Between Then and Now

CHAPTER FOUR

Bonita

“B on,” Natasha, a senior producer and my immediate supervisor, calls out as I return from an afternoon coffee run, balancing two cups in my hands.

“Yeah?” I reply, already bracing myself for another absurd request.

“We need to have these costumes returned today.” She gestures toward the bag of clothing beside her. “The shop is near the laundromat, and if it’s not too much of a problem, could you please pick up my laundry on the way? You can use my car for both errands.” She smiles as she hands me the keys as if she’s the one doing me a favor.

Wonderful. Just fantastic. This is what I’m reduced to–a whole new level of errand girl. But I can’t decline that request when the laundromat is so conveniently–of course–on the way to the costume shop.

I plaster on a smile in return and say, “Sure thing.”

Stupid Natasha. Stupid laundry. Stupid job. Stupid everything! I hand out the coffee orders, then make my way toward the giant bag of overflowing costumes, which is heavier than it looks, and sling it over my shoulder. Not only is this job ruining my mental health, but it also seems determined to give me chronic back pain.

I clutch the keys in my hand and make my way to Natasha’s car. Maybe if I accidentally dent it, she’ll leave me alone. Or maybe just a small scratch to send a message. I groan as I carry the load into her trunk, muttering about the injustice of it all, then slide into the driver’s seat and make it out of the parking lot .

Of course, the traffic is terrible, and I’m stuck behind a slow-moving truck. The minutes drag on like hours, and my mind begins to swirl with thoughts about what I’d rather be doing–which is anything other than this mind-numbing, soul-crushing errand.

When the costumes are returned, I pick up Natasha’s laundry. The woman lives alone, but her laundry weighs like a family of four’s. Damn it. I hate her. I’m sorry but she’s the Miranda Priestly to my Andy–except this devil does not wear Prada. And at least Andy was actually hired as a personal assistant. I’m supposed to be a junior producer, for crying out loud!

Back at the office, I hand back the keys to Natasha, then zoom out of her office before I get another errand request. When I return to my desk, I’m met with a list—a freaking list!—of things Natasha wants done. I skim the list, feeling my patience grow thinner and my blood pressure shoot higher with each item. Dinner reservations? Seriously? If I didn’t throw a fit earlier today, it’s only because I must have been subconsciously reserving it for this moment. I can’t do this. I won’t do this.

Without giving it a second thought, I march toward the manager’s office, bypassing Natasha entirely. Hellspawn that she is, I’m done letting her walk all over me. As I approach Mr. Ramirez’s door, I quickly fire off a text to Ryan.

Me: Miss Satan pushed all my buttons today, so I’m going over her head to request that thing you suggested.

His reply is almost immediate.

Ryan: Show her who the real devil is.

I chuckle as I knock on Mr. Ramirez’s door. When he motions for me to take a seat, I tell him about my proposal. About wanting to create something on my own for a while, just so I can convince them all that I’m ready for more serious responsibilities. I emphasize my desire to contribute meaningfully to the team, to step out of the evil queen’s shadow and show that I’m more than just her errand runner. Not in those exact words, but you get the point.

At first, I thought he would scoff or make fun of me for being too ambitious for my own good. But after a few minutes, he says, “First of all, Ms. Santiago, that is ambitious. But thank you for taking the initiative. Not many people would do that. Most would just enjoy the light workload.”

Light workload. How adorably detached from reality he is. But I play along. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, sir. I enjoy the light workload. But I would enjoy it more if I were working on something value-adding for the most part.” I smile.

He chuckles. “Very well. I still need to take it up with our department heads, but how about you pitch me your idea by the end of the week. If it’s solid, we’ll discuss it then.”

“Thank you so much, sir! I won’t let you down!” I beam, unable to stop myself from squealing and making little claps.

“I know you won’t,” Mr. Ramirez says. “Remember, a good filmmaker starts with a good vision, so focus on that for now.”

I smile at his words and return to my desk with a surprising new sense of optimism. I don’t mind the mundane tasks all of a sudden, and I’m cheery the entire day. I even book Natasha’s dinner reservations and buy her movie tickets, but I make it a point that she’s seated in the most terrible seats available. It’s my own personal victory. During free minutes, I try to draft up some ideas or concepts I have in mind. None of them are film-worthy yet, but I have a week to think it through .

As the clock ticks closer to six, I wrap up my tasks and head outside to meet Kate. She pulls up in her tiny car, a grin spreading across her face as I climb into the passenger seat. Kate’s curly hair is tied into a very messy bun on top of her head. She’s wearing one of her usual floral dresses and her white Keds.

