All About You

Twenty Eight

T wo words, eight letters.

They orbit my mind like Saturns’ rings, consuming my thoughts when I fall asleep, and they’re still on their axis when I awake the next morning. My heart buzzes with excitement, just as I remember the text Marlon sent me.

Real date.

Yet, as consciousness reaches me, I remind myself that this isn’t really an actual date. It couldn’t be. It’s just another part of the ruse, the act.

My mind and my heart don’t seem to agree with each other, though. During breakfast, I tell my parents that Marlon is taking me out for our anniversary.

“I knew he was going to surprise you for your anniversary,” Mum squeals at the dining table, squeezing my hand.

The whole morning, I spend scrutinising myself over what to wear. He told me to pick my favourite dress, but I’ve got about three dresses I can choose from. My eyes skirt over my gingham options. Ria was right, I really do need some diversity.

“You’re going to pick your favourite pink gingham dress aren’t you?”

Her voice emerges from outside my wardrobe, surprising me. I glance over my shoulder at her, brows drawn together tensely.

“Is it good?” I ask.

“You always look good in it Ate, it’s why you overwear it,” Ria teases, “Because you know you look the best in it.”

I breathe out, the nerves in my chest making it a little shaky. I pull out the dress from the rack, glancing at it.

“You seem nervous,” Ria observes, and she’s right. I’m feeling a little more nervous than usual. Somehow, this feels different from our faux outings.

I shoo Ria out so I can change, but I just don’t want to answer her. I strip my pyjamas and pull the dress over my head, letting the material skirt over my skin. It hugs at my waistline, creating a defined curve that I hadn’t known existed.

The effect is instant, confidence blooming at my stomach, consuming me in a little bubble. I hurry over to my vanity mirror, and am greeted by someone who looks beautiful. Gorgeous.

Someone who could be the star of a romance. The dress transforms all the insecurities I’d been feeling over the last week, turning it on its head.

I’m beautiful .

When it’s almost time for Marlon to arrive, I descend the stairs. My family all wait at the bottom of the stairs, and the entire scene is reminiscent of every movie-prom segment. Their eyes fall upon me once I come into view, their faces morphing into one of surprise. Once I reach the last step, Mum steps forward.

“Susmaryosep [10] !” Mum exclaims, her eyes a sparkle of adoration, “Ang sobrang ganda mo [11] , Jaslene!”

Dad gazes at me too with a fatherly proudness, mirroring Mum’s.

“Mum, Dad, please. I’m just going on a date. I’ve already gone on dates with Marlon,” I chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood.

Mum’s hand caresses my cheek, “I know, but you look beautiful either way. As always anak .”

A knock sounds through the house, and it reverberates through my bones, awakening every nerve. I’m now on high alert, my fingers pinching against the dress material. I breathe in deeply, hoping to calm my dangerously pounding heart.

We all make their way to the front door. Mum gently pushes me forward, encouraging me to open the door.

Breathing deeply, I unlock it. Place my hand atop the knob. Turn it.

God.

He’s stunning. Beautiful.

He’s every written word that poets have ever professed about beauty. I’m rendered speechless by the sheer force of him.

He’s donned in a white button down top that’s unbuttoned the slightest, dipping subtly toward a hint of his chest, his hair gelled and neat, with a few strays falling against his eyelids. In his hands, he holds a bright bouquet of red roses.

Marlon looks every part the prince. He’s always looked the part of the prince, I think. Of course he does, with his easy, dimpled smile. With those warm, sunkissed chocolate eyes.

My heart could be safe with him.

“Hi,” he says.

His gaze explore my face, eyes flickering from my eyes, to my nose, to my lips. They trail down my dress, before settling back on my gaze.

“Hi,” I reply.

“You’re breathtaking.”

A blush spills over my cheeks.

“I - you’re - Thank you.”

“Oh gross , you’re both cheesy as hell.”

Ria’s voice strikes the moment, breaking the bubble. As always, she hauls me back to reality. Tugs me back toward the surface. I glance over my shoulder, back at my family, who I’d forgotten was standing there the entire time.

They’re all grinning at me.

I hadn’t noticed before, but Ria has that glint in her eyes now. The exact same as Mum’s and Tita Regina’s

“Let me take a photo of you two!” Mum exclaims.

Clumsily, I grab the bouquet of flowers, holding it close to my chest. I settle myself beside Marlon, and he places his hand at my lower back.

“Smile!” Dad calls as he positions his phone.

They shoot a few photos, and all I can feel is Marlon’s fingers, pressing against my back.

