All About You

Nine

I n typical Garcia family tradition: we are late.

And to Church of all places. Apparently, not even the power of the Divine can ensure we’re on time.

This happens almost every Sunday. My family (excluding me, obviously ) miscalculates how much time they need to get ready for Church, and ends up waking up with only a couple of hours to get ready. While to others, that might be more than enough, for my family, that’s barely enough time. Especially when outfits are still yet to be chosen, hair needing to be done.

Though, I personally pride myself on being the fastest out of my family to get ready. Not that it was a competition or anything, but if it were, I’d be number 1 every time.

“ Mahal, where are my shoes ?” Mum screeches from the floor above me. I swear, either the walls and floors here are thin, or our voices can penetrate through any layer.

I flick through my new read - Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, while my phone lies idly in my purse. I’m definitely not going to be scrolling and seeing more budding relationships on my feed again this morning. Ria likes to call it jealousy. I call it self-preservation.

Her voice emerges from the stairs - “Mum, I’m borrowing your headband!”

I reach the part of Wuthering Heights where Catherine proclaims she and Heathcliff share the same soul, when my family simultaneously clamour into the study room area.

Upon seeing me, Dad exclaims, “Lene, why are you just sitting there and reading! Heat up the car for me, please?”

I catch the keys he swiftly tosses toward me, and manoeuvre myself through my maze of a family, dodging as Mum stumbles a little trying to put on sneakers. Even after I turn the car on and settle in the backseat, they still take another five minutes to actually leave the house, and lock up.

By the time we arrive at Holy Spirit Church, the Mass is well up to the first reading, which is a good quarter into the service. All the congregation are seated, making it all the more obvious when my Dad pushes through the Church doors and scans the space for free spots.

Most of them are taken.

Then, against my ear, Mum whispers, “Oh, there’s your Tita Regina.”

Oh God (literally), please no.

And yet, there they were. I spot Marlon’s brown hair first. He stands out, because he’s taller than his parents, and the people around him. Like a great dane sitting with jack russells.

There’s a sizable gap beside Tito Daniel, one that Mum wouldn’t mind sliding into. Just as expected, she begins to move toward their seat.

Quietly, she greets Tita Reg, and they both smile widely at each other, like teenagers who haven’t seen each other in forever. Then, we weave ourselves through their legs awkwardly as we make our way to the space beside them. I smile politely at Tita Regina and Tito Daniel in greeting, avoiding Marlon’s eyes as I reach him.

That’s when my foot hits something and I stumble forward onto Ria, my fingers clawing into her back for support. Thankfully, she stays standing, but she turns to glare at me over her shoulder. The small movement is enough to get the attention of those seated near us. I smile sheepishly at the elderly couple seated behind us shooting me unimpressed looks, and look down.

Marlon’s foot is extended, unnaturally. I glare at him, but his eyes are focused on the front. He’d better be praying that I don’t get my hands on him.

If Jesus weren’t watching, I think I’d murder him right there and then.

Unlike this morning, my family is actually on time when we arrive at Tita Bea and Jonathan’s place, later after Church.

About a year ago, the two of them decided to move in together just three suburbs away from us. Since the streets are still barren and full of developmental lands, it’s mostly quiet for now, and empty. Their quaint house is just one of three on the street.

Tita Bea and Jonathan both greet us at the doorway, brandishing matching lavender outfits.

“ Salamat Ate,” Tita Bea expresses toward Mum, as she grabs the box of pandesal from her. The pandesal order was still fresh when we picked it up, just after Church, and I had to endure a whole car ride with its sweet scent in my nostrils. It was torture when Mum said I couldn’t take even a small bite.

Leaving our shoes at the entrance, my family takes in the new house, which had already been adorned with rustic style furniture that gives the space a country, cottage feel. Pictures of Tita Bea and Jonathan decorate the walls as we head further into the house. In each photo, that look of love is never absent.

In just a year, they’ve managed to make it look like they’ve lived here all their lives.

Once we’ve greeted everyone, and a few more guests trickle in, we say grace over the food at the dining area and finally dig in. My mouth practically floods at the sight of pork sisig, kare-kare, pancit and of course, my favourite, palabok .

Sweet, sweet palabok.

I linger toward the back of the line, my eyes scrutinising Marlon’s figure, who’s toward the front already. Why did Tita Regina have to be so lovely, so friendly, to have become best friends with not only my Mum but all her sisters too?

I get lost in wondering what life would be like, if I wasn’t always jumpscared by Marlon at gatherings, when he passes me.

“I took the last of the palabok, by the way,” he states.

My eyes widen, blood running cold.

“ What ?” I screech.

Slowly his mouth curls into that unbearable smirk of his, and I nearly knock the plate from his hands.

“Relax Garcia, I’m kidding,” he scoffs, pleased with his pathetic prank.

I can’t help it. I stomp on his foot. Lightly of course.

One thing I pride myself on is my ability to still remain somewhat calm in family gatherings, regardless of how infuriating Marlon can be. Though, the action doesn’t deter Marlon. It only amuses him.

“ Now Lene -” Mum begins, her tone dancing on chastising and amusement.

“It’s okay Tita, I’m used to Jas’ strange ways by now,” Marlon retorts, before he heads toward the living room area, where his Dad sits. Hopefully, he stays there, and out of my way for the rest of the day.

Finally, I reach the table. I reserve a special space on my plate just for palabok. The remaining space on my plate, I fill with servings of pork sisig and fried rice, and head toward the breakfast nook, where Ria and my cousins are.

We chat idly about our studies. At the moment, Kuya Joseph is in his third-year of his IT course, whereas Kuya Peter had only recently deferred university to pursue his singing more seriously.

