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In the weathered pages of Kay’s promise journal was PROMISE VI: “IF YOU EVER HAVE A BOYFRIEND, YOU MUST BRING HIM TO MEET DADDY RIGHT AWAY.”
She remembered the day her dad wrote it. They’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor, the journal open between them. Rules for being brave, for being kind. When Byrne had penned that particular boyfriend line, Kay had wrinkled her nose and declared, with absolute conviction, “I’m never gonna have a boyfriend! Boys are ugly!”
He’d laughed so hard he nearly knocked over the grape soda they were sharing. “That’s fair.” He said, ruffling her hair. “But just in case.”
And she never did. But she did have a girlfriend. An Ema.
Kay had taken that journal with her everywhere for years. Even after the pages grew worn, the promises stayed sharp in her mind. She didn’t break promises. Not to him.
So, when she fell deep-in-her-bones love with Ema Skye, PROMISE VI came whispering back. Even though it hadn’t been right away , grief made some things blurry, and love made others feel clear as crystal. And of course, Ema wasn’t a boyfriend… Kay figured the principle of the promise still mattered.
Kay hadn’t visited her dad’s grave in a long time. Not because she’d forgotten him. She could never . But because there were some kinds of remembering that were easier than others. She still talked to him all the time: when she passed their old street in Encino, when a case echoed one he’d once worked on, when she found herself humming that ridiculous tune song he used to whistle while making pancakes. In those moments, it felt like he was right there, just out of sight, but listening. He was everywhere, woven into the rhythms of her life.
But coming here ? To this spot carved with dates and stone? This was different. This wasn't a memory sauntering in laughter and smiles. This was the heavy, aching kind. The kind that made it harder to pretend. She just… preferred to remember him as if he was only a few steps behind instead of six feet under.
It was real here. Real in a way she still didn’t always know how to hold.
The wind was soft the day she brought Ema to the cemetery. The clouds were low and streaky. It was quiet, just the sound of leaves whispering and the distant hum of the city like the world trying to be respectful. Kay clutched Ema’s hand tightly as they walked between rows of gravestones, a little paper crane tucked into her jacket pocket. Ema didn’t ask questions. She didn’t say much at all. Just squeezed Kay’s fingers every once in a while like she knew that being silent could be a kind of love, too.
When they reached the grave, Kay stopped, letting go of Ema’s hand for just a moment to kneel down. The stone hadn’t changed. BYRNE FARADAY , still etched clean and firm, like it refused to be weathered even after all these years. Someone, probably Uncle Badd, had left fresh flowers. Kay smiled at that.
She knelt, her skirt brushing against the grass, and pulled the paper crane from her pocket, neatly folded, in bright red origami paper, and placed it at the base of the stone.
She was seven, sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table. Byrne stood at the counter nearby, sleeves rolled up, folding something with intense concentration.
“Daddy, what are you doing?” she asked, squinting at the strange, lumpy triangle in his hands.
He grinned without looking up. “Making magic.” He said.
Kay gasped. “Real magic?”
“The realest, origami.” He walked over, placing the misshapen paper crane beside her juice box like it was a crown jewel.
She poked it. “Does it do anything?”
He laughed. “Well, if you make a thousand of them, you get a wish.”
“A thousand? That’s like… a billion…”
“Numbers are relative.”
Kay stared at the crane, then back at him. “Can I make one too?”
“Of course.” He pulled over a stack of scrap paper. Old case notes, grocery lists, receipts, and plucked one from the pile. “But you gotta promise to be patient. These guys are tricky.”
Kay nodded solemnly, as if she were preparing for battle. “I promise.”
He showed her each fold with exaggerated care, guiding her small fingers with his bigger, callused ones. When she got frustrated, he didn’t correct her right away. He just nudged her through it, told her, “It’s okay to mess up. It’s just paper. We can try again.”
By the end, her crane looked more like a lump than a bird, but Byrne still set it beside his, shoulder to shoulder.
“They’re a pair,” he said proudly. “Father and daughter. Flying together.”
Kay beamed.
“Hey, Daddy.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry I’m late.”
She let the silence stretch a moment, like she used to when she was little and he was still alive and listening.
“I know the promise said boyfriend…” Kay went on, resting her hands on her knees. “But… this is Ema. She’s my girlfriend. And she’s really, really amazing.”
Her voice caught in her throat. She looked down at the paper crane.
“I like to imagine that we’d all go out to lunch and you’d embarrass me and interrogate her and then end up loving her more than me.” She smiled, wet-eyed. “You’d love her, though. I know you would. She’s smart and funny and kind. She’s got this really big brain and an even bigger heart. And sometimes she gets so caught up in her work she forgets to eat, and I have to remind her. And she’s always looking out for me. And I love her. And I think she loves me.”
She reached back and found Ema’s hand again, gently tugging her forward. Ema crouched beside her, saying nothing, letting Kay have the space.
Kay gave her a small, shy smile. “She’s better than any ugly boyfriend, anyway.”
Ema’s hand tightened in hers, warm and steady. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Faraday.” She said softly, eyes on the grave.
They sat there for a while. Ema brushed her thumb over Kay’s knuckles, Kay rested her head against Ema’s shoulder. The wind rustled the leaves above them like a hush. The world felt smaller there, simpler. Not empty, not painful. Just still.
Eventually, Kay stood, brushing the grass from her knees. “I think he would’ve liked you.”
“He sounds like he was wonderful.” Ema said, quietly.
Kay’s throat tightened. “He was. He really was.”
They stayed like that for a while, kneeling in the sunlight, the breeze curling around them like a blessing. Kay rested her head lightly against Ema’s, eyes fluttering shut.
“He would’ve tried to make you laugh with some terrible pun, and you’d pretend you weren’t amused, but your nose would scrunch the way it always does.”
Ema gave a low hum. “Do I do that?”
“You do. And it’s adorable.”
Another beat of silence. “Thanks for coming.” Kay murmured.
Ema turned to Kay with a soft smile, kissing her nose. “Promises are promises.”
Kay leaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut for a moment like she could bottle the warmth of it and save it for later.
“When I was a kid, I used to think he’d be mad.” Kay said quietly, voice barely above the wind. “That I wasn’t what he expected. That I didn’t turn out like the girl he thought I’d be.”
Ema’s fingers curled around hers, grounding her.
“But then I remember, he used to tell me I was his wild little firecracker. Said he couldn’t wait to see who I’d become… where my wings would take me…”
Ema smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Kay’s ear. “He raised someone brave. And kind. And a little ridiculous.”
Kay laughed, finally, nudging Ema with her shoulder. “Hey.”
“Hey, I love the ridiculous part.” Ema murmured, resting her head on Kay’s. “It’s why I fell for you.”
They sat like that for a long while, the quiet filling the space between them. Not heavy, not lonely. Just quiet. The breeze stirred the paper crane slightly, its wings catching the light.
Kay squeezed Ema’s hand. “Maybe one day, I’ll bring our kid here.”
Ema blinked. “Our-?”
“Not soon.” Kay said quickly, grinning. “Just… someday. If we ever decide to. I’d want them to know him, too.”
Ema’s heart twisted and softened all at once. She leaned in and kissed Kay’s temple.
“Someday sounds pretty perfect.”