4
Learning to parent when you never planned for a baby is already a challenge in itself. Learning to do it with Ai-oon? That’s a test of endurance.
But time does what time does best; it moves and with it the days. The days blur together, and with each one, May and Ai-oon find themselves learning more—about Nova, about themselves and each other, and about how to do this crazy parenting thing together.
***
With parenting comes compromise—or as Ai-oon has learned, a complete lack of it. Especially when it comes to the kid getting exactly what they want, while the parent is left with scraps.
It’s finally basketball season, and Ai-oon has been looking forward to this day for weeks. She’s stretched out on the couch, remote in hand, deeply engrossed in her team’s first game of the season. Not just any game, either—it’s the game, the one that matters most. Her team is up against their biggest rivals, and there was zero chance she was going to miss this.
To ensure uninterrupted game time, Ai-oon had played her cards right that morning—doing extra chores, running errands, and even pre-prepping dinner so May would have nothing to throw at her last minute. She had covered every base.
The only thing she needed to do now? Focus on watching her team win.
…And, well, keep an eye on Nova, who was curled up beside her on the sofa, sound asleep.
Not too difficult.
Ai-oon tells herself this as she leans forward, practically vibrating with anticipation. The game is tied, only a few minutes left on the clock, and her team has possession.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she mutters, gripping the remote like a lifeline.
And then—disaster.
The opposition is awarded a penalty in a crucial position.
“WHAT? ARE YOU BLOODY KIDDING ME?” Ai-oon shouts, jumping up in outrage before immediately freezing in her spot releasing her grave mistake.
It's silent.
Then—
“WAAAAAH!”
Nova’s wail pierces the air like a siren, sharp and demanding. Ai-oon freezes, eyes widening in regret as she whips around.
“Oh no no no no, hey, hey—sorry, kid! I didn’t mean to—” Ai-oon scrambles, scooping Nova into her arms, rocking her gently. “Hey, I’m sorry, alright? Don’t cry—shhh, it’s okay—”
But there’s no stopping the sobs. If anything, Nova only wails louder, tiny hands grasping at Ai-oon’s hoodie as if scolding her personally.
The game is still on. Ai-oon can hear the commentary, the crowd roaring—her team is still playing—but Nova is sobbing against her chest, her face scrunched up in distress.
Ai-oon knows. Deep down, she knows exactly what will stop this crying.
She just really, really doesn’t want to do it.
Nova, as if reading her mind, hiccups through a sob, blinking up at Ai-oon with watery brown eyes. Her tiny lip wobbles. Ai-oon feels herself break.
“Fine. FINE,” she grumbles in defeat, jabbing at the remote.
The screen flickers—
And instead of the nail-biting final minutes of the match, the cheerful opening theme of The Wiggles fills the room.
Nova’s crying stops instantly.
Ai-oon watches in resignation as the little girl’s entire face lights up, tears still clinging to her cheeks but completely forgotten as she claps her hands in joy. She bounces slightly in Ai-oon’s lap, squealing in excitement.
The betrayal cuts deep.
Just as Ai-oon slumps back against the sofa, May strolls into the room, apron tied around her waist, an amused look already forming as she takes in the scene.
“Well, I was coming to see what the problem was, but I see you’ve fixed it,” she says, clearly reading the situation without needing to ask.
Ai-oon groans, tossing the remote onto the couch like it personally betrayed her. “I can’t even finish a game in peace anymore. We had a deal, Nova. Let Aunty Ai finish her game, and I won’t tell Aunty May when you secretly throw your carrots on the floor.”
Nova squeals in response, bouncing in Ai-oon’s lap, completely unbothered by the deal she had clearly broken.
May, suppressing a giggle, tilts her head. “I knew she wasn’t eating all those carrots.”
Ai-oon lifts her gaze at the sound of May’s soft laughter, something stupid happening in her chest at the sound. “You’re never getting that sports channel back, you know.”
Ai-oon sighs dramatically, crossing her arms. “Don’t remind me.”
But as she looks down at Nova—who is now happily clapping along to Fruit Salad (Yummy, Yummy)—a small, reluctant smile tugs at her lips.
“…Worth it,” she admits, voice quieter now.
May lingers in the doorway for a moment before moving to sit beside Ai-oon, nudging her knee lightly with her own.
“I mean, you could try changing the channel again,” May teases.
Ai-oon shoots her a deadpan look. “I like my eardrums intact, thanks.”
May grins, leaning back against the couch. “Smart choice.”
