. "Now, get back to work."

The course in defensive driving had to take into account artificial hands and feet. The soldiers needed to learn how to drive vehicles at speed and take evasive maneuvers, while wearing (many of them brand-new) prostheses they had only recently acquired. Any soldier accepted into the motorcycle rebuilding program got new and better prostheses if they asked for them, or if they demonstrated a need for them. Anyone showing up with a hook for a hand or a stick with a foot attached automatically got new ones. Bannon paid half the cost as a secret ex-soldier angel; the other half was paid for by donations, from those wanting to help ex-soldiers thrive. The 3D printers that printed prostheses for ex-soldiers stayed busy. Bannon and Gregory developed a training course to take advantage of prosthetic feet and hands. Reaction time was key, so they worked on that as well.

They shot guns at the range, used a variety of martial arts Herja and some other Valkyries taught, and put an old warehouse to good use with constructing scenarios --crowd, urban, hotel, giving a speech --and other situations where their principals might need assistance. Bannon paid various Iron Knights and Valkyries to participate. They thought it great fun, especially Skuld; she devised some nasty ones. They made money having local law enforcement and military train with them, and even sold the VR sims to their departments. Eventually, the training paid for itself, and then some. Bannon worked on getting his training certified; he might as well sell it.

Their first case was a slutty, coke-snorting teen rock star who was known for doing things that would get her arrested. Her call sign was Happy Girl. They found out her manager was supplying the coke --her mother.

Kerry was on point. She knew what to do, and called Gregory. "Happy Girl needs baby powder her mother gets for her," she said, not willing to say more on an unsecure line. "Have plan, will travel and corral."

Gregory looked at Bannon, and put the call on mute. "The mom is either supplying cocaine or heroin to her daughter. I think Kerry takes protecting the client very seriously. I think she plans to send the mother to the Big House and get Happy to rehab."

"Good plan," said Bannon. "Gets the girl lots of good press. We just can't have our name on it." He thought a moment. "Kerry wouldn't risk her job. Give her a go signal."

"You are a go," said Gregory.

"Acknowledged," said Kerry, and hung up.

Detective Damon "Sledge" Harkness, LVMPD, was an Iron Knight. He was African-American, with pale brown eyes and very short hair. He had worked his way up using his brain and a lot of shoe leather. He'd trained with Kerry, knew her sharp brain --and even sharper instincts.

"What can I do for you, Staff Sergeant?"

"My DEA contact has her ass in traction," she said.

"Drugs," he said. "I did a stint in Narco. Whatcha got?"

"Coffee shop, right around the corner."

"Nice," he said. "If you're buying. Mind if I bring my contact?"

"Get two double shots of espresso if you do."

"On it," he said.

He called Jen "Njola" Nightingale. She was a Valkyrie named Night who had been taking up Wraith's slack in several areas. She had blue-black hair, braided on one side, and skin the color of old nutmeg, with brown eyes, and an attitude.

"Got one of Bannon's soldiers, think she wants to give us a gift, tied up neatly in a bow."

"Mama didn't raise no fool," said Njola. "Let's do this. Where?"

"The Grinder," he said. "We get a shot of espresso each in our coffee, right now."

"I'll take two in mine, thank you," she said, and hung up.

Kerry acted as if she didn't have a blade for a leg. She had on a dark gray suit, cut to hide her weapons, and a soft-silver silk top. Her wide face and snapping eyes didn't hide her intelligence from anyone.

"I'm having Kenyan roast with a shot of espresso. You two?"

"Same," said Njola, "But I want two shots of espresso."

Sledge smiled. "One, but make mine a large." They got their large coffees, and sat.

"Mama, we'll just call her that for now, buys coke for her fifteen-year-old daughter, and is violating laws, a lot of them. Dad is out of the picture. We cloned Mama's phone and found her supplier network. Rajana Moon is a pills-to-the-stars type, billing herself as a new-age practitioner of old arts." She showed a picture of a woman with her hair dyed ink-dark and in a gold sari. "She's based in Hollyweird, but she likes to visit peon places from time to time. Travels with Mama sometimes." She slid her finger, and another picture came out.

"Hans Gruschen," said Njola. "Did you bring me Hans all wrapped up in a bow? You shouldn't have!"

"Dude’s as slippery as an eel covered in petroleum. And just as nasty," said Sledge. "I'm in."

"Mama's the important one as far as we're concerned," said Kerry. "You guys have as much fun as you want. Deal goes down tonight, around nine. We'll get Baby out of the way while you slam them down. If you need support..."

"No, Ma'am," said Njola. "I'll have volunteers from here to Saskatchewan in ten minutes. Where?"

"Bathroom at Mama's hotel room. I'll get Baby out."

"Which hotel?" asked Sledge.

"The Chamberlain." It was a small, very exclusive, boutique hotel. They wouldn't notice the intrusion of law enforcement because they had been paid not to notice the little things.

"Done," said Njola. They all shook hands. They all stood, put on their game faces. Sledge left first, a tiny grin on his face and a song in his heart. "You know we still want you," said Njola.

"Still thinking," said Kerry. "Wraith getting hit just... made it real. Already happened once, you know? Haven't joined the Nighthawks either, and Ivy's practically begged." She smiled a slow smile. "I was 'bout ready to pack up and get a random ticket to anywhere, you know? Small town girl gets shot up. Everyone looking at me like I'm a grenade they need to run from. Mum needs my help. She had me when she was forty. She's got arthritis in her hips, her hands. I've gotta take care of her. Now I'm making money to care of her. Can't get her away from her friends, the garden ladies in Evanston. Too damn cold for her, but she won't listen. Did get my college done, in civil engineering. Now I can keep idiot kids like Baby safe, and put her mom and her entourage away and get her some help."

"You doing any engineering?" asked Njola.

"I'm making some plans. Geothermal plans. Bridges too. A lot of bridges and other infrastructure was built in the '30s, under the Civil Conservation Corps. Not sexy to spend money on them. Got some plans to make them toll roads, get the bridges replaced. When the bridge is paid for, money goes to the next bridge. Trying to get some counties somewhere --interested." They walked out into the desert sunshine together, the sun's light like a hammer blow to the eyes.

"Keep thinking, then do," said Njola. "Whether you join us or not, you're one of us. Call on any of us for whatever you need."

Kerry grinned. "I just did." They grabbed the back of each other's necks, and touched foreheads. "With your shield," said Kerry.

"Or on it," finished Njola. They parted without a backward glance.

* * *

Bannon knew something was up. Happy was supposed to be in her suite, working on her new song, and memorizing the lines for a makeup commercial. But, Grade A had been driving the limo around, and a bellman brought down a suitcase with Happy's favorite clothes, a hanging bag, and guitar. JJ covered the hallway, deliberately ignoring the "waiter" bringing flavored waters to Happy's suite.

Kerry said, "Let's go someplace... private. Secluded. Beachy."

Happy was tripping. There was something in the coke that was making her eyes go in and out of focus. "Hell, yeah," she said. "So that's why that guy left with my stuff."