“Okay, you both enjoy,” Mum says, voice dripping with affection as her eyes dart between us, “And happy anniversary.”

“Thank you, Tita,” Marlon replies.

I hand the bouquet to Mum, before Marlon’s fingers enclose around my free hand. He’s tugging me toward his car, his hand soft around mine. Were they always this soft? I remember them being sweaty before.

I turn to Marlon, my pulse thrumming sporadically. He’s starting up the car.

He’s so handsome. How hadn’t I ever noticed it?

“Thank you for all this,” I say, after a moment, “I didn’t expect you to actually take me out for our fake anniversary.”

I attempt to pull us back to reality, to pull us from this wave of illusion. Except, Marlon meets my eyes, and there’s no hint of mischief there. There’s only genuinity.

“There won’t be anything fake about today, Garcia,” he informs, a smile spreading across his mouth, “Today, I’m taking you on the real date that you deserve.”

My lips part, and my mind fails its comprehension, unable to form words.

Marlon truly is taking me out on a real date. I’m realising, right now, he’s the only boy I want this first real thing to be with.

Our conversation falls into a steady rhythm as Marlon sets the car off on its trail.

He still won’t tell me what we’re doing today, or where we are going. I don’t recognise any routes that we go down, even as he pulls onto a longer highway.

As always, we queue up rounds of our favourite tunes, and soon we’re singing along.

It’s our own little routine, something I’d never change.

Eventually, suburban houses and buildings began to peel away, revealing mountainous views and forestry about an hour into the drive.

“Are you going to murder me in these woods?” I joke, to ease the rapid climbing of my heart.

“Stop spoiling my plans, Garcia,” he retorts.

We begin to weave through a desolate road, surrounded by towering mountains and trees, the sunlight filtering through and casting shadows in front of us. I wind down my window, inhaling the fresh air.

The last time I’d been on a trip was with my parents, just after my HSC exams, to celebrate the completion of my schooling.

I’ve only been on one trip with Marlon too, with his family of course, but that was back when I couldn’t stand him and he’d been set on tormenting me.

My family, along with the Salvadors, took a trip to the North Coast for a Christmas getaway, just before we both started high school. I tried to stick mostly with Ria, but because Marlon had no siblings, he was glued to us too.

I remember playing an array of board games with him, but being frustrated when he cheated or purposely sabotage me. To be fair though, there were times I sabotaged him unprovoked.

Yet, that’s all in the past. That was all children’s games too. The Marlon I knew now…

“Where are we going ?” I prod again, after a few minutes, poking at his sides.

He swats my fingers away with his free hand, and through a chuckle says, “Don’t do that, it’s dangerous! And stop asking questions, just let the date unfold as it should.”

I shake my head, crossing my arms. Surprises had always been an enemy of mine.

I love surprises, but I hate them. I want to know, but I don’t want to.

Finally, we pass a sign. Welcome to the Blue Mountains.

“Blue Mountains?” I inquire, enthusiastically. I don’t think I’ve been to the Blue Mountains since I was 15 years old.

Marlon’s lips remain clasped, graced only by a pleased smile.

We continue to weave through the mountains and soon the towering trees peel away to the country suburban streets. We cross into the first suburb, Glenbrook.

Curiosity plagues me, as Marlon turns into a streetline of shops. Once parked, he leads me down the pathway, motioning for me to follow him. My heart is pounding, uncertain, until he leads me through an alley.

A lone shop lies down the path, and the floating sign reads Dragon Books.

Confetti shoots in my stomach as we approach the entrance. It’s a quaint shop, and through the window, I notice ceiling-high bookshelves filled with books. Even along the floor, there are stacks of books.

“A second hand bookstore?” I ask. Marlon nods, lips widening into a grin. From his pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper, and as he unravels it, reveals an illustrated map.

Blue Mountains Bookstore Trail.

The map details a selection of about seven bookstores, scattered all across the Blue Mountains. I never even knew there was a bookstore trail here in NSW. Elation climbs my body in rapid steps, sending shivers over my skin.

“You’re taking me on a bookstore trail?”

Marlon just nods, that proud grin never wavering. I shake my head, still in disbelief.

“But Marlon, I want this day to be fun for you too, and if you’re not into books…”

At this, he places his hand behind my back, and gently pushes me forward, through the entrance.

“Hush. Seeing you happy is my fun. Now go, please, indulge. And no protests.”

Hindering me with no choice, I step through the entrance, and instantly, the aroma of numerous books hug me. I don’t want to spend too much time lingering here, now knowing that Marlon has planned this trail.