They sit there for a while, neither of them speaking, just existing in the shared space. The room is filled with the ridiculous, overenthusiastic Wiggles music, Nova giggling and clapping along in her playpen.
Ai-oon risks a glance at May, who is watching Nova with a soft expression, a warmth in her eyes that makes Ai-oon’s stomach feel weird.
She looks away quickly, pretending to be way more interested in the Wiggles than she actually is.
This parenting thing?
Yeah. It’s definitely changing her.
***
With parenting comes many lessons—some heartwarming, some chaotic, and some, like this, deeply painful.
May and Ai-oon have both learned the unique struggle of constantly lugging around a baby who hasn’t yet figured out how to walk. Ai-oon, in particular, has borne the brunt of it, considering Nova’s favourite mode of transport is her Aunty Ai. Whether it’s her hip, arms, back, or—on particularly ambitious days—her head, Nova climbs her like a determined little koala.
And Ai-oon self-declaring herself as a strong independent woman who needs no help had refused to have any aid with the issue.
It took May strongly implying that Ai-oon looked shorter lately from her posture hunching over more often—“Seriously, I think your spine is giving up on you”—for Ai-oon to finally give in to trying the baby harness.
“There’s no way people are going to start thinking I’m short,” Ai-oon had declared, utterly scandalised.
Which is how they now find themselves in the middle of the living room, staring down a seemingly innocent navy-blue baby carrier. Or otherwise known; The enemy.
Ai-oon picks it up, flipping it over, turning it inside out, then flipping it again. She narrows her eyes. “…Is this for carrying a baby or assembling IKEA furniture?”
May, sitting cross-legged beside her, leans in, tapping her chin. “Well, let's see—” she grabs the instruction manual and flips through it, her expression immediately blanking “—okay, I see why you’re confused.”
Ai-oon squints at the diagrams. “This looks like a visual representation of my brain during maths class.”
May hums in agreement, before poking at one of the straps. “I think this part goes around your shoulders.”
Ai-oon slips her arms through what seem to be shoulder straps—only for the entire harness to hang limp around her waist like an ill-fitted apron. She glances down at it, then at May. “Uh. That doesn’t feel right.”
May presses her lips together, trying—failing—not to laugh. “Yeah, no. That’s definitely wrong.”
Ai-oon sighs, pulling it off and shaking it out like that’s somehow going to help. “Maybe—” She ducks her head, attempting to slip it on backward. The straps dangle uselessly at her sides.
May hums again, head tilting. “Now you just look like you’re wearing a really unhelpful backpack.”
Ai-oon gives her a flat look. “Your encouragement is overwhelming.”
May grins. “I am very supportive, thank you.”
Ai-oon groans. “That’s it, I’m setting this thing on fire.”
“Okay, drama queen.” May scoots closer, hands brushing against Ai-oon’s arms as she starts adjusting the straps, tightening one over her shoulder, smoothing another down her back. Ai-oon stills slightly, suddenly very aware of the proximity.
May, however, is all business, muttering under her breath as she works. “This should—wait, no—maybe it goes—no, that’s your face—”
Ai-oon lets out an exaggerated huff, wriggling as one of the straps pulls too tight against her ribs. “May, I swear, if you strangle me with this thing, I’m coming back to haunt you.”
May snorts, swatting Ai-oon’s arm before pulling back to survey her work. The harness is now snugly wrapped around Ai-oon’s torso, straps adjusted, clips fastened. It actually looks… correct.
Ai-oon flexes slightly. “Oh. Hey. This doesn’t feel too bad.”
May leans back on her hands, smug. “See? You’re basically a professional baby carrier now.”
Ai-oon smirks, tilting her head. “Professional, huh? You impressed?”
May blinks, caught slightly off guard by the sudden shift in Ai-oon’s tone.
It’s not the usual smug Ai-oon expression—it’s softer, more teasing than outright cocky, and for some reason, that makes May’s breath falter for half a second before she scoffs, recovering. “Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes and pushes Ai-oon’s shoulder. “You haven’t even put the baby in yet.”
Ai-oon gasps, clutching her chest like she’s been mortally wounded. “Wow. No faith in me.”
May gestures toward Nova, who’s been watching the whole fiasco from her playmat with great amusement. “Fine. Prove me wrong.”
Ai-oon puffs up like she’s just been challenged to a duel, confidently scooping Nova up and lowering her into the harness… only to immediately realise she has zero idea how to secure her properly.
