Between Then and Now

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Bonita

“T his place looks amazing,” I say, feeling a flutter of maybe excitement or hunger or something else entirely unrelated.

“I know, right? I scouted the vicinity yesterday, and it was either this or a small Italian place,” Ryan says. “And if I remember correctly, you don’t like Italian. Except for pizza that you ruin with disgusting toppings.”

Again, another date choice tailored to my preferences. And again, I will ignore it. It’s just Ryan practicing being an attentive date—he will probably adjust depending on who he’s with. “Shut up. My pizza toppings are divine,” I say casually. Pineapple on pizza is a hill I’m willing to die on.

We step inside, greeted by the inviting warmth of the eatery. The interior is charmingly rustic, with wooden beams overhead and shelves lined with traditional Ivatan crafts. A friendly hostess leads us to a cozy corner table, where a small vase of fresh flowers adds a touch of elegance.

As we settle into our seats, I can't help but marvel at how perfect the setting is. The gentle hum of conversations, the clinking of cutlery, and the occasional burst of laughter create a lively yet intimate atmosphere.

Ryan’s eyes sparkle with anticipation. “I’ve heard the food here is incredible. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” I say as I scan the menu. The descriptions alone make my taste buds do a happy dance.

I lean forward and speak in a hushed tone. “And Ryan, just a bit of a disclaimer. I know we’re on a practice date, but I am literally starving. On a real date, I’d probably order something light to avoid any potential stomach aches or whatnot. But I honestly want more than three things on this menu.”

Ryan chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know. And honestly, I’m pretty hungry too. Order away, Bonbon.”

We begin by ordering a variety of appetizers: lumpiang shanghai , kinilaw , and calamares . The thought of the savory spring rolls makes my mouth water. This practice date is turning into a full-on food fest, and I’m here for it. Maybe I should start all my dates this way—less pressure, more yum.

“Bon,” Ryan says, leaning in. “This is the part of the date that usually gets awkward. And with Alexa, I’m sure my mind will go blank, and I’ll end up saying something stupid.”

I lean back and observe him as he fidgets with the utensils. I take a piece of the complimentary bread and start talking. “Okay, you only need to remember two things,” I say. “The first and best thing to do is to just be natural and not overthink conversations. Just go where it leads you.” I shrug.

“Now, if you can’t do that, think of something interesting that happened in your life recently–or in the past, whatever–and start with that, like ‘hey, ever heard of aerial yoga?’ and then let your story commence.” I say, snapping my fingers. “Then go back to my first advice and go where the conversation takes you. And if there’s another dull air, just think of another event.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Ryan says. “But what if my mind literally goes blank and I can’t think of anything?”

“If you still can’t remember things, try listing them on your phone.” I tap his phone. “And if, in the absence of any form of luck, you still can’t make a conversation out of your list, just focus on her. Ask questions about her interests, her favorite memories, or what she’s passionate about. Everyone loves to talk about themselves, and it shows you care.”

He smiles, but I can see the worry in his eyes. “What if I make some horrible joke? Or worse, what if I choke on my food?”

I pat his hand reassuringly. “First, chew your food. Second, if you make a joke that falls flat, laugh it off. Humor is attractive, and showing that you can handle awkward moments with grace is even more so. And third, if you do feel yourself getting nervous, take a deep breath and remember that she’s probably just as nervous as you are.”

He laughs, the tension easing from his face. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy. Just imagine you’re talking to me.”

“I can’t talk to anyone like I talk to you, Bon,” Ryan says with a smile. “You make conversations so… effortless. Like I can say what I want and not be judged.”

“Oh, believe me, you’re being judged. Constantly.” I chuckle, and Ryan laughs. “Now try to talk, Miller,” I say as the appetizers arrive. Thanks to my toddler-attention-span, I’m momentarily distracted by how good everything looks when Ryan clears his throat to bring me back to our conversation.

Ryan, with a mischievous look in his eyes, asks, “Have you ever had a moment where you pretended to know what someone was talking about, but you had absolutely no clue?”

I pause, a lumpiang shanghai halfway to my mouth, and can’t stop myself from laughing really loud. Ryan looks confused, so I immediately say, “I know what you’re talking about! I saw you!”

“You did?” he asks, horrified .

I nod enthusiastically. “Earlier today, I saw you struggle with that art history tourist in your tent!” I make a motion to tap the table out of pure joy, but Ryan manages to slide his hand under mine, so I hit his hand instead. I cover my mouth to suppress myself from spitting out all the food from all the laughing.