"Yeah," said Kerry. "Let's go."

"What about Mama?" asked Happy. "She's gonna be pissed." Happy scored a cherry water from the "waiter" filling up the small refrigerator.

"Wanna fill up a bag?" asked Kerry.

Happy giggled while Kerry threw snacks and several more waters in a bag, and Happy willingly followed, begging for Doritos. They made it into the elevator and down to the garage without incident. Grade A opened the door, and ushered her in. The ladies got in, on either side, and Double A hard-locked the doors so no one could get out. Kerry handed Happy the Doritos and a napkin, and they were off.

Doritos, thought Bannon. One way to get your principal to comply.

Meanwhile, some more "hotel staff" had taken over the suite. One packed the rest of Happy's things, and Gregory came and collected them. "Good luck," he said, and called a bellman. Gregory took the things, and took them back to the warehouse to be shipped later.

Njola and Sledge had surveillance on Rajana Moon, who was dressed in a pink sari with gold trim, via a warrant and the hotel's own surveillance cameras.

"The closest that woman's been to India is ordering samosas," said Sledge, his voice a whisper. There was a tall man with her; blonde, with a fussy goatee and a black briefcase, wearing an old-fashioned black suit and round silver glasses. The feed was being sent to their netbooks from Trace, another Iron Knight who worked in LVMPD, in Narcotics.

"Hans Gruschen," said Njola. "He looks like a college professor in that getup. He's just missing the elbow pads."

"Going for the mild-mannered look. How many kilos do you think are in there?"

"Four keys, from the way he lists to the side," said Njola. "Come to mama." The two came up the elevator, and the feed switched accordingly, then to the outside hall. "Showtime," said Njola.

The warrant had also come through for "housekeeping" to leave a hidden camera, video and audio, in the sitting area of Mama's smaller mini-suite on the suite's second level, in the sitting room portion. It was accessible to the floor above them. Mama could go down a staircase to check on her little darling. The room was soundproofed so she didn't have to hear her daughter practice.

Njola and Sledge got out of their uniform tops, strapped on their tactical gear (hidden in Njola's cart), and crept up the spiral stairs, their rubber shoes soundless on the treads. They could see their multifaceted reflections in the staircase's mirror. The deal went through, and Njola and Sledge got the go. They went in both the front door via a hotel key, and the door at the top of the staircase.

"Freeze! LVMPD!" shouted Njola.

They got them with the cash, the drugs, and with Rajana stripping off her sari, with Rock Star Mama's hand on her breast, and Hans settled into a chair to watch.

"That's just... wrong," said Sledge.

"We're consenting adults," said Rajana.

"You have the right to remain silent," said Njola. "I suggest you do so until we get you booked on... let's start with the money and drugs, shall we?" She turned to Val, her partner. "Take her, book her, and put her on ice. We've got us some investigating to do."

Three and a half hours later, the CSIs finished, and the evidence was photographed, bagged, and logged. Njola smiled and took her time to sit in front of Rock Star Mama.

"Where's my lawyer?" Mama demanded.

"You mean the one you were going to pay for with your daughter's money?" asked Njola. "All your accounts are frozen, including the transfer to the account in the Cayman Islands." Rock Star Mama's face froze --as much as it could, with all the botox. "Have you ever heard of the Jackie Coogan law?" Rock Star Mama froze her entire body like a deer. "That's the pesky law where your daughter's money stays hers, and you don't get to loot it, whole hog. Then there's the charges for giving cocaine to your fifteen-year-old daughter. When did that start?"

"You can't prove..." she started to say, in a self-important voice.

Bannon entered, and handed Njola an envelope. He smiled a predatory smile at Mama, and left. Njola took out photos, and freeze frames of Mama cajoling her daughter to snort coke on a mirror. She then held up her tablet, then played the video. She passed over a paper.

"Sign this, and I'll talk to the DA about lessening your sentence."

Mama picked it up, then read it with trembling hands. "This... I no longer have custody, and I have no access to her funds... who's this Kerry person?"

"Her new guardian until she comes of age. Daddy's dead and the rest of the relatives are after her money. Just. Like. You."

“But…”

Mama hesitated. Njola said, "You bought four kilos of cocaine directly in front of our camera. We've got your fingerprints on both the money and the coke. Were you going to drive back? Or take a private plane?" said Njola. "We're talking to your drivers, your pilot who will be terrified to lose his license, and your maids..."

Mama gasped, then signed. She pushed the paper away. She looked right through Njola. Njola took the paper, then pushed over a pen and paper.

"We might reduce your sentence a little if you tell us all about your friends. They can't protect you; we have them on tape as well. But, we've got seventeen months of phone calls, and meetings. We know where they were, and we'll be pulling the security tapes. Now, what did you all have to talk about? Other than sex between consenting adults, of course. While your daughter was stumbling around downstairs, high on cocaine. Not the world's best mama, are you? Now, then." She pushed a legal pad and pen over to the woman that was sweating, although the building tended to be like a meat locker with the aggressive air conditioning. "Let's get it all written down, shall we? When did Linda Mackey --that's the grifter you contacted, she's been running scams for years --first contact you? Or were you looking for a psychic that supplied drugs to you, so you could supply them to a minor?" Mama's face blanched, and she began to write.

Miles away, south of Los Angeles, Happy wasn't so happy anymore. Kerry had showed her the pics of the bust, then the live stream of the interrogation.

"Put it away," she said. "So, you're what? My new manager?"

"No, we've got several we trust," said Kerry. "You'll pick the right one for you from a list. Right now, you're not safe from your mother's friends, who will go looking for whatever she promised them. Her assets are all frozen, so they won't get a thing. Our people are going through the Hollywood house, getting all of your things before the sheriff or the DEA shows up to investigate it, or sell it. It's your mother's house, not in your name. The media firestorm's going to get nasty, and you can't confront it impaired by your coke addiction." They pulled into a long, crushed-gravel driveway. "We're here."

"Where's here?" Happy looked around wildly.

"Sunset Rest Hospital, where you're going to have the nicest withdrawal from cocaine ever," said Kerry. "Massages, water therapy, spa treatments. The studio will hold the commercial until you get out, ready for your closeup. It's not a thirty-day spin dry, but a five-month program. You get your own private bungalow, yoga instruction, and I'm going to have a special teacher who can teach you to defend yourself when you're feeling a little better. You even have access to a studio where you can lay down some tracks. You'll get a lot of mileage, and a lot of lyrics out of this one. We've shielded you as best we can, but if you don't do the work it takes to get and stay clean, the next one of these will be the Salvation Army on skid row."

"And who pays for all this?" asked the rock goddess.

"You'll pay Bannon back in full once your mama's frozen accounts are unfrozen. Or when you put out your next album. I also suggest a new studio that doesn't let cocaine-driven meetings happen. Take back your power, girlfriend." Kerry smiled sadly at her. "You're gonna be sick as shit, but you'll recover."

"This sucks," said Rock Star Baby.

"Your name is now Harper Kerry." She handed Harper a California ID. "And you're my daughter." She hugged her. "Come home soon."