May watches as Ai-oon fumbles, adjusting and readjusting straps, trying to fasten Nova in place without accidentally flipping her upside down.
“You do know where her legs are supposed to go, right?” May asks, barely containing her laughter.
Ai-oon freezes, looking down at the tangled mess of straps and baby limbs. “… No.”
May dissolves into giggles. “Oh my God, move. Let me fix it.”
Ai-oon groans but doesn’t protest as May leans in once again, hands working efficiently to untangle the mess Ai-oon has created. She mutters under her breath as she moves, “I swear, Ai-oon, can you do anything without my help?”
Ai-oon smirks, eyes flicking down to meet May’s. “Probably not.”
The words are light, teasing, but something in the air shifts.
May glances up—only to find Ai-oon already looking at her. Close enough that May can see the faintest dusting of freckles across Ai-oon’s nose, the warmth in her dark eyes. The smirk on Ai-oon’s face has softened into something quieter, something unreadable.
May’s breath catches.
Nova, oblivious to the moment, suddenly squeals and smacks a tiny hand against Ai-oon’s face.
The tension shatters.
May clears her throat, stepping back quickly. “There. Now you’re officially a baby-wearing expert.”
Ai-oon, still holding Nova securely against her chest, tilts her head. “Yeah? What’s my prize?”
May gives her a look. “Your spine not collapsing. Congrats.”
Ai-oon laughs, nudging May’s knee with her own. “I’ll take it.” She glances down at Nova, who is perfectly content now, tiny fingers grabbing at Ai-oon’s hoodie. “Alright, kiddo, guess we’re in this together.”
May watches them for a second longer than she probably should, something fond tugging at her chest.
She ignores it. For now.
***
One of the parenting struggles that May had known about was food.
However, May hadn’t thought it would be her struggle.
Being a five-star chef with one of the highest rated restaurants in Thailand, May hadn’t anticipated Nova rejecting her gourmet meals daily. Yet, here they were—standing in the baby food aisle, trying to crack the mystery of what, exactly, the fussy child would actually eat.
“This is ridiculous,” May mutters, arms crossed as she watches Ai-oon crouch down to Nova’s level, holding up yet another tiny jar of puréed mystery food.
She pops the lid off and waves it slightly under Nova’s nose. “Alright, kid, what about this one?”
Nova, secured in the shopping cart’s baby seat, sniffs the air—and immediately scrunches up her face, letting out a dramatic puh! before slapping at Ai-oon’s hand.
May groans. “Oh, come on.”
Ai-oon snickers, screwing the lid back on. “That’s a hard pass.”
“I made you fresh pumpkin soup last night,” May laments, rubbing her temples. “I slow-roasted it for hours. Hours, Ai. And this morning, she spat it out and wiped her tongue on her bib like I tried to poison her.”
“Maybe she just has high standards,” Ai-oon teases, picking up another jar.
May huffs. “Excuse you, I have high standards.” She gestures at the baby aisle. “We shouldn’t even be here—we should be at home, enjoying my lovingly handcrafted meals instead of sniffing mass-produced mush like detectives on a case.”
Ai-oon grins. “Well, Detective Ai is on the job.” She pops open another jar. “Alright, what about this one, kiddo?”
Nova leans forward, sniffing cautiously. She blinks. And then—finally—she claps her hands excitedly.
Ai-oon gasps, clutching the jar to her chest. “We have a winner!”
May peers at the label. “Sweet potato and apple,” she reads flatly.
Ai-oon beams. “Congrats, you’ve been out-cheffed by a pre-packaged baby food company.”
May glares. “That is not helping.”
Ai-oon chuckles, standing up and tossing a few jars into the trolley. But when she glances at May again, her amusement dims slightly. May’s still staring at the shelf, looking… a little deflated.
Ai-oon nudges her shoulder. “Hey. You alright?”
May shrugs, waving a hand vaguely. “It’s dumb.”
Ai-oon tilts her head. “I mean I will probably agree, but you can tell me the dumb problem anyway.”
May sighs. “I just…” She crosses her arms, glancing at Nova, who is happily smacking her hands against the trolley handle, completely unaware of her aunt’s mild existential crisis. “I thought cooking for her would be special, you know? Like… something we’d bond over. But she won’t even eat my food.” She sighs again, softer this time. “I know she’s just a baby, but still. It kinda sucks.”
Ai-oon studies her for a second. Then she says, casually but deliberately, “Well, I think your food’s amazing.”
May gives her a side-eye. “You're just saying that.”
“Nope.” Ai-oon shakes her head. “Genuinely mean it.”
