All About You

Twenty Two

T hings start to look up for Rafayel and I over the next week.

He begins to text me a little more, and replies much quicker. He asks me alot, I’ve noticed, for me to send him pictures of what I’m wearing.

Even when I’m not going out, and I’m just at home. I’m unsure of what he’s expecting, but I doubt it’s my Sanrio pyjamas.

When I went to visit him on Monday, I’m unable to chat with him because there had been a girl at the counter, looking quite upset. Must’ve been an angry customer.

I see him again on the Tuesday after film school, but only briefly, because he’d been called to backroom stocking duties.

Upon seeing me, his lips had merged into a smirk, his eyes roaming over my figure.

I’d never been checked out before. I should’ve felt giddy, and a part of me erupted into butterflies. Yet, another part of me felt somewhat cold.

Sexy. A shiver runs through me. I’ve never been called sexy before, ever. Yet, as I roll the word over in my mind, and the spark of butterflies fades, it begins to leave a sour aftertaste.

But why? What’s so wrong with Rafayel thinking I’m sexy?

My mouth fills with a strange bitterness once again.

He doesn’t even know me well. Why does he think I’m sexy?

That’s the last time I see him all week, leaving me sitting strangely disappointed during Mass on Thursday night. Ria nudges me, telling me not to look so forlorn. I shake myself out of my pitied slouch, and focus instead on what was happening at the front of the church.

This week is Holy Week, meaning that we get the Monday off as a public holiday. An extra long weekend for me, but that just puts more distance between seeing Rafayel again.

As we leave Church, Ria sidles up beside me, eyebrows drawn together suspiciously.

“Why did you look so miserable in Church?” she whispers. “In front of Jesus. ”

I make sure our parents are a few paces ahead of us, before replying, “I kind of miss Rafayel.”

At that, Ria groans loudly, earning some puzzled looks from others around us.

“That’s so lame of you,” she murmurs, but her tone is playful. “But I take it, is it going well?”

“I think so.”

That earns a tilt in Ria’s head.

“You only think so?”

Truthfully, while Rafayel has been very responsive and complimentary toward me, I still feel like I haven’t gotten to know him well enough yet. It’s a small detail that’s been tickling at my brain like an itch I can’t scratch. I don’t know if it’s just me being wholly dramatic though, as usual.

“Spill,” Ria prods, nudging me after I stay silent for a beat.

“Ugh, okay. I don’t know, I just feel like I’m not getting to know him properly.”

Ria scrunches her brow, confused, “What do you mean properly?”

At that, I fish out my phone. Might as well show Ria the hard evidence. I open it up on our recent conversations, and hand it to her.

“Here, just read through our conversations. You’ll see what I mean.”

After a minute or so, Ria thrusts the phone back into my hands. I gauge her reaction. It isn’t good - in fact, she looks almost disgusted.

“I don’t like him.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“What?”

“He feels sleazy. I don’t know, I just don’t have a good feeling. He feels like a fuckboy.”

I recoil at the comment, defensiveness stirring within me. Maybe Ria just read it all wrong. Surely she is. There’s no way that the sweet boy from the bookstore is a good-for-nothing fuckboy. He can’t be. Not when we had our perfect meet cute.

I shake my head.

“You’re just being over protective.”

“I’m not. I don’t like him, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her sceptic words brandish in my brain, leaving a chill over my body. I could be upset at Ria, call her unsupportive. Yet, as we drive home from Church, I can’t shake the part of me that fears she could be right.

Easter Sunday celebrations soon arrive, with the day packed with gatherings. For lunch, I’ve been invited to Marlon’s Tita’s house. I’d never been invited to a gathering on his Dad’s side before, but since I’m his ‘girlfriend’ now, that’s all changed.

Then tonight, Tita Lucillia is hosting a quaint dinner. I told Mum I could stay with them during the day since they don’t have any plans, but Mum insisted I go with Marlon.

We arrive at his Tita Linda’s house just a little past midday. She lives a little closer to the city, so the drive is a little far from where Marlon and I are based. As we reach the front door, I pause, my heart beating nervously. I’ve never really met this side of Marlon’s family, outside of Tita Regina’s side, so this is a first for me.

“What’s wrong?” Marlon asks, sensing the shift in my composure.

I shuffle from side to side.

“Just a little stage fright,” I joke, “This is a big audience. To, you know, act to.”

A look crosses Marlon’s features, but it quickly softens before I can read what that was. He reaches down, and gently clasps his fingers around mine. Usually, I’d jolt back, but this time I don’t. I hold onto him a little tighter, comforted by his presence. I notice that the crescent moon keychain I’d bought him is hanging on his pouch.

