Auntie Ari

Four years later, her diploma hung framed in her own small apartment, next to the photo from the day she'd earned it. In it, Arista stood in a black gown and a cap that wouldn't stay straight, between her parents, who had made the trip across the country just for the ceremony. Her father had exactly her hair, the same pink-red, which surprised everyone who had assumed it came from her mother. Bram, Simone, and a Barry who had only just turned two were crammed in at the edge of the frame.

That Saturday, though, Arista spent her afternoon exactly where she most wanted to be, kneeling in Bram and Simone's backyard, carefully adjusting a small, wooden catapult she'd built specifically for a very particular, very enthusiastic four-year-old.

"...Auntie Ari, again, again!" Barry demanded, bouncing on his heels, a small action figure already clutched tight in one determined little fist.

"Okay, okay," Arista said, laughing, taking the action figure carefully and settling it into the catapult's small, padded cradle. "Aim for that gnome, right there—" she pointed toward a garden gnome standing innocently near the fence "—and pull the lever."

Barry pulled the lever with the fierce, total commitment he brought to everything, and the action figure sailed in a neat, satisfying arc directly into the gnome, sending it toppling sideways into the flower bed with a small, triumphant thud.

"...AGAIN!" Barry shrieked, delighted, already scrambling to retrieve the figure.

From the kitchen window, Bram watched the whole scene unfold with a distant, faintly haunted expression, a cup of coffee held forgotten halfway to his mouth.

"...You okay?" Simone asked, glancing over from the counter, noticing his thousand-yard stare.

"...She's teaching our son to build catapults," Bram said, voice slightly strained. "I have been personally launched from at least nine different Strawberry-built devices over the years. Cloud material shields. Diving bell drops. That absolute nightmare of a mounting rope in the dome ceiling."

"...And?"

"And I am simply having a moment," Bram said, taking a slow, deliberate sip of coffee. "A small, entirely reasonable moment, watching history cheerfully repeat itself in our own backyard."

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Simone laughed, glancing out at Arista and Barry, both of them now carefully adjusting the catapult's tension for maximum distance, matching intensity and focus written across both their faces.

"...She's very patient with him," Simone observed, warm. "Explaining every single mechanism properly, not just letting him fling things randomly."

"That's the terrifying part," Bram said. "She's not just letting Barry have fun. She's actually teaching him proper trajectory calculations. Our four-year-old understands launch angle better than most adults."

"Good," Simone said, entirely unbothered. "Given who his honorary aunt is, I'd be more worried if he wasn't already asking about launch angles."

Outside, Barry successfully launched a second figure, sending it careening spectacularly into a nearby flower pot instead of the gnome, and dissolved into delighted, uncontrollable giggles.

"...Almost!" Arista called, laughing along with him, already resetting the mechanism for another attempt. "Try adjusting the angle a little steeper this time."

Bram set his coffee down, watching the whole scene with a warmth that finally, gently overtook the earlier flicker of mild trauma.

"...I suppose there are worse things he could be learning," he admitted.

"Much worse," Simone agreed, leaning against him, watching their son's small, determined face scrunch in fierce concentration as he carefully adjusted the catapult exactly the way Arista had shown him. "Besides. If he ever does build something big enough to actually launch someone, I imagine you'll survive it. You always did."

"...I built up quite a tolerance," Bram admitted, dry, though he was smiling now too.

Out in the yard, Barry pulled the lever a third time, and this time, the figure sailed perfectly, precisely, directly into the gnome's tiny painted hat, knocking it clean off and sending it spinning into the grass.

"...I DID IT! Auntie Ari, I DID IT!"

"You did!" Arista said, scooping him up into a delighted, spinning hug, both of them laughing freely under the warm afternoon sun. "That was a perfect shot. Perfect trajectory."

"Arista!" Simone called from the kitchen window, leaning out over the sill. "Are you joining us for dinner?"

"Can't. I have a date tonight!"

"With who?"

"Nobody you know."

Bram, still at the window beside her with his coffee, raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to launch him, are you?"

"No," Arista said, "we're going to mini golf. Aerodynamics are third date territory."

Bram watched them both from the window, his son's delighted laughter carrying clearly across the yard, Arista's unguarded joy just as bright beside him, and smiled.

Whatever world they'd once built together, whatever songs had ended when those servers finally, permanently went dark, this, clearly, was simply what came next.

And it was, without question, worth every single moment.

THE END