"Whatev," said Harper. Grade A unlocked the door, and Kerry slid out, then Harper. Harper kicked Kerry falling against her, then hopped up and down, holding her bruised toes. "What the fuck!"

Kerry pulled up her pant leg, and showed her lightweight metallic leg attached to a realistic ankle and foot, then dropped it down. "Got too close to an IED," she said.

"Fuck," said Harper, knowing she was outclassed.

"Shall we go in?" said Kerry. Harper glared at her, then went.

The hit song, "Harper," about a terrified teen left alone in the world who becomes a superhero, came out while she was in her last month of rehab. It was slow, bluesy, and with powerful vocals filled with pain and angst. It hit number one for sixteen weeks. Harper kept her new name and her stage name, Quill, and rebuilt herself as an extremely powerful Hollywood woman. She hired a new manager, a motorcycle-riding female named Diane Forrest, who dressed in motorcycle leathers and knew how to keep a teen in line, while still letting her keep most of her rock image.

Kerry had a new job --protecting her daughter. They got a condo in Vegas and a vacation one in Malibu. They then hired Bannon for security again, once Harper had paid him back. Harper learned to love Harleys and long rides in the desert. She also learned how to jam in little clubs all over again. She got quite the reputation for putting out awesome albums, and hired a women-only rock band to play for her that she dubbed "Quill's Quillians." They went viral with "SuperStorm," about Harper the supergirl finding herself in the middle of a hurricane of secrets and lies. Kerry went on the road with a new entourage. Grade A and JJ among them, and a few straight-edge rocking teens that liked to skateboard, rock climb, and jam all night, rather than do drugs. The Valkyries took them on rides, Rota took them on climbs, and Skuld taught them all how to fight.

Six months later, they were headlining a camp for teens called "Rock On." Made for teens to listen to and play rock. Bannon did security for the gig, keeping the drugs out and the campfires burning. Kerry and JJ were on opposite sides of a giant session with the drums pounding, guitars wailing, keyboards pounding, dancers dancing, and leads singing, and sparks from the campfires rising up into the night. They did "Harper," with the girl herself down with the rest of them, whaling away on her guitar.

They hit a break with a last long wail, and Kerry said, "That's my girl."

JJ got on the line. "No, Kerry. At this point, she's our girl. Good call. She was a jackass to me. I didn't see this coming."

"It's what you don't see coming that makes life the best," said Kerry, as the high-fives continued. Then, they laughed as they did a rebel yell into the night.

Meet the Parent

Bao went to see Mrs. Chang. They had tea. It was not time to discuss unpleasantness, but it must be... brushed against. "I wish to ask about Mr. Zhao. How is he doing?"

"He said," said Mrs. Chang, delicately, "that your business cards would be ready soon."

It was far less business than the wedding invitations would have been. Dragon Mama had promised him them, and he had spent money getting together samples. Bao had known nothing of her mother's promises, and had already chosen the invitations with another printer. Dragon Mama had done the same with a cake. Luckily, Bao was able to cancel the tasting of various flavors before they had bought the ingredients. She had sent out tiny versions of the "dragon-phoenix" wedding cake to the recipients, too, which the non-Chinese invitees had enjoyed even more than the Chinese ones.

"I am very sorry for his inconvenience," said Bao. "And for the inconvenience of... others."

Mrs. Chang waved her hand. "This joining of West and East. It is difficult. Huang's Best is working with the small Italian restaurant for some dishes, no?"

"Yes," said Bao. "I must please my new mother," she said, referring to her new mother-in-law. This excuse worked well; it helped those who lost business to not lose face. "I have recommended Wu's catering three times. I believe one has led to business."

"Yes," said Mrs. Chang. "The college professor's wedding. How did you know her?"

"I have consulted with her on matters for my business. She has written several articles for my books for children. We have newspaper articles in them."

Mrs. Chang was impressed. "You publish your own books?"

"I found a publisher in San Francisco, in Taiwan, and in mainland China," said Bao, sipping the excellent green tea. "I am so busy. But, I am relieved to see my wedding dress once again today." She put down her cup, signaling the end of talking.

"I am glad you are so successful," said Mrs. Chang. She waved Bao to the back.

The dress was gorgeous, Chinese silk, in a soft gold. It was a sleeveless dress, gathered at the waist, to a spill of silk at the bottom, and floor length, with no train. It had a delicate, Chinese "double luck" pattern. Mrs. Chang was also making a jacket for it, made from gold silk shantung. Bao let out a breath, and touched the dress with the tips of her fingers.

"It is lovely," she said.

She went into the dressing room, and came out. Mrs. Chang fussed as if it were her own daughter getting married, getting the fit perfect. Reluctantly, Bao stepped out of the dress and dressed back into her "biker wear" in black jeans and black jacket, with a blue silk top. She zipped up the jacket, paid for both the dress and jacket, and left.

Mrs. Chang went back to the tea set, and poured herself a still-warm cup. She would place gossip in just the right ears. Bao may look like a wild, cheap woman on a bike, but she concealed a fine sense of taste, better manners than her mother, and a very successful business that was spreading internationally. She looked up the business scribbled on the little white card Bao had left with her, and was stunned by the web page. The page was in several languages, Chinese and English being only two. There were books in many languages for children. She clicked on one of them, and saw amazing illustrations. It would seem Bao was even more intelligent, resourceful, and probably even richer than Mrs. Chang had thought. She decided to talk to Mrs. Zhao. The gossip would leave her old friend at a disadvantage, but Bao's mother was doing far more than harming her chances with her daughter. She may ruin the wedding --for herself.

* * *

Bao arrived at Stella Picado's artist's loft around two. She was running late for lunch. She called Nico in terror of offending her future mother-in-law, but Nico said, "She's probably on a piece and forgot about lunch."

She knocked on the barn door. "Come in," said Stella. She stood in front of a great hawk, welding a metal feather in place. Stella finished her bead, then turned off the torch. She was short, with chocolate-brown eyes, and brown hair cut in a short, choppy cut with wisps of gray, and a hippy Venus figure not hidden by her coveralls. She said, "Just a minute!" and put the torch, striker, solder, and helmet away on a shelf. She stripped out of the blue coveralls, revealing jeans and a black top. "Let me wash up," she said, stepping into her bathroom next to her office.

Bao looked at the statue. The upper wing feathers were done in brown, and the rest in black metal. The great eye seemed to turn and stare at her. Pictures of, and articles about the hawk were all over a corkboard. Harris' hawk, she read. Habitat from Southwestern USA to Brazil.

"Beautiful bird," said Stella, coming out of the bathroom, her hair brushed, her face and arms washed. She hugged Bao. "I saw a picture, and couldn't resist. This statue is going up in front of a falconry school in Western New Mexico. They rescue and train the ones that can't go back into the wild. The statue's a donation, designed to raise buzz and donations."

"I'll donate," said Bao.

Stella took a picture of a card, and sent it to Bao's inbox. "There's their info." She smiled. "I bet we're both ravenous, and that we're both also busy. Let's get some stuff at the soup and sandwich place around the corner."