May raises a brow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”
Ai-oon huffs, crossing her arms. “Alright, one, I literally clean my plate every time you cook, and two—” She gestures vaguely with her hand. “—the one soap dish you make? The one with coconut milk and lemongrass?”
May blinks. “My Tom Kha Gai?”
“Yes, that.” Ai-oon nods firmly. “It’s insane. Like, the first time you made it, I almost teared up, not even kidding.”
May’s lips twitch. “You’re so dramatic.”
“No, I’m serious!” Ai-oon insists, pointing at her. “It reminded me of my grandma’s cooking. She used to make something really similar when I was a kid.” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t know, it just… it felt kinda nice. Like home.”
May’s breath catches slightly.
Ai-oon isn’t even looking at her now, fiddling with the shopping cart as she pulls faces at Nova like she hadn’t just casually said something that made May’s heart stumble over itself.
The moment lingers—just a little too long, just a little too warm.
Then, suddenly—Ai-oon’s phone buzzes.
“Hold that thought.” She answers the call. “Yeah?”
May watches as Ai-oon’s expression shifts from relaxed to exasperated in real-time.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ai-oon mutters. A pause. “No, I fixed that already. What do you mean it’s worse? Who—” She rubs her temple. “Oh, for—fine. I’ll be there soon.”
From the rare serious tone in Ai-oon’s voice, May knows it can only be one thing. So May already knows what’s coming.
Ai-oon hangs up and sighs. “I gotta go. Work emergency.”
May nods understanding from the annoyed look seeping into Ai’s features that she doesn't want to go but clearly the person on the other end of the call has left her no choice. She waves her hand “Go. It’s fine.”
“You sure?” Ai-oon asks, brows furrowed.
May scoffs, ushering her toward the store exit. “I think I can handle picking out baby food without you.”
Ai-oon grins. “You think?”
May rolls her eyes. “Leave before I change my mind.”
Ai-oon smirks, pressing a quick, absentminded kiss to Nova’s head before heading off.
May watches her go, lips pressing together at the small, lingering warmth still holding in her chest.
Later that night as the clock ticks past midnight, Ai-oon drags herself home, exhausted.
She shrugs off her jacket, rubbing at her neck as she trudges into the kitchen, ready to collapse into bed.
She opens the fridge looking for something—anything at this point to have for dinner.
Then she sees it.
On the fridge shelf, neatly covered with cling film, sits a plate of food.
Her name is written on a sticky note on top.
Curious, Ai-oon pulls it out, unwrapping it—only for the familiar, fragrant scent of lemongrass and coconut milk to immediately hit her.
She stares.
Tom Kha Gai.
The dish she told May was her favourite.
A small, surprised chuckle slips out of her.
She glances at the note again—at the slightly lopsided way her name is written, at the little *:) * doodled in the corner.
And for some reason, Ai-oon can’t quite fight the stupid, fond grin tugging at her lips.
***
Another parenting lesson that May and Ai-oon have learned the hard way?
Babies—and convincing them to sleep when you want to sleep—is a battle that when up against a stubborn Nova is one they are destined to always lose.
It can happen on any random night, for example: right now.
A dim, golden glow from the bedside lamp casts soft shadows across the room, the only source of light at this ungodly hour. May and Ai-oon stand side by side over Nova’s crib like two exhausted soldiers in the trenches, their expressions hollow with sleep deprivation.
Nova, however, is thriving—kicking her little legs, waving her arms, and babbling happily like she’s the one running on eight hours of rest instead of exactly none.
Ai-oon groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Alright. Rock-paper-scissors. Loser takes the next shift.”
May gives her a deadpan look. “That’s not fair. You’ll cheat.”
Ai-oon gasps. “How can one even cheat at rock-paper-scissors?”
“You’d find a way.”
Ai-oon places a dramatic hand over her heart. “Wow. So much distrust in this co-parenting relationship.”
May squints, unimpressed. “Are we doing this or not?”
Ai-oon holds up her fist. “On three.”
Together, they count:
One. Two. Three.
May throws rock.
Ai-oon—who moves far too slow—throws a very obvious scissor.
She stares at her own hand. Then at May. Then back at her hand.
“Damn it.”
May grins triumphantly, already backing away towards the exit. “Have fun.”
And with that, she leaves for her own bedroom, before Ai-oon can even protest.
