“Is that what you’re going to tell the crew? ‘We all have work to do; grieve on your own time.’”

“That’s not fair. Do you think the Dreaming City could hold all the people who would want to show up, much less those who actually will arrive for his homegoing?”

“We grieve as a community.” Dad’s voice lacked force, his usual argumentative tone firm but gentle.

“And we will grieve as a community. Here. At our home. As the family and crew of the Cypher. We will broadcast the ceremony. We will proceed with our own grieving rituals. That is what I will tell the crew.” Mom wadded up a sani-cloth and threw it on the table, where it dissolved.

Dad eased back. “I wasn’t attacking you.”

“You were, you just might not recognize it. Criticizing is like breathing for you.”

“Seems as if you’re capable of a few breaths yourself.” Dad rubbed his forehead with the fervor of attempting to massage a new approach into his mind.

Bekele wished he would ease off a little. Things were getting a little claustrophobic. His dad would soon be off doing whatever he was into. He had three jobs: a scientist, a teacher, and a writer. He used to joke that he had Maroons among his ancestors and anything less than three jobs was unacceptable. Until one time when Bekele snapped back that “being a dad was a full-time job, too; that never made his list.” Dad never made that joke again. And had been more attentive ever since.

“I loved him, too.” Dad met Bekele’s eyes before turning away to change subjects. “Xola was so funny. Dressing like he was a homeless man straight off a transport from O.E. Most times, LISC security wouldn’t let him enter a room in their office because they thought he was one just wandering in off the streets.”

Stacia straightened. “He’d say he was there to meet with VOP Clay Harrison, in a tone just to fuck with them, like it was nothing for him to meet with the LISC executive director. They’d assume he was lost, mistaken, or insane. And then he’d always go wherever their security would direct him to wait. He never minded, always calling them his meditation breaks. An opportunity to be alone with his thoughts, the only time people couldn’t reach him. Then VOP Harrison would come rushing for him after a half hour or so of him waiting. Security would look at one another like scolded sheep.”

“And Xola would be completely pleased with himself. Cause he had ’em.” Dad chuckled at the memory playing out behind his eyes like it had just happened that morning.