"Lovely," said Bao, and meant it. Stella hooked her arm in Bao's, took her outside, slid the barn door closed, and took her arm again, glee in her eyes. "Any news?"

"Tried on the wedding dress today," said Bao. "Absolutely perfect. Fits like a second skin."

"Excellent," said Stella. "Nico dropped off our invitation. So Chinese! Lovely. I ate the little cake, too, and loved it, too! I talked to Marzetti's, and they said that they are in lockstep with your caterer, and delighted for the business. Marcello said he'd never done a half Chinese, half Italian wedding before, and that it was worth it, just for the fun experience."

"If he has any problems, tell him to let me know," said Bao. "But, Mrs. Huang is a genius, and very kind. They'll probably be fine."

Stella opened the door. They paid, and took plates. Bao reveled in almond chicken salad, clam chowder, and little cucumber sandwiches. Stella loved the mushroom tortellini salad, Caesar salad, and minestrone.

"Tell me everything," said Stella.

Bao laughed. "We've got two new books out, based on very old Chinese stories. The sales are going through the roof, because our illustrator is amazing. Hu had lunch with my mother yesterday at Callie's place. She served Chinese favorites, and my mother picked at them. Hu was her bubbly self, and my mother was under strict orders to be supportive. She has no idea how much Mandarin Callie and Grace know because of my Chinese lessons. She got negative with Hu about me, and Callie apparently came down like the wrath of God. She told her never to run down Hu's mother in front of her. And didn't she read how that can stunt the growth of a child? How she figured out how to say that in Chinese, I don't know, but my mother understood, perfectly-well. Grace got pissed, and went over, and told her that dragons are supposed to be intelligent in all the stories, but possibly Dragon Mama shouldn't be called 'dragon' anymore, maybe 'turtle' because she was so slow to get new ideas and use them. My mother left in a huff, which made my gentle Hu both sad and angry."

"I am so sorry," said Stella, putting her hand on Bao's. "She wants to swing the pendulum back to being in China, to being in control. Now, she's in a new world, her daughter doesn't stay home and obey her every whim and has the temerity to be successful. And you're not marrying a Chinese guy, and even her granddaughter can't be controlled, not anymore. Control freaks reach for still more control, which I get, because I tried it, and it pushed people away."

"Do tell," said Bao, spearing a piece of chicken with her chopsticks.

"My husband Angelo, may he rest in peace, died when a stone wall fell on him. My boys were never the same. I pushed them too hard, to be strong, to get good grades. They got really sick of me in high school. Then, Miko got hurt, and Nico and I got in a terrible fight. He told me I was hurting Miko by doing everything for him, by excusing his using drugs in a way that was killing him. He told me to start going to Al-Anon or Nar-Anon meetings or he would never speak to me again. They're for the families of people addicted to alcohol or drugs. I went, and Miko got clean for a while, then he got in deep. I bounced back and forth between trying to control his using, and struggling to let him go. To this day, I don't know if I killed my son." She wiped her eyes.

"The disease killed your son," said Bao, and held her hand. "I wish your husband and son could be at the wedding."

Stella smiled through her tears. "I know. I am sorry too." She wiped her eyes. "But, Marco can. I know it makes Nico crazy, because I'm ten years older than him, and he's a firefighter, and we want to adopt kids. I couldn't have more after Miko, and then Angelo died, then Miko. I can't keep living in this bubble, my eyes on the past. I want more kids. I got pregnant with Nico at seventeen, married at eighteen. I want more kids while I can still chase them."

Bao reached out, held her hand. "So do I."

Stella wiped her eyes with her free hand. "Then we're agreed." She laughed a little. "Let's get our kids at the same time. Break Nico's brain."

Bao laughed. "Too late," she said. "It's why I'm having the wedding in only a week."

Stella's eyes grew round, then she jumped up, ran over, and hugged Bao. Bao laughed, and hugged her back. "I'm gonna be a grandma!" she announced to God --and everybody.

The people at the neighboring tables clapped. Stella sat down, and so did Bao, hiding her eyes in embarrassment.

"Does my son know?" asked Stella.

"No," said Bao. "I planned to tell him at dinner, tonight."

"Do you have reservations?" Bao shook her head no. "Then, I've got the best dinner date ever --for you."

Nico found himself in a gray suit and tie. His mother had told him "Dinner at Marco's, seven o'clock, don't be late."

He had to rush home from work on his own house, getting it ready for habitation, even the baby room so the "twins" could sleep over. He nearly went insane trying to go between vivid Italian colors and Chinese red and gold, and went for butter yellow in the kitchen, blue in the living room, Chinese red going up the stairs, a soft tan in the hallway, and Chinese gold in the bedroom, with one red wall. The babies' room was a sunny, cheerful yellow, the color of a Tuscan sun. The downstairs playroom was a blue, and the girls' room was their favorite color; lavender, with sleeping pods and all. He showered in the one working shower, dressed as he'd moved in to where he worked, and drove to the restaurant.

Bao had her glossy black hair in a Chinese twisted bun. Nico smiled. He loved finding the pins and taking that hair down. She wore a blue silk suit. Her motorcycle jacket was over her chair.

He sat down, and helped Bao nibble on the antipasti. "I know I already asked you to marry me. Why am I wearing a suit? Um, and why do you have on that gorgeous suit you're wearing? And Marco's is the most amazing restaurant." She smiled. The waiter came by with a glass of his favorite merlot. Bao stuck with her lemon San Pellegrino. "You look like a kid at Christmas. What gives?"

"I am being an inscrutable Chinese person," she said, and made a stone, Chinese face. She then marred it with a smile.

"What?" asked Nico. "I'm dying here."

Bao smiled, then handed over a small white folder. He opened it, and took out the small black-and-white pictures. He stared at her, then the pictures, then at her again, his jaw on the table. He stood up, went over, and hugged her to him.

"Thank you," he said.

She smiled at him, disentangled him, and said, "Sit. Your mother went insane planning this meal."

He kissed her deeply, then sat. When the waiter came back, he said, "Please give the mother of our child anything she wants." He held up the tiny ultrasound.

"I will," said the waiter. "Marco will be so pleased."

Marco, the owner, came out, kissed them both on the cheek, and took them back to the kitchen for a special chef's meal in the busy kitchen. One of baked lobster ravioli adorned with fresh crabmeat and shavings of romano cheese, amazing fresh bread with olive oil --and ground pepper for dipping, and tiramisu for dessert. They swooned over every bite, and soon they were riding home.

They went to the new house. He was so happy he'd done the bedroom first --for himself, primarily, but now he would reap the benefits. She took off and hung up her suit, put away her black boots, and took off her socks, leaving on a creamy-ivory satin bra and panties, with bare feet. She took off her diamond earrings, but left on her golden torc necklace and bracelets. He shed his suit as well. He took out the pins in her hair, one by one, then kissed her as if he would never stop. She pushed against him, came up for air, and kissed him again. He attacked her delicate throat, nibbled her ear lobes. She clawed his back, then walked her way down to him, and pulled off his boxers. He stood there, ready for her, as she stripped off her bra and panties.