“Hey there, Bonita,” she sings, extending the last vowel into a playful, sing-song tune. While Emily is my best friend, Kate is like my twin. Sure, she has an actual twin in Haley, but they’re nothing alike, so I like to think of myself as her real sister. We both share a love for bright, colorful things and are almost always happy. However, there are some key differences: Kate doesn't talk much, whereas I babble incessantly. She’s also incredibly sweet and kind, where I’m... well, let's just say opinionated. Okay, maybe we aren't that similar after all.

“How’s work?” Kate asks, her voice chirpy and full of genuine interest.

I launch into a detailed recount of my day, from Ryan giving me a ride, to his suggestion about creating my own film, and finally, Mr. Ramirez’s positive reaction. “So now all I have to do is think of a compelling topic to make a film or documentary about,” I conclude.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” She smiles, and her warmth is contagious. I instantly feel better.

When we arrive at the mall, I help Kate pick out some tiny costumes and props for stories like “Three Little Pigs” and “Red Riding Hood.” In the middle of gushing over tiny spectacles, my phone rings, and I see that it’s Ryan.

“Hey, how’d it go?” Ryan’s voice crackles through the line. The sound of traffic in the background suggests he’s on his way home .

“Great! I have until the end of the week to pitch topics. Thanks again. I owe you!” I exclaim gratefully. I pick up a small bowtie the size of my pinky and hold it up to Kate, who looks at me with an equally cute expression.

“Good. Because I need a favor,” Ryan replies, his tone shifting slightly. “The cord for my phone charger suddenly stopped working, and I know you’re at the mall. Could you please grab me one?”

I roll my eyes playfully. “I knew you weren’t really concerned about my day. But since you gave me a ride and a shot at career redemption, I’ll even pay for your stupid charger,” I tease.

“Thank you, Bonbon. I’ll swing by tonight to pick it up,” Ryan says appreciatively before we hang up.

Once Kate and I are finished shopping and I pick up the best charger for Ryan, we have a quick dinner at a Chinese restaurant and then head straight home.

That night, I pour myself into drafting up concepts and possible topics I could focus on. This is going to be a challenging week, but I’m taking a step closer to what I really want to do, and if it takes countless sleepless nights, then I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

I head down to the kitchen to get some water, and I see my dad watching the late-night news, his face bathed by the flickering light of the TV.

“Long day?” he asks. “I got you some snacks from the market today. They’re on the kitchen counter,” he says as he looks over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” I mutter. I shuffle over to the kitchen counter and see my favorite snacks as promised. It all seems normal now, but my dad would have never done something like this before. I grab a bag of banana chips and munch on them as I refill my water bottle.

When we were young, my parents always fought a lot. Our house was a literal battlefield. My dad was a raging alcoholic, and my mom was a quintessential career woman. Their arguments were the regular subject of my nightmares back then. My mother would ramble about how useless my dad was, and my dad would accuse mom of not fulfilling her duties as a wife and a mother.

When our uncle offered my Kuya Josh a chance to study abroad and he took it, my parents saw it as a wake-up call. They thought it was their fault that Josh wanted to leave. And honestly, it was true. My brother even told me that he’d come back for me, and he wouldn’t leave me. I remember telling him that he should focus on himself for once. But after he left, our parents completely changed.

Mom, the workaholic, started showing up—literally and figuratively. She made an effort to be present, to engage with us beyond the occasional “How was school?” Dad, the boozehound, decided it was time to cut back. Sure, he still enjoys the occasional drink, but the raging alcoholic of yesteryear has mellowed out.

It’s sad that my brother never witnessed the change, but I was here for all of it. I saw the struggle. I saw their efforts. And I’ve since forgiven my parents for acting the way they did all those years ago. Sure, they were flawed. But they were also human.

Kuya Joshua, on the other hand, still carries the scars. Every time I try to bring up our parents, he shuts down, changes the subject, as if even acknowledging their existence might bring back the ghosts of the past. And I don’t blame him .

There are still times when my parents’ old personalities show themselves. But I know now not to hold it against them.

I screw the lid on my water bottle and carry the giant bag of banana chips as I leave. “Goodnight, dad.” I say as I return to my room.

“Night, Bon,” he says, eyes still glued to the TV.

I take a quick shower and change into my pajamas. When I’m about to get into bed, my phone buzzes—it’s Ryan saying he’s waiting outside.