After Ange returns from the surface with supplies, he swims into the kitchen and tells us Mum and Da are coming to visit.

Parro freezes with his bowl of fried bread halfway to his face. He stares at Ange, who's still hovering in the doorway. Parro's mouth vibrates, his fingers wiggle a vague question.

Ange shrugs. They stare at each other.

I glance back and forth between them, and at the stove, checking if my fried bread in the pot has gone golden-brown yet. Then I glance back between them. Parro keeps staring.

"Wrass is staying to tend the rice by herself," Ange signs, "and they're coming down here."

Parro blinks. "Why?" he sets the bowl on the wood table and accidentally bumps the table so it's barely touching the wall corner.

Ange shrugs grandly.

"But...they've never come and visited," Parro signs. "Where are they going to sleep?"

Ange shrugs.

"What day?" Parro signs. "Or, days?"

"They're coming in three days. And staying for two."

"Two days, sleeping here once, or two days, sleeping here twice?"

"Sleeping here twice."

"What are they going to do for two whole days here?"

Ange shrugs.

"That's not the night the group's meeting in the store, right?"

Ange shakes his head.

Parro's shoulders slump. "That's a relief."

Quitting watching them, I cover my hands with a fuzzy protecting pad, take the pot off the stove, twist the knob on the stove's side to shut off the heating pipes. I take the pot to the counter and dump my golden-brown bread into a big bowl, click the lid on before the hot bread can bob away, I made some light, fluffy bread on accident.

"Answered all your questions?" Ange asked.

Parro shrugs.

"Great."

Parro stares into his bowl.

"They're going to say something weird about the store layout, aren't they?" Ange signs.

"And our box maze by the back door," Parro signs.

Ange says something aloud, hands like he's marching. Parro covers his mouth and bends over.

I set the empty pot on the counter. I poke the wood bowl, like this will make the bread cool faster.

"Oh no, what if your Mum wants all her shirts re-organized?" Ange signs, paddling around me to the stove. "Remember how she kept the store by the house hyper-organized? Like, every single shirt had to be arranged by size even though she was the only one who could tell the difference between those sleeves."

Parro laughs. "They were literally the same length. All eight size variations."

"It was seven, but yeah."

I prod the wood bowl side to side on the counter. I don't remember this.

"And Da got in trouble for using one of the pairs of shorts to clean up an oil blob on the ceiling?" Parro signs.

I also don't remember this.

"Goodness, how does Wrass still deal with that?" Parro signs. "I could never."

"You did for nineteen years," Ange starts rifling through the cupboards by my knees, looking for something to eat.

Parro rolls his eyes. "And I still have nightmares about ruining the shirt size organization and spilling boxes on some customers' heads."

"I know."

Still hot on my fingers, I poke the wood bowl back and forth.

"But for real, Wrass hardly works in the store," Ange signs. "She does lots of work in the trees with the summer hires, and makes her carvings, and helps weave clothes."

"Good for her," Parro nods.

"You know..." Ange shuts a cupboard, then sets a bowl beside mine. "If you went up there sometimes, you'd know."

Parro shows his teeth. "As much as I love Wrass, seeing her isn't worth arguing with Da the whole time I'm up there."

I go still.

"Okay, not the whole time," Parro amends, staring at Ange's face.

"I just think Wrass would appreciate it," Ange dumps a bunch of rice into his bowl. "She's kinda working on a lot of stuff and today she was telling me about these fantasy creatures you guys made up as kids and how she wants to carve figurines of them but she's not sure how."

Parro tilts his head. "Did she, like, bribe you to get me to come visit?"

Ange shakes his head. "She said nothing about you coming to visit. This is entirely my idea, Parro."

Parro stares, cheeks twitching.

"Ange...you can have ideas?" Parro signs, flashing his teeth.

"Yes, every year or so I get a really good one," Ange bows, nearly lowering his face into the counter.

My warm-tipped fingers prod the bowl in circles; Parro and Da argued, not the whole time Parro used to visit, but almost the whole time? In the corner of my eyes, I glance at Parro--is this what he meant at the Monsters of the Deep concert about family business and how we don't sell band merch?

He gets up from the table, carrying his dirty bowl to the counterspace by the stove behind us. "So we're in trouble for the rest of the year then."

"Naturally."

I pop off the lid of my bowl, prod the bobbing golden bread. It's warm, but not stingingly hot. I grab it so it doesn't float away.

"Hey, Nudibranc," Parro flutters back to the table, spreading his arms between hallway and living room archways, "our parents are coming to visit, where should they sleep? Ange already wasted his one idea a year, and I've got nothing."

I pause. This conversation shifts itself into sharp focus: I am just now an entrant into the dialogue, like I haven't been floating here waiting for my bread to cool this whole time.

Wait, this means, Ange and Parro use signing to communicate with each other even when it doesn't involve me.

I bite into the bread, leave it in my teeth.

"Da's not going to like how much signing happens here," I sign. I tap my fingers together. "Maybe they can sleep in the store. Or under the table."

Ange and Parro use signing even when it doesn't involve me. My heart gets warm and spinny at the thought but also sinks a little bit, because I have been floating here the whole time so why does Parro think I need the summarized version of the conversation?

"That," Ange purses his lips, "is an excellent point."

I hesitate. Parro sinks into a chair. "Which one?" I sign. The signing, or the sleeping?

"I sometimes go up there," Ange signs, "and forget that people frequently talk out loud in their houses. Wrass has to practice signing with me."

Parro's eyes bug. "Does Mum even still sign?"

Ange shrugs. "I think so," he taps the wooden whorls in the counter. "She did teach it to the rest of us, so I hope so."

I nibble my lip; Mum has a bunch of books on a shelf beside her weaving station, I've never read them but that's what she learned signing from when I was little and she always said she couldn't find anyone else who knew any signing so she made some stuff up when she didn't understand what the books meant.

"Goodness, this is going to go terribly," Parro stares at the ceiling. "I'm going to need to buy more food before they get here."