She laughed. "No condom tonight," she said.

He pulled her onto the bed, and kissed her from earlobe to thigh, then back up, stopping at each breast to suck and lick. Soon, she came, and was gasping, before he'd even touched her in between her legs. He separated her knees, kissed her thighs, and flicked his tongue on her button, the one she called her secret pearl, and made her grab his hair and scream. He grabbed a wet wipe, wiped his mouth, and slid into her. She arched her neck, then her back. He thrust, in and out, going fast, then slow, then fast, and was teasing her. She clawed his back, and he drove himself into her, one last time, coming hard. They laid there on the black satin sheets, panting. He pulled himself out, pulled out wet wipes, and cleaned them both up.

When she could talk, she said, "What's with the sheets?"

He laughed. "I thought I'd get lucky. It was worth the extra ten minutes to make the bed, wasn't it?"

She nodded, then kissed him. "Let's do it again."

She climbed on top, and kissed his lips, his face, his eyes, stroking him with her gentle touch. She kissed and licked him all the way to his hips, then back up, teasing him until he was able to give her what she wanted. She rode him, her curtain of hair falling down her face, stroking his shoulder with its inky, soft silk. He came with a gasp, and she fell on him, spent. She took out a wipe, cleaned them both up, and did a two-pointer into the trash can.

"Baby," he said, and kissed her. "You're giving me a baby. For the wedding."

She looked down at him from under that curtain of hair. "I love you," she said. "I thought it an appropriate present."

He looked up at her, still unable to articulate much of anything. "Baby," he said.

She kissed him again. "Sorry we can't make another one just yet, but we can have fun trying."

He cried and shouted, and held her, and somehow found a way to love her, yet again. They laid there gasping, and were spent, as he fumbled with the wet wipes.

"We need another baby room," he said.

"So make one," she said. "Or, we can start hanging kids from the ceiling in hammocks."

"We need a hammock for the backyard," he said. "Two; one for you, and one for me. Right next to the... swing set! We need a swing set!"

"Hush," she said, and kissed him. She fell asleep on his shoulder while he was still making lists in his head.

* * *

Nico spent the next day with Tito getting the interior ready. The plumbers had everything well in hand, so the tile went up in the bathrooms --three; one off the master bedroom, one with double sinks, and a half-bath stolen from a closet upstairs, and one half-bath downstairs. They had kids, and were going to need as many bathrooms as possible to accommodate them. Nico envisioned trading off for rides and vacations, so he included a baby bedroom for the "twins," a baby room for their own baby, a room for the girls that was long and narrow, and a tiny washer/dryer combo in another closet. This many kids, was bound to generate a mountain of laundry.

The girls got their individual sleeping spaces, a daybed underneath a sleeping pod that pulled out into a double bed, and storage, shelves, and double desks all along the wall. It was done in a futuristic melamine, the back wall papered with a forest scene, and bean bags down there on the end with lap desks, and, in a corner, the best dollhouse ever. Then, a giant farm with horses and people, and a barn and a main house catty-corner, complete with miniature Harleys Nico had commissioned from Ghost as their moving-in present.

Ruby and April (new Wolfpack and old) constructed the dollhouse. Henry had seen it, loved it, and helped install it. Damia had seen the room before the big reveal --to get her approval. She wanted the bed closest to the door, and so she could get out when she wanted, more easily. She loved the miniature horses and barn, and asked that her math manipulatives be added to the room, and that she get her own shelves. That was easily done, so Nico knew he was over the biggest hurdle.

He told Tito about the baby. Tito whooped with him, scaring the guys installing the appliances. The Wolfpack was all over, unpacking dishes, moving in furniture, and wiping or dusting everything with a surface.

"I need a swing set. Something so sturdy it's never gonna fall down, even in a desert windstorm."

Tito sighed. "I see more work in my future. Actually, we just need to dig post holes and do a concrete pour, and one or two of my guys supervising the Wolfpack. We can get the holes and pour done today if we know the measurements. And, after it's up, we need to put that squishy stuff in, so the kids don't break something."

Tito grabbed his laptop, and they agreed on a cedar set with a slide, a fort at each end, swings, a short climbing wall, and two baby swings. Nico whipped out his credit card and ordered it, and Winnie and April volunteered to pick up the set. They took Tito's keys and were off in a flash.

Tito glared at Nico. "Quit making work for me. Take some of the girls and buy some damn baby furniture and leave me alone."

Nico used the vacuum on the upstairs rooms until the girls came back with the swing set, and helped them unload and bring it on back.

"Your deck is going to be here," said Nico, and he used a chalk line to map out where the swing set would go on the rocks and sand. "So, the swing set should be here, where you can look out from the living room, the kitchen, and the mudroom door's window."

"I agree," said Tito. "And you just saved my ass. Parents need to see what their kids are doing. Now, let's get the posts put together so we can get size and dimension. We got grunt labor; let's use it." He smiled. "I'll get Hymie over here with a post hole digger, a wheelbarrow, and the concrete mix. He's done some of these before."

"Since there'll be a post hole digger, can we map out the patio now, and dig the holes?" asked Nico.

Tito pretended to strangle Nico, making him laugh. "Alright, but you've got to take turns digging the holes."

"Done," said Nico. They shook hands, and Tito pulled up some decks on his tablet.

"I know most of our clients order wooden, but this is composite material, so no termites, having to refinish it, or any of that stuff. Goes up in just a couple hours. Sold in kits, raised off the ground, so no post holes needed. It's on these little risers, and comes with rails or steps if you want them in the kits."

"Shut up," said Nico. "You had me at no post holes."

"Light gray or sandy red?"

"House is gray with blue trim, so go with the gray." They hashed out the size, and Tito ordered it. Nico handed over another credit card. "Now all I need is some patio furniture. I can go wood or metal... wait, here's some couches, chairs, and a table with blue cushions made out of the gray composite." Nico thought a minute. "No fire pit. I've got one kid with ADD, one with autism, two babies, and an infant on the way." He whipped out the credit card and ordered the set, with delivery in two days.

"Smart man," said Tito. "You're gonna run out of money, you know."

"Nope," said Nico. "This here's the joint card with my future wife. We opened a card specifically for house stuff. And, she's making so many contracts right now, she'll have to hire an assistant." He froze. "Where will we put the assistant?"

"In the home office," said Tito. "There's space in there for three desks, if you use three walls. Buy the filing cabinets that fit under the desks, and shelves for over them."

Nico groaned, and called up another website. Tito laughed, and went to help the Wolfpack and his guys read the directions on the swing set.

"Flat screen TVs!" he called over his shoulder. "I can hook you up!" Nico flipped him off, and kept looking for desks.