“Your song has been getting so many views lately, Kuya!” I exclaim, nudging him with my knuckles. It’s comforting knowing that Ria and I aren’t the only creatives in the family, and watching Kuya Peter’s success skyrocket has been amazing.

Stephanie, on the other hand, had just started Year 9. She gives us all an update on her love life, appearing to be torn between a boy she’s been friends with since Year 7, and a new girl that transferred to her class this year.

“I like them both so much, but so differently, it’s so hard!” she groans, leaning her forward against her perched hands.

I take a sip of my water, sniffing, “At least you have options, Steph. And they both seem to be interested in you, from what you’ve told us.”

Steph glowers at me over her spoon, “I don’t know what’s worse Ate Lene. Having options and having to choose, or having no options at all and being at peace.”

Huh. When she puts it that way…

I reach forward, patting her hand comfortingly.

“I know your heart will lead you to the right one. Choose the one who is last on your mind before you go to sleep. They’re the ones who fill your consciousness when you least expect it.”

Stephanie tilts her head, raising a brow, “Always the perceptive one in love, aren’t you Ate?”

“If only she had any luck in it,” Ria remarks, and I kick her under the table.

Later on, Jonathan calls us all into the backyard. We do as he says, scattering ourselves amongst the outside decking, where the sun casts a comfortable heat on us. The backyard is adorned with a selection of different potted plants, reminding me of how fond Tita Bea is of gardening. I wonder if Jonathan is too.

As the two centres themselves on the decking, Tita Bea begins by thanking us all for coming and celebrating her engagement with Jonathan. They begin to recall the moment they first met each other - ‘I was having lunch with my coworkers and god, the service was terrible, so I went to complain, and guess who was the manager of the place? None other than the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen’ - the moment they had their first kiss - ‘She was looking over Darling Harbour and I knew I had to secure that moment with a kiss’ and the moment they fell in love and realised they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together - ‘We were watching WALL-E on TV and Bea had tears rushing down her eyes, in that moment I just knew’.

While they speak, I linger on the glint in Tita Bea’s eyes whenever they fall on Jonathan, or the way his face would soften at her laughter.

Warmth spills over my body, capturing me like a hug. It’s the same warmth I feel whenever I observe my parents being cheesy with each other.

To witness a love so pure, so real, and to know it’s happening to someone I cherish so dearly feels like such a blessing. Tears spring to the corners of my eyes, unexpectedly, as Tita Bea and Jonathan gush about their excitement for their new lives, and the adventures they’ll face.

I can’t wait until it’s my turn, sharing adventures, sharing the pages of my chapters with my person.

The couple raises their glasses in a hoorah - “ To forever! ” - and we all follow suit, raising our own. We clink each other’s drinks.

They then direct our attention back inside, informing us of today’s special dessert - an ube leche flan cake that Jonathan’s older sister baked for today. I marvel at the sentiment of someone who isn’t of Filipino descent, baking a Filipino delight for us today.

My stomach rolls over in delight once I spot the cake on the kitchen counter. When I grab my slice, I sit back at the breakfast nook, this time occupied by Tita Regina, Tita Bea, Mum and Ria.

“Marlon! Come over here!” Tita Regina calls.

I freeze, my mouth open and fork suspended mid air. There’s a space, perfect for two more people, still unoccupied beside me. Please, Mum, no .

“Marlon, there’s space here!” Tita Bea calls.

I refuse to look at Marlon, to acknowledge him. I keep my eyes trained on my ube slice.

“Oh, that’s okay, I was just going to sit here with Da-”

“Don’t be silly, both of you sit here!”

This has got to be the worst of all nightmares ever . The chair beside me pulls out, and Marlon lowers himself. Hesitation rolls off of him in waves, and I wonder if it’s only me that can feel his resistance. At least that’s one thing we have in common; our desire to be as far away from each other.

Regardless, I spare a glance at him. His expression is unreadable, his gaze trained on his food. Today, his usually unruly curls are brushed back a little.

“Yours will be the next engagement party in the family, eh?” Tita Regina giggles, nudging my ribs. I laugh half-heartedly, mortified.

“Kailan ba ang engagement party mo?” Lola Evangeline questions, from the kitchen counter, having overhead us. A mischievous grin plays on her lips.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I respond, scratching at my earlobe, my neck heating, “I’m too busy with studies.”

“When will you propose , Marlon?” Tita Bea coos, reaching across the table to poke him with her fork. The table erupts into childish giggles, and I want to melt into the ground right there and then. Marlon mimics my unnerved laughter. Strangely, having him here, suffering this with me makes me feel less alone. In the worst of ways, I’m happy he’s here with me.

Even Mum is chuckling, and she reaches forward, pinching my arm playfully. All I can do is smile. Smile, and laugh, and not entirely agree, but not disagree either, avoid appearing rude, maintain my composure as an all-good daughter. My breathing quickens, my mind torn between being upset and embarrassed.

I catch Ria’s eyes and her expression is soft and pitiful. I know she wants to say something, and she has before, but none of them will ever listen. That’s when her words from last night suddenly rushes over me in violent waves.

Something about pretending to be with Marlon.

What-ifs hurdle into my mind.

What if Mum and Tita Regina thought we dated, and believed that we just didn’t work out…

No. That’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Pretend dating? This is not a movie, or a book. This is real life. And nobody does play-pretend to band aid their problems in real life.

Yet, amongst the inner voices screaming at me, telling me this is nonsense, there’s a louder voice, one that’s reaping frustration and desperation. It’s an impossible feat, it’s childish. Foolish.

But if there’s even that 1% chance it could work, even just a miniscule 0.5% chance that Mum, Tita Regina and our families will stop…

It’s not until Tita Regina whoops, “To Marlon and Jaslene, one day!”, and the entire table laughs, that the voice begins to scream, until it overpowers all others.

Oh, fuck it.