I head toward the young adult shelves firstly, and skirt my eyes over the selection.

Titles, both unfamiliar and new, jut out at me. I bend down, tracing the spines with my fingers, feeling like a giddy child at a toy store.

Finally, I pull forward a Chloe Gong trilogy into my arms, as well as Jenny Han’s The Summer I Turned Pretty . Afterward, I weave through the crime and thriller section, and pull Bram Stoker’s Dracula from the horror section.

Marlon trails behind me, browsing the books for himself. Yet, when I turn to check whether he’s actually examining them, I catch his eyes on me, before they skirt away.

“What are you interested in?” I ask him, once I’ve reached the last section.

“I haven’t read much, outside of high school,” he answers sheepishly, “But if you count manga, I read a lot then.”

My lips twitch, my stomach twinging affectionately at his answer. Once I’m satisfied with my selection, I carry my small pile toward the counter. The lady behind it smiles at me kindly as I approach.

“A good selection,” she observes, and I beam back.

While she registers the books through the system, I reach into my bag for my wallet, when suddenly she says, “Oh, no need dear. Your boyfriend told me he’d handle everything. He’s handed me his card already.”

My lips part in shock. I turn to Marlon.

“You can’t pay for this!” I exclaim, my neck heating profusely, “You’re already doing so much!”

“Uh-uh, what did I say, Garcia? You shop, you enjoy, and you leave it to me,” he states.

“You let the gentleman pay dear, don’t fight it,” the lady interjects, winking.

I shake my head, disbelief coursing through me.

Marlon taking me on this date and covering it? Other than my parents, who’d occasionally treat me with toys and books when I hadn’t been able to support myself before the brief casual-time job I took in high school, I’ve never had people pamper me this way. Had people gift me so casually. Other than he-who-must-not-be-named , no one has done this for me.

When the lady is finished with packaging the books, Marlon grabs the bag over the counter.

“Now, you both have a lovely day,” the lady chirps, her eyes darting between the two of us.

As we enter Marlon’s car, I tell him, “Okay, that’s enough for today Marlon. I can’t have you -“

My words are cut off as he presses his fingers against my lips. The contract creates a blaze, one that begins at my lips, and courses throughout my entire being.

He leans forward, eyes focused on mine.

“I want to. So let me.”

Words fail me as he pulls away. As we drive off, I can’t help the thought that this is everything I’d ever dreamed of in a date.

And it’s all happening with Marlon.

Just as Marlon has promised, we stop by three more bookstores, both of which are a brief drive from each other.

Both bookstores are uniquely charming, and there’s something about the intimate, quiet space that’s different from a commercialised franchise like Books and Bricks.

The workers at these independent, second-hand bookstores are so lovely, so engaging, that it takes everything in me to leave the store.

I resist buying too many books over the next three bookstores, but Marlon seems to catch onto this and declares that if I don’t pick at least two books, he’ll choose one for me himself, and at one point, threatens me with a non-fiction book that looks wholly uninteresting.

I pick up a few more titles that I’ve been itching to own for a long time, and as the purchases pile up, I refuse to think of the lack of space in my bedroom bookshelf. I also refuse to think of the way Marlon hands his card to the clerk discreetly every time. Especially knowing that Marlon doesn’t currently have a job, not after the brief fast-food one he had in high school. But everytime I try to pay, he’s faster.

At no point does Marlon indicate he’s feeling bored, even as I spend a good ten minutes debating whether I should buy Jane Eyre or The Picture of Dorian Gray . Even as I worry that deep down, he’s hiding his disinterest, he proves me wrong when I catch him truly looking at some young adult adventure books, and even lingering on some classic titles.

It’s well after midday by the time we’ve ticked off the four bookstore visits, our stomachs rumbling in protest. We pass by a 1950s themed milk bar as we exit the fourth bookstore.

“You want to eat here?” I ask Marlon, when I catch his hungry eyes studying the menu.

“Do you?” he questions.

I saunter through the entrance, giving him no time to protest. We get a small booth in the corner, and both order a hamburger set with milkshakes after scouring the menus.

“Let me treat this, please,” I plead, after the waiter takes our menus.

Marlon shakes his head before I even finish my sentence, but I’m stubborn. I kick at his knee under the table, slightly.

“ Marlon .”

“ Garcia, ” he mimics, propping an eyebrow.

“You’re insufferable”

“I am, and you love it. ”

It turns out that I do.

“I’m paying for this, and I’m not taking no for an answer,” I declare, jutting my chin up. In a flash, I grab my wallet and I exit the booth, heading toward the counter before Marlon can reply.