Since everyone used laptops, he figured he needed comfy chairs more, and got a big desk with lots of storage underneath, two corner workstations, a shelving unit with a fold-down table, two slim stackable filing cabinets, and the guy they always used for electronics. He had three overstock screens for less than three hundred dollars. He knew his wife would see to more storage. She loved going insane in stores for storage stuff. He bought it for immediate delivery, and went to help with the swing set. He knew better than to buy any baby stuff. He'd get it wrong. He texted Bao to find what she wanted for the two baby rooms, and sent her the dimensions he'd written down during his cleaning phase. Then, he grabbed an electric screwdriver and screwed together a climbing wall.

Crimson Wedding

The rehearsal dinner should have been a quiet affair. Since Nico was Catholic, they decided to have a shortened service, minus a lot of the Latin. The Chinese service would be much faster, with the three bows and tea. The photographer would be at both places. The reception hall could accommodate both East and West. The printer that Dragon Mama had promised the invitations to --now had the joy of the red banners for the reception and their new home, as well as the phoenix and dragon (female and male) cutouts. They walked through the Chinese ceremony first, with the kneeling and prayers, done right there in the church.

Father Daniels said, "God accommodates everyone. So, why make everyone drive around?" Nico and Bao practiced the tea with paper cups, and couldn't stop smiling at one another.

Then, they practiced the Catholic ceremony. Hu and Grace got to be flower girls, making everyone tear up. Stella had tears in her eyes, and gave Bao and Nico to each other. Dragon Mama kept up an ugly commentary under her breath, culminating in a rude comment about the silliness of a woman giving away both a bride and a groom.

Bao held up a hand and said, "I'm sorry. One moment." She handed her paper flowers to Callie, and stalked over to her mother. "This fine woman lost a son to drug addiction. He had surgery, and couldn't get off the highly addictive drugs the doctor gave him. She is participating in our wedding, giving me away, because you have been a heartless, cruel person --this entire time, with no happiness for your daughter. There is no dowry, because I have money. My husband is dead, and would want me to find double the happiness, again. Would you lock me away, denying me love for the rest of my life? Is this ugly behavior because he isn't Chinese? We aren't in China, Mama. We've merged the traditions of two cultures in a beautiful way. Either see that, and be happy for us, or get out. I don't want an ugly person ruining my happy, precious day."

Dragon Mama looked at the pain on her daughter's face, shocked and stunned. Then, she turned, and walked out of the church.

Hu ran up and hugged her mother. "I'm sorry, Mama."

Callie came over and hugged both Bao and Hu. "I don't understand Chinese that well, but I understood what she said, and most of what you said. Her behavior is... unacceptable." Then, Bao finally gave in to her exhaustion, at beating her head on the wall of her mother's heart, and cried.

The day dawned beautifully, the sky gilt with gold. After breakfast, Bao went to Chinatown. Mrs. Chang had her lovely jacket ready, in gold silk shantung, with a faint crane design worked in, a high collar, and fabric buttons and loops to hold it closed. It looked spectacular. The printer had long since sent the invitations, in English and Chinese, with both her signature and chop, in Chinese gold envelopes that closed with tiny frog clasps. Her husband had personally delivered the American ones, and she the Chinese ones, on their Harleys. The envelopes would double as money envelopes if their Chinese guests would attend. She didn't have a bridal registry. And she wasn't a pig and she already had what she needed --and was wealthy enough to purchase what she needed. She included a faint engraving on the envelope that said in Chinese, "Home-moving fund." The movement of a house from one tract of land was fascinating to Mrs. Chang and many other putative guests, so she included a link to it on the envelope.

Mrs. Chang loved it. "Ingenious!" she said, brushing imaginary lint off the jacket as Bao modeled it. "I saw the video three times with my daughter." She smiled at the memory. "And the link to the other one; the one blocking the wildlife corridor? My sister in China sent the video to others, and found much information about the wildlife corridors. She says they have already put one under the roadway where ducks cross between ponds. It became a model for several local areas."

"Does your sister wish to live here?"

"No," said Mrs. Chang, sadly. Her face brightened. "But her daughter Mei wants to live here and go to college." She changed her voice, ever so slightly. "So many want to go to Harvard or Yale. Mei wants to go to UNLV and study hospitality management, maybe work at a hotel in Macao or Hong Kong."

Bao handed her a little white card with her chop and telephone number. "There may be a scholarship," she said.

Mrs. Chang brightened like the sun. "But of course! I had not thought to look into those."

Bao was sad to slip off the jacket. She would wear it after her wedding, scandalizing to some, but it was too beautiful to only hang in a closet. She thought about Hu's already-funded college fund, and how much her net worth was at the moment, even with a house driving toward them on a truck.

"Perhaps you have two rooms? Or a room big enough for bunk beds?"

Mrs. Chang stopped fussing with the jacket. "Perhaps," she said slowly.

"Perhaps there are two scholarships. UNLV and the local college are both acceptable for this scholarship. That opens even more programs."

Mrs. Chang nodded like a bobblehead. "It does. Mei has a friend, Li. And both are responsible girls."

"Then, it is done," said Bao, acting as if they'd had a long conversation, with only a few words that would change two girls' lives forever. "Now, I must go to see about the wedding cake. It shall be spectacular."

"Of course," said Mrs. Chang, making the little white business card disappear. "I shall... make some inquiries."

"They must work for you, or someone, part time. They will feel more comfortable here, with you, or with me as my... assistants. Perhaps they could take turns, spreading one job between two people. It will be very difficult," she said. "I am truly busy."

"The dress and jacket will be at the wedding hall on your most auspicious day," said Mrs. Chang, not daring to breathe, lest it deform the bubble of great fortune that had descended upon her. "Would you like some tea?"

"I cannot," said Bao. "I have a cake..."

"I see," said Mrs. Chang. "It shall be as you say."

"Good," said Bao, and smiled gently. "You are, as usual, very... methodical. About the care of clothes."

"Yes," said Mrs. Chang, and opened the door for her.

The cake was spectacular, a Chinese dragon climbing up the side, done in blue, purple, and silver, with a phoenix in red --clawing its way up the other side, and a red peony on top.

"Mrs. Wu," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "I am almost afraid it will walk off and eat a guest."

Mrs. Wu laughed, ready to defuse the tears. "It will be boxed and picked up in two hours," she said. "The caterer will have his head removed if he damages it."

The caterer for Huang's Best, was truly remarkable, ready to serve dim sum in the shapes of dragons and phoenixes for the traditional dragon-phoenix cold plate. And soup (fish, not the traditional shark’s fin, and egg drop soup), roast pig, duck, two kinds of chicken, crab, vegetables, sweet buns, and both types of fried noodles for the traditional eight courses. The symbolism was for happiness, long life, and longevity. The take-out containers were ready as well. Nico's family had inserted antipasti along with the Chinese appetizers. Including chicken penne pasta with the Chinese chicken, lobster tortellini with the crabs, and tiramisu with the sweet buns. The staff were delighted to insert the new dishes; Nico's family ordered them from their favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Tea, a partial bar with beers and champagne, and 7-up would be served.

"I will see you in several hours," said Bao. She went to the church, parked her bike, and Callie picked her up.

"We're on the nails. You're late."

"Tell you about it there."