“Come on, they won’t bite,” he teases, and the lightness eases some of the stress.

We both step through. Much of his family are sitting outside in the pergola, and the smell of barbecue wafts through the air. My stomach grumbles agreeably.

They all turn to us enthusiastically once we step through the sliding door, and together, Marlon and I make our rounds of necessary greetings. I mano po the elderly, smiling at some of the unfamiliar but kind faces.

They’re all smiling at me so widely, so happily, that for a moment I could pretend this is real. That I’m really meeting my boyfriends’ family.

Food has already been served, so Marlon and I make our way back inside to grab some. He’s still holding my hand. Realising that, he drops it.

“I think you did pretty well out there, for an act Garcia,” he teases, but the words send a pang through me. Just like that, the illusion is broken.

As we eat, many of his relatives ask us how we got together. We alternate telling the same tale, of how we’ve known each other since we were children and only recently found ourselves falling for each other. After an hour, I begin to tire from repeating the same thing.

Not only that, but Marlon’s family speak full Tagalog to me, which I don’t blame them for, since they haven’t fully met me before, and don’t realise that my understanding is scarce.

My relatives have gotten used to speaking Taglish (Tagalog mixed with English) to me, but hearing the pure tongue spoken to my face is daunting.

Marlon translates it all for me though, and vice versa, when it’s my own words to his relatives.

After lunch, Marlon and I tuck ourselves away in the theatre lounge, giving us both a breather from socialisation.

I’m grateful for the quiet space here.

He’s gushing excitedly about how Mamoru is soon going to discover Usagi’s true identity, based on the Sailor Moon episode we watched last night.

“I thought you didn’t like Mamoru much,” I say.

“I didn’t say that, I just think he’s a bit of a loser, but he’s kind of cool now.”

I laugh.

Then Marlon asks me how Rafayel is. I hesitate, Ria’s words flooding back to me.

Do I tell him the truth? Is he going to tell me the exact same thing?

“It’s - uh - I think it’s going well. I don’t know,” I confess quietly.

“Remember what I said about worrying too much, Garcia. Has he asked you out yet?”

The question confirms all my insecurities.

“Not yet,” I say, “I mean, we’ve only been talking for a couple weeks. Isn’t that too fast for him to ask me on a date?”

Marlon tilts his head back on the couch, glancing at me.

“I’m sorry, Garcia, but - well I’ve always thought that if a guy wants it to happen it’ll happen…”

His voice begins to dip, growing a little softer to salvage my dignity.

“But maybe he’s trying to slow burn it out,” I attempt, but the reasoning sounds pathetic even to my ears. Still, I keep going, my delusion steering my words, “Like in the movie He’s Just Not That Into You . Maybe I’m not the rule, but I’ll be the exception.”

Marlon lifts a brow in question and confusion. That’s when he raises his hand, palm extended toward me.

“What?” I ask.

“Can I see how he’s been messaging you? So I can analyse his vibes.”

I eye him reluctantly, and Marlon quickly adds, “If you’re comfortable of course.”

Hesitantly, I hand over my phone to Marlon, open to the last text from Rafayel. I still hadn’t replied to his most recent text, which comments on my appearance for the current occasion.

Marlon scrolls up a bit, his eyes skimming the texts. I watch his face for any form of judgement. A scrunch of his nose, or twitch of his eye. I shouldn’t be worried or conscious about it, but I am.

“I don’t know,” Marlon sighs, handing me back the phone. His expression is clouded in a way that’s similar to Ria’s, when she reads through the texts. “Something about him irks me. He’s very … I don’t know. Just not there .”

Is this Marlon’s way of telling me Rafayel just isn’t interested in me? My stomach falls.

“I’m scared he’s playing you. As your designated wingman, you should drop him right now.”

The thought of Rafayel playing me for a fool, for acting the part of this perfect man, sets my blood cold. If that were the case, all of this would have been for nothing. The meet cute, the flirting, the build up, the anticipation. This ruse.

Thankfully, we are interrupted by Tita Regina.

“Hey you lovebirds,” she coos, and Marlon, on cue, places his arm over my shoulders. Playing the part ever so perfectly. I don’t have time to linger on the way his hand feels when Tita Reg tells us, “The games are starting soon.”

I quirk my head in confusion, glancing to-and-fro between Marlon and Tita Regina.

“The games?”