Approaching the worker, I stumble, “Can I pay for the lunch now, if possible, please?”

Yet, the boy at the counter glances at his coworker, who was restocking drinks into the fridge, before turning back to me.

“Sorry, but your boyfriend gave us his card to pay for it once you finished ordering,” the boy reveals.

My jaw drops. Insufferable Marlon Salvador.

Once we’ve finished lunch, we complete the last three bookstores on the trail.

Unlike the others, I genuinely am unable to purchase anymore, with the selection a little more scarce, but thankfully, Marlon doesn’t push it any further.

There’s a manga section at the final bookstore we visit, and after a little convincing, Marlon lets me treat him to five volumes of Bungo Stray Dogs that he doesn’t yet own.

Though, when we’re back in the car, just as the afternoon paves way for the sun’s descent, Marlon places a frame on my lap.

“What’s this?” I question, confused.

“Turn it over.”

I do as he says, and gasp. On the other side, is an silhouetted illustration of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, and atop it, in gorgeous calligraphy, reads the direct quote from the novel - ‘ you must allow me to tell you how much I ardently admire and love you.’

“Marlon…” I begin, turning to him, my eyes wide with surprise. “I told you not to get me anything at the end.”

“When have I ever listened to you, Garcia?” Marlon retorts, with that mischievous grin.

He’s right. Never .

As we drive off, I tell him, “This has been amazing, Marlon.”

But he simply replies, “The day isn’t over yet.”

And he’s right. After a brief drive, we stop at a parking lot, with a sign indicating that there’s a lookout point ahead.

I can’t believe Marlon still has more to this day, when it’s already beyond anything I ever could’ve imagined. Yet, even as I voice this to him, he hushes me once more.

Taking my hand, he leads me through a winding path that my dress is entirely unbuilt for, but thankfully I opted to wear white sneakers today. Eventually, the trees fall away, and a brief clearing reveals the cliff overlooking the Blue Mountains.

Golden hour has settled over the canopy of trees that creates an endless sea of green, the setting sun casting a stunning blanket of orange, reds and pinks. The sky is a canvas, the sun it’s painter, and streaks of gold grace my vision.

It feels, right now, like the entire world is at our fingertips, bowing to us.

“Wow,” I whisper, drinking in the sight.

“Right?” Marlon murmurs. We both sit in silence, hypnotized by the sun’s spell.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“I know.”

I turn to Marlon, and realise he’s not looking at the sunset.

He’s looking at me.

My lips part, then close.

That’s when he holds out his hand. My brows shoot up in question.

“Um?”

“Take my hand for God’s sake, and dance with me, Garcia.”

“I - what?”

On his phone, he briefly types something, and within seconds, that familiar melodic guitar riff, the one I’d fallen in love with when I first heard it weeks ago with Marlon, begins to play.

Pasilyo .

“You never had someone to dance with, remember?” he wraps his fingers around mine, and pulls me toward him, “But I’m here now.”

Marlon’s hands trail down my ribs, locking onto my waist. He pulls me closer. I don’t know what to do with my hands, where to put them.

“Around my neck, Garcia, come on ,” he says, his tone an affectionate tease, “I didn’t ask you to wear your prettiest dress for nothing.”

I breathe in sharply, as I comply. He’s taller than me, almost a foot taller, so my arms have to stretch a little. He bends a little, his lips pulled into a glowing smile.

I want to look away from his eyes, but I’m locked on them, under a spell.

The gentle, mellow voice of SunKissed Lola begins, immersing us instantly.

Gently, Marlon begins to sway our bodies. His feet move forward, and I follow. I accidentally step on his foot once, and then again, but he just laughs and I laugh too.

Unlike what I thought, I actually get the hang of this slow dance quickly. Unconsciously, my arms tighten around his neck as I grow more confident, more sure of my movements.

The song’s steady drum beat makes it easy for me to sway in a gentle rhythm.

I pull us closer, resting my chin atop his shoulder, and smile, as the song rushes over us.

Our bodies entangle with the words, and soon we become the notes, the melody entirely. My heartbeat is erratic, and I’m sure he can feel it. But I don’t care.

As the song reaches its steady close, Marlon pulls back, but only slightly. His eyes lock on mine.

“Hi,” Marlon whispers, voice so delicate, as though anything louder would disrupt this bubble we’ve found ourselves in.

“Hi,” I whisper back.

There’s no one around.

No one is observing us. No one to act for.

It’s just Marlon and I here.

That’s when it dawns on me, that something here is real.

The way he’s looking at me is real.

The way his fingers reach up to my cheeks to gently brush against my skin, is real.