She put on the Chinese robe, and was whisked away to have her hair washed and dried. The traditional Chinese wedding hairstyle was pulled back and looped or braided in a bun in the back, then flowers inserted on the sides. Bao chose a wide red peony. She had her feet soaking, and soon laid back, humming as the woman expertly massaged her toes.

"What gives?" said Callie.

"Dragon Mama, I'll guess," said Ivy, smiling as her hands and arms were massaged up to the elbow. Nico's mama Stella breezed in, saw Bao, and put her fingers to her eyes. Callie got her hand back. As the only one not soaking her feet, she ran forward.

"Mama," she said. "No crying before the wedding, you'll mess up your makeup."

"She's beyond lovely," Stella said.

"Sit, and show me your nails," said Callie. She pulled up another chair, and Stella sat. "Gorgeous!" said Callie, at Stella's pearl-pink nails washed with silver.

"How about yours?" asked Stella. They “oohed” and “aahed” over the pale gold of the bridesmaids' nails. The flower girls were giggling in a corner. "How's my best girls?" asked Stella. She went over to them, bag in hand, and withdrew tiaras and crystal necklaces. The girls squealed, jumped up and down, and hugged her. She helped them put on their necklaces. They squealed again, showing them off to each other. Their hair artist came over to help them with the tiaras.

Stella sat back down with Callie. "Thank you," said Callie. "That makes their day. Just the right touch."

"Well, dah-um," said Ivy, her hair done in twists with gold and crimson woven in. "You girls look shiny." They giggled some more.

Bao sighed. "This is wonderful. My Dragon Mama should be here. But, she chose a Chinese place to get her hair done. Missing the laughter and the foot rubs. Idiot Mama."

"Is she coming to the wedding?" asked Callie, delicately.

"Mrs. Chang is my early-warning sign, and no warning bells or lights," said Bao. "Besides, she'd lose face with everyone she knows. I may be marrying a foreigner, but it's my second wedding, and we have a Chinese daughter. I teach Chinese, do business on the mainland, have money in the Chinese money system. I sent business to the places Dragon Mama promised to work with, without consulting me. In fact, I think they all earned as much or more as they would have before. She'll whine and moan and complain about her 'golden pear' daughter."

Ivy's face darkened. "If that's Chinese for 'apple' your mother is racist."

Bao raised her eyebrows. "Apple?"

"Derogatory term used for a Native American --red outside, white inside."

Bao nodded slowly. "My mother may or may not be a racist. She does want to control me, and I am very tired of being controlled. I became everything she would desire --in a very Chinese field. I work with mainland China, have a great business, have money. She does not like my motorcycle, the Valkyries, or how I raise my daughter, with a white, lesbian couple and a sister who is loud, and, as all little girls, sometimes obnoxious. I was obnoxious from time to time." She gave a beatific smile.

Ivy and Callie laughed. "I certainly was," said Ivy. "I think of how my mother handled my mess ups when I deal with Damia or Grace."

Bao smiled. "Hu is close to perfect, but she's done some doozies."

Stella laughed. "Nico kept stealing from my wallet to get ice cream. I made him save up in his piggy bank to get his ice cream. He stopped buying cheap gum because he liked ice cream more, and I made him pay me back if he stole from me." She looked thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I had to invent tasks for him to do to earn money. He went to the library and got books on how to fix drippy faucets and stuff like that. Saved me a fortune in plumbers. He hung his own bookshelves when he was ten."

"You gave him his start in construction!" said Callie. "Good work!"

"Hot da--arn," said Ivy, making Callie laugh. "You made him the man he is today!"

"No," said Stella. "I worked a lot. Single mom thing. He raised himself, but he raised himself up right." She smiled with pride.

"I'm so glad we found each other," said Callie. She held Ivy's hand.

"Same sappy grin on my face when I look at Nico," said Bao.

"Da--darn, girl, you're speaking in idioms," said Callie.

"I've been hanging around Nighthawks and Valkyries," said Bao. "I asked a lot of questions, and no one laughed at me. Or called me a golden pear."

"Say it in Chinese," said Callie. Bao told her, and Callie sounded it out. "Jin Li. Well, if your mama or anyone else says that, I'm coming down on them like a ton of bricks."

Ivy smiled. "My girl has a long fuse, but when it blows, leave the city. Leave the state!"

They finished, dressed in street clothes, and Nico sent a limo to take them to the church. Bao exclaimed, rushed to the dress, nearly jumped out of her jeans and top, slid into the silk slip, and shimmied into the dress. Ivy, Callie, and Stella stared at the dress, mouths open. Grace screamed and jumped up and down.

Hu said, in Chinese, "I have the most beautiful mother." Bao held back the tears, got on one knee, and hugged her daughter.

Callie wiped her tears, prompting a nudge from Ivy. "She said her mother is the most beautiful," said Callie, with tears in her voice.

"Don't cry, Mama," said Grace. "Try on your dress."

The women stripped and put on their clothes. Callie had an even simpler gold dress, and Ivy wore a gold tunic and Chinese-red, silk pants.

"You look amazing," Ivy said to Callie.

"Back at ya," said Callie, and they kissed.

"Eww," said Grace.

Hu poked her. "Weddings have kisses, silly," she said. "Let's put on our dresses."

Callie and Ivy helped them. They were gold with flowing skirts, and little flowers in crimson down the side of each skirt. Bao gave them red flower bracelets, worked in gold. They exclaimed over them, and then practiced throwing the petals when they found their little gold baskets.

Stella looked at Bao. "I'm not your mom," said Stella, "And, I've got to go see my son. But, you are lovely, and gentle, and kind, and extremely intelligent and strong. Nico needs someone that can help him grow, and to find happiness again. He looks at you and sees a home, and more children, and joy. Please enjoy every minute." All the women dabbed tears. Stella kissed both her cheeks, and then went to go find her boy.

"Weddings sure have a lot of crying," said Grace. The women laughed.

Ivy hugged Bao, and led the girls out to line up. Callie held her close. "We share daughters. We're sisters, and we love you." She opened the door to leave, and found Dragon Mama at the door. She gasped, then stepped aside, then gently pushed Dragon Mama in and shut the door.

"You were right," said Dragon Mama. "You were so happy before. And Hu came, and you were even more happy. I think I hoped you would cry for your entire life. Then you became happy again, and I felt I could not. I tried to make you into the perfect Chinese woman. You did, with your business. Mrs. Chang reminded me of that. Your bike and your leather make me so angry. Do you not realize you have a child at home?"

"I do it for her," said Bao. "Hu is timid. She needs to see a strong mother, willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe."

"You can be killed on the road!" said Dragon Mama.

"I can be killed right here. A car could drive into the building. A meteor could fall from the sky and hit us. I could drop dead right now from anything."

"You came home with bruises!" exclaimed Dragon Mama.

"I must learn to defend myself and my daughter," said Bao. "This is a dangerous country. Even after I marry, my husband cannot follow me around keeping me safe. I must take responsibility and save myself."

"Your friends have been shot, and hit with a truck, and so many things!" exclaimed Dragon Mama.