“Such Betrayal.” Ai-oon mutters as she watches May walk away. However, barely admitting it to even herself, Ai-oon had been slow on purpose. Ai-oon couldn't miss the dark circles resting below May’s eyes or that all May would have to do is yawn and Ai-oon would give up sleep if it meant she got enough.
With a long groan Ai-oon reaches down to scoop up the tiny enemy who has bested them.
Nova grins up at her, utterly unfazed by the fact that it is currently 3:12 AM and they should not be awake.
“Alright, Supernova, what’s the deal?” Ai-oon murmurs, adjusting Nova against her hip. “Do you need a stock portfolio to put you to sleep? Because I will start talking about my taxes.”
Nova giggles.
Ai-oon sighs. She can’t even pretend to be mad.
“You sound like Auntie May when you laugh like that.”
Nova goes quieter then. She softly gazes up at Ai-oon before reaching up to softly pat Ai-oon’s cheek with her tiny hands. She does it in a way that feels as if she's trying to show to Ai that she knows exactly what little trick Ai pulled on May.
Ai-oon hums, feeling her heart go a bit fast as if being caught. Pacing slowly around the room she tries to deflect to the baby. “You think I’m kidding, but May’s got a real evil streak, kiddo. You should’ve seen her face when she won that rock-paper-scissors match. Smug as hell.”
Nova only lets out soft baby sounds, waving her arm as she holds a few strands of Ai-oons hair.
Ai-oon presses a finger to her lips. “Shh, you’re meant to be getting sleepier not waking up.”
She settles into the rocking chair, shifting Nova so that she’s resting comfortably against her chest.
“You know,” Ai-oon muses softly, “May acts all tough, but she’s got a soft spot for you. Did you know she got all sad in the grocery store the other day because you wouldn’t eat her cooking?” She chuckles under her breath. “She really wants to be the one to make you all your first meals. I mean, if I were you kid, I’d take the food, you’ll figure it out when you're a bit older but you're not going to find much better than her” Ai flicks her gaze back down to Nova having found herself staring out into the quiet living room realising what she just said sounded like.
“I mean–no better than her food! Her food is pretty amazing.”
Nova lets out a sleepy little sigh, nodding her head as if letting Ai-oon believe that's what she meant as her tiny fist curling into Ai-oon’s shirt.
Soon soft breathes are being puffed out and Ai-oon knows that Nova has finally gone to sleep.
She leans her head back, letting herself relax for the first time tonight, listening to the steady rhythm of Nova’s breathing.
A minute passes. Then two.
And before she even realises it—she’s out too.
The first thing May notices when she wakes up is the silence.
Which is weird.
She’s so used to waking up to baby sounds—whether it’s happy babbling, fussy whining, or the occasional, mysterious thump that sends her shooting out of bed in panic. But today? Nothing.
She blinks groggily at the clock. 7:24 AM.
Confused, she stumbles out of the bedroom, rubbing at her eyes as she makes her way to the living room.
And when she sees them, her heart does a weird, unexpected flip.
Ai-oon and Nova are curled up on the couch, both completely passed out.
Nova is snug against Ai-oon’s chest, her tiny fingers still loosely gripping Ai-oon’s shirt. Ai-oon has one arm wrapped protectively around her, the other dangling off the side of the sofa. Her head is tilted back slightly, mouth parted in sleep, her usually sharp features soft and relaxed in the quiet morning light.
It’s… unfairly cute.
May crosses her arms, leaning against the doorway, taking in the sight for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she smirks.
She walks over, leans down—
And gently flicks Ai-oon’s forehead.
Ai-oon jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes wide. “Wh—what?”
“Good morning,” May says sweetly.
Ai-oon blinks blearily at her. Then she groans, rolling her head back against the couch. “I think I died.”
“You look dead,” May agrees. “You also look like you got eaten by the couch.”
Ai-oon makes a half-hearted attempt to glare at her but is too tired to follow through. “You’re so mean to me first thing in the morning.”
May just shrugs. “You deserve it.”
Ai-oon yawns, stretching slightly—then immediately pauses when Nova lets out a tiny noise of protest, still clinging to her. Ai-oon instinctively adjusts her hold, patting Nova’s back without even thinking.
May watches, amused. “You’re trapped.”
Ai-oon exhales heavily. “I am.” She glances up at May. “Breakfast?”
“Maybe,” May says. Then she smirks. “Rock-paper-scissors?”
Ai-oon groans. “I hate you.”
May just grins, heading toward the kitchen.
And Ai-oon, still exhausted, still trapped under their tiny, sleep-stealing gremlin, finds herself smiling anyway.