The way my chest is concaving and expanding, is real.

We’re so close. I can count the flakes of gold in his eyes.

His gaze flutters down to my nose, then to my lips.

He’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me.

He lowers his face, and I close my eyes, knowing that this, right here, could be what I’ve always wanted.

What I’ve always wished for.

The sharp shrill of a ringtone echoes through, startling us.

Marlon and I gasp, our foreheads knocking together. I would giggle if I wasn’t overcome with sudden frustration.

“Who’s phone…?” I begin.

“I think that’s mine,” Marlon says, the disappointment in his tone almost tangible.

The phone doesn’t stop ringing.

With a groan, he pulls his phone from his pocket, and checks who it is.

“Ugh, Mum ?”

I almost burst into laughter.

“Yes Mum - of course - yes we are going to drive back soon, we were just watching the sunset. Okay!”

The call ends with a groan, and Marlon looks back at me, his expression one of deep sorrow.

“I’m so sorry for that -” he says.

“It’s okay,” I assure, with a laugh.

“But um, we should probably head home before it gets dark. Apparently it’s forecasted to rain, and my Mum - she’s worried…” He scratches behind his head, as he stumbles over his words.

“Wouldn’t that be the best environment for you to murder me in, though?” I tease.

Marlon shoots me a look, his expression playful, and unlike what I’d seen moments before we were about to kiss.

“You’ve read my mind, Garcia.”

The drive home is quiet, yet comfortable. Leaning against the window pane, I close my eyes, replaying the slow dance today with Marlon over and over, like the best part of a movie stuck on repeat.

Had I imagined the part where we almost kissed? Was that real?

I must have drifted in and out of consciousness, because we reach my house much quicker than I realise, and my stomach deflates. I’m not ready for this day to end.

I don’t want to leave this car. I don’t want to leave Marlon.

“Get some rest, Garcia, you knocked out there,” Marlon says.

A beat or two passes, both of us not wanting to move on.

“I know I’ve said this like a million times today, but thank you, Marlon. Really. I - you - I needed this,” I profess.

“Of course,” he says, “Anytime. Always .”

I step out of the car, turning toward the house, my heart aching already at leaving him.

“And Jas?”

He closes the car door behind him, and takes a few quick strides to catch up to me.

Gently, he lifts his hand, and his thumb brushes the curve of my cheek, toward the corner of my lips. My mouth betrays me, parting slightly, the smallest exhale leaving my lips in an attempt to relieve the pounding of my heart.

“Don’t ever waste your tears on anyone who doesn’t deserve you ever again. Even if they seem perfect. You’re too good for them.”

I chuckle.

“And who exactly are ‘they’ ?”

The corner of his lips twitch into that smirk that’s snuck its way into the core of my affection.

“All of them. You’re too good for all of them”

Then, it breaks.

Shatters.

I hear it all around me. It fills the air.

I’m sure you could hear it from kilometres away. The sound of glass breaking, the one holding up the fort around my heart, all across my body. It shatters too, all around Marlon, falling at my feet, and then my vision clears.

Marlon is still there, but it’s not quite Marlon.

Instead, it’s Marlon with these chocolate brown eyes that I wish nothing more than to warm me.

It’s Marlon with a twist in his lips that threatens to ruin me over and over. It’s Marlon with his lame jokes, with his warm voice and a glint of trouble in his eyes that I now feel honoured to fall misfortune to. Marlon, who seems to know me like no other, what makes me tick, what makes me laugh.

A Marlon that could fill my pages.

It’s all too much and too little at once. I’m not strong enough to push it away anymore. The glass has broken and now there’s too many pieces to try and rebuild the shield around my heart again.

Do I even want to?

I step closer. Marlon’s fingers fall from my cheek, to his side, his eyes following me.

He’s so damn tall, I have to perch atop my toes.

And because I’ve forgotten how to speak, I manifest all the words I wish to say onto my lips, and press them against his cheek. Maybe it’s the hope warping my reality, but I swear I hear the sharp intake of his breath.

Did the glass break for him too?

“Thank you, Marlon,” I whisper once I withdraw.

He holds my gaze, and for a second I fear and hope he’s going to kiss me forreal. He doesn’t.

Rather, Marlon smiles at me, bowing his head

“Anytime, m’lady. Now, go on before your Mum takes any more paparazzi photos from behind the curtains.”

I turn, heading toward the door feeling like a new person. Before I open the door, I glance back. Marlon is in his car now, but he’s still watching me. As I meet his eyes, he waves.

Marlon, but not Marlon, all at once.