I didn’t think that the Easter celebration would end up in having Marlon’s arms wrapped around my body.

Apparently, it’s a tradition for Marlon’s Tita Linda to host a series of games every family gathering, with some enticing prizes to coax everyone to join in.

For the younger children in the family, they get to play with bean bags and ring toss.

But for the young adults onwards, we’ve got to partake in games like the egg and spoon couple race.

Across the makeshift game field, Titos and Titas beside us were also encased in the embrace. At least they didn’t appear awkward. Marlon and I on the other hand…

“You’re leaning too close to me,” I whisper, pushing my elbow back against his ribs.

“Stop it, we need to be this close. You don’t want my family to be suspicious do you?”

Marlon’s breath is warm, tickling my ear and the nape of my neck. I resist the urge to shiver. To react physically in any way. The hands that hold the spoon and egg are already slick with nervous sweat. Marlon’s arms tighten around my stomach. Pulling me closer, so that my back is flat against his chest.

“Marlon and Jaslene, you are both so cute,” Tito James comments, glancing over at us with his own arms wrapped around his wife.

“Of course, Tito,” Marlon replies.

His breath tickles the back of my head, and while I tell myself that it’s just because I’m uncomfortable with how close he is, my heart begs to differ.

Badoom, badoom, badoom.

It’s furiously knocking, pounding against my chest and I want to tell her to stop, to not give us away, to calm down.

“Why is your heart racing, Garcia?”

Marlon’s lips brush against my ear. A whisper. I feel his smile against my skin.

“Because you’re annoying and you’re too close to me.”

“But it’s beating faster now.”

Shit. It is.

“Good, good, couples get closer. Back to chest,” Tita Regina explains.

She informs us that the egg and spoon race will require us to walk across the entire field, a good forty metres and back. All the while with our partner hugging us from behind, our footsteps in sync. It’s a ridiculous game, so silly, so unnecessary…

“The prize will be this $100 gift voucher to the movies.”

Tita Regina blows the whistle.

It breaks me from my little bubble and ignites a fire in me, consuming my skin. Everything blurs around me, and all I can see is the end of the trail. The prize will be mine.

Marlon and I take a step forward, in perfect unison. Then another. And another.

My fingers hold the spoon tight, and I watch the egg wobble back and forth, willing it to stay.

I hear a burst of laughter beside me. Tito James and Tita Bethany must’ve dropped their egg. Around us, Marlon’s relatives are clapping, as if this were a carnival.

“We’re doing well,” Marlon says, our legs moving forward successfully.

We reach the end first.

“Okay, we need to shuffle to turn around,” I tell him.

In an awkward tango, I guide us around, all the while I’m too aware of the heat of his chest against my back. My heart is knocking hard against my chest, but is that his heart I feel as well, beating with mine?

I have no time to dwell on that as we start to make our way back toward the starting position. Right leg, left leg. Marlon and I are in perfect unison, the perfect pair. The best team.

Marlon’s family are whooping for us. Waving their hands, calling our names, like cheerleaders on the bleachers. Tita Regina is recording us, rallying us. As expected, we reach the end with ease. Marlon’s older cousin and her girlfriend are not far behind us.

Tita Regina approaches us, a grin on her face.

“And the winners are, of course, none other than Marlon and Jaslene!” she announces, as if we were stars of a big sports game.

“The future Salvadors!” Tita Bethany cheers. I dip my head, hoping that no one catches the way my cheeks heat at the comment.

Marlon beams at me, before leaning forward to whisper against my ear, “Promise that when you get married, you won't change your last name. It’d be a shame if the world no longer had the iconic Jaslene Garcia.”

“Jaslene Salvador definitely wouldn’t sound half as good,” I joke, before I realise what the joke implied.

“Jaslene Salvador, huh?” he murmurs.

I swat his face away, mostly because I didn’t want him to see the way my cheeks are heating, or the way my heart tripped on itself the moment his breath brushed against neck.

“That was a hypothetical. Never in a million years would I marry you Marlon Salvador,” I state.

“Hypothetically, you would.”

I swivel around. “Marlon Salvador, you are the last man on this Earth I’d ever be prevailed to marry. Hypothetical or not.”

Marlon smirks at the Pride and Prejudice reference.

“I know you’re quoting Elizabeth Bennett to me right now, Garcia,” he leans in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But who did she end up marrying at the end?”

The idea of marrying Marlon, or being in any sort of relation with Marlon, has always been an absurd idea to me.

A nightmare. Absolutely implausible.

And yet, the rapid thumping against my chest almost begged to differ.