"Most of them are law enforcement officers," said Bao. "They have dangerous jobs. I do not. I work on books for children."

"You should stay at home!" said Dragon Mama.

Bao's face finally closed. "Are we in the old times, mother, where my feet are bound? And must I be carried everywhere? I am intelligent, and strong, and full of joy and laughter --and happiness. I have friends who would stand up for me, die for me." She finally got it. "You can see how you have pushed me away with your need to control. My friends have become very close to me, like sisters. You can see yourself replaced by those who treat me with respect."

Dragon Mama let her breath whistle out through her teeth. "It is you who do not treat me with respect."

"No," said Bao. "I gave you a house, one with tenants so you would have an income, no matter what happened with the restaurant, or if I suddenly dropped dead. I have made every effort to see you, and to bring my daughter to see you. But you have been controlling and cold to me, and now, to her. I do not tolerate anyone, even my mother, who tries to dictate to me who I should be, and I certainly do not let my daughter be with anyone who makes her cry. You should believe you raised me the right way, to be intelligent and make good decisions, trust in your own parenting. I am not that young woman who worked for rice. Now, I can buy and sell houses. I paid for all of this. And, either stand with me with pride and love in your eyes, as you should with all I have accomplished, or walk away. I must go now, or I will be late to the wedding with the man I love." Dragon Mama stood in the middle of the floor while Bao walked around her. Bao turned, and confronted her one last time. "I love you, no matter how stubborn you are. But, I will remember how you marred a day of joy. I will remember, Mama. This is much more than losing face. It is very likely that you have lost me."

Dragon Mama followed her out, and shut the door behind her. Two services, she thought. Two services and a reception. Then, I can stop smiling, and weep over my willful daughter.

The wedding was beautiful in the church, with light coming down in a multitude of colors through the stained glass. The pews were full of people in suits, many in nice shirts, and jeans and boots. The Valkyries sat on the Chinese side. The Nighthawks, Wolfpack, Soldier Pack, and a spattering of Iron Knights all sat on Nico's side. The little girls were precious, making everyone tear up.

In a last-minute change, Henry gave away Bao, his long gray hair tied back with a golden hoop. He wore cowboy boots with his black suit. Nico had his mother give him to his wife, and both mothers read Bible verses; Dragon Mama read in Chinese.

When the final "I Dos" were said and they kissed as man and wife, the Valkyries stood and let out an ululation that startled the priest and the Chinese, but the Iron Knights and the Nighthawks grinned. They went to the reception, while the happy couple, the mothers, Henry and David, and the Chinese all went to the Chinese ceremony. They did their bows and tea, and received a boatload of money. They sent the money envelopes with Henry to be locked up in Nico's safe to be counted later.

The reception was already in full swing, the guests having been given liquor, sodas, and antipasti to keep them happy, and the DJ was already playing music. The Chinese loved it, except for Dragon Mama; but at this point she had enough sense not to complain about the Italian food and turn her daughter into an angry, hissing snake on her wedding day, in front of guests.

They had music --more rock than pop, and both Chinese and Italian pop songs to keep everyone dancing. Sheriff Bob was up just for the night, and he did a complicated country dance with his wife Xenia, making everyone laugh and cheer. Henry stood up for the father-daughter dance, making everyone cry except for Dragon Mama, who was livid. The happy couple did some swing dancing, which looked gorgeous and fun as Nico wrapped his wife around his body. Dragon Mama nearly lost it when they slipped into a tango, Nico with a flower in his mouth, and made everybody gasp with her death drop. Nico caught her perfectly, and they received clapping, which was aided by a stomping applause. Then the dance floor got crowded, and Bao was lost from sight.

Mrs. Chang followed Dragon Mama out into the desert night. "You will wait," she said.

Dragon Mama turned, incensed. "What is it? How dare you speak to me so rudely?"

"Your daughter has offered scholarships for Chinese girls to come here to learn. Your daughter learned to dance to make their guests happy. Your daughter smoothed those who had lost face, and bought things from the merchants when you tried to plan her wedding without her. Your daughter has seen you gasp and scowl her entire wedding." She strode over to her friend, and looked her in the eyes. "If you cannot see how beautiful and rich and accomplished she has become, and see this as how you have raised her to be so, then you are a fool. And, I do not think your father or mother tried to raise a fool."

"I have lost her. She is no longer Chinese," said Dragon Mama.

"The wedding hall has a cake of dragon and phoenix, and the proper invitations, and red ‘double happiness’ banners. Why do you think she is not Chinese? She had all the right dishes, all the right music..."

"She rejects me," said Dragon Mama.

"No," said Mrs. Chang, sadly. "You reject her. And, I do not think you can make this right." She turned, and walked back into the hall.

After a lot of dancing and drinking, Bao sat with Nico in the corner, watching the little girls dance. She was saddened by Damia's absence, but the girl would be miserable in such a crowd. "No sign of Dragon Mama," said Nico, rubbing her back.

"She left after the tango."

"Well, it was the best part," said Nico. "I'm so sorry."

"She begged me to come here to America, and moved mountains to do so. Now, it is as if I were nothing to her."

Nico kissed her forehead. "Love, she's just mad that you didn't obey her every whim. She'll come around."

"No," said Bao. "I've lost my mother. She's lost face with me. She has done too much, crossed too many lines. She may make it back to be a grandmother to Hu, but she won't be my mother, not again." She smiled, then kissed him. "I'm stealing your mother."

"Okay," said Nico. "I think we can share."

They left the party in full swing after the last course, barely able to move from all the food. The staff put the food in to-go containers as Nico made sure the band, hall, and caterers were paid and tipped, and told to party on, for a few more hours. The limo came around, the “Just Married” sign on the back. The guests threw bird seed, and then they were on their way to an overwater bungalow in the Maldives.

* * *

Sigrun turned off the feed. "Sure you don't want to go to the party?" asked Wraith, for the millionth time.

"One," said Sigrun, "turned in the big robot today, didn't I?" She'd crafted a working robot with a mechatronics student for her metalworking project for art school. "Had to demonstrate it, discuss the materials, and all that jazz. The fricking presentation took forever, then the questions took even more forever time, and I still had to finish the painting. I hate oils, I really do. Take fricking forever to dry. Then the model in the drawing class was late. My hands hurt, I can't see, and I don't want to stand up. I just wanna snuggle." She did, laying her head on Wraith's shoulder. Wraith stroked her hair.

"Honey, can you put on a sitcom? Or a dumb movie?" Sigrun groaned and opened the computer back up. She pulled up Netflix, and poked around a bit. "Bao's mama is a real bitch, isn't she?" said Wraith. "I have a mind to get out of traction and beat in her face."

"Mmm," said Sigrun, finding a show about a group of teen girls with superpowers. She put it on. "But you'd get arrested. Bad. We need ya." She laid back, and put her face back into Wraith's shoulder.

Wraith was able to move her arm, so she took a sip of the iced tea they smuggled in. "No jail," she said, and sipped. She put the sealed cup down, and relaxed.

"Reaching acceptance is taking what you can't change, and working with reality."