“You were supposed to say no, and then I would tell my story.” Ryan laughs. “But I guess my misfortune is amusing to you.” He holds onto the edge of the table, leaning closer.

“Sorry, can’t help it, the images are vivid,” I say between giggles. “You were so convincing… until you weren’t. The tourist guy was being polite, I'm sure—he didn't correct you.”

Ryan's eyes widen in realization. “Wait, what did I say wrong?” He leans back, crossing his arms.

“You were talking about landscapes and nature and coastlines,” I explain, spearing a lumpia with my fork. “And you said Manet.”

“Yeah, isn’t he the painter?” he says, popping two pieces of calamari into his mouth.

“Manet is a painter, but not the one you were talking about. You meant to say Monet.” I shrug as I bite into my food.

“What?” Ryan says. “Why didn’t you correct me?” He scowls, and I chuckle.

“How would I do that? Just interrupt with my all-knowingness? Hold out a chart saying you’re wrong?” I smile. “Besides, I wasn’t so sure myself until I googled it when we arrived here in town.”

As our main courses arrive—a rich and flavorful kare-kare , and a sizzling platter of pork sisig—we continue to savor the delicious meal. The dishes are hearty and comforting, reminiscent of home-cooked meals we had back in Magnolia Heights. The food is so good it feels like a warm hug from the inside, making this practice date feel unexpectedly wonderful. Sigh. I love food.

“You need to offer me an embarrassing story in return,” Ryan says as he pours some rice onto my plate.

“That’s not how this works,” I say, but Ryan shoots me a glance. So, I continue, “But fine. I have lots of those. What timeline of my life do you want to hear about? I probably have at least three embarrassing moments for each year.”

“Definitely a more recent one. I don’t want to hear about the times from your youth. I was probably there laughing at you in real time anyway,” he chuckles.

“Fair point.” I contemplate, thinking of something recent that happened to me that he may not have witnessed. “Ah!” I say, remembering something. “Alright, here's one from last month. I’m at the gym, trying out a new yoga class for the first time.”

Ryan leans in, curious to hear more. “Aerial yoga?”

“Huh?” I say, and then I realize that I used it as an example earlier, so I quickly follow up with, “Oh, no. I was actually really good at aerial yoga. This was just a regular yoga class.”

“Okay, and what happens?”

“Well, during a particularly tricky pose, I lose my balance and end up falling flat on my back. Can you visualize that? Me, in a cute yoga outfit with my hair up—it’s still long then—falling splat on my back. Loudly. In a room full of other yoga-goers,” I admit, laughing at the memory. “To make matters worse, my yoga mat slips out from under me, and I practically slide across the floor like a penguin on ice. ”

Ryan accidentally spits out his water. “Sorry!” he says, handing me a napkin, but he doesn’t really spray anything on me. “Did you finish the class?”

“You’d think I wouldn’t have. I mean, if I were in my right senses, I would’ve grabbed my mat and headed out. Or I would’ve left my mat and run outside. That would’ve been more sensible,” I say. “But of course, I can’t do that. I just had to finish the class, because, well, I paid for it.” I smile sheepishly.

“So, toward the end of the class, I think to myself, wow, I’m never doing yoga again. That was the most difficult two hours of my life. But I thought I did pretty well for a first-timer, you know? I thought I redeemed all the dignity I lost through that penguin fall.” I say, flailing my hands in an attempt to subtly reenact the fall.

“Oh no… but?” Ryan asks with eyebrows raised, sensing that my story isn’t finished. Before I answer, he offers me his vegetables since he doesn’t like to eat them. I take all of it from his plate and exchange it for some meat from mine.

“But…” I continue, pausing for dramatic effect. “I discovered that I was in the wrong class. That’s their seventh session. And nobody bothered to show me out.” I shake my head, remembering the horror.

Ryan bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Well, at least you gave everyone else a show.”

At that moment, the elderly couple at the next table shushes us, their disapproving glares making it clear we’re being too loud. We apologize with kind smiles and then chuckle softly at each other.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’ll remember the girl who tried to do advanced yoga on her first day,” I say in an exaggerated whisper, rolling my eyes. “Lesson learned: always check the class schedule.”

“Or just stop doing yoga,” he shrugs.

“Yes, that’s a better takeaway,” I say, pointing my fork at him to validate his point.

We continue eating in comfortable silence until we finish the meal and dessert arrives.

“Okay, my clothes are snug. I ate more tonight than I ever did since we arrived in Batanes,” I say. “I’m full, and I’m happy. What’s next on your schedule?”

I look at Ryan, but he seems distracted. He has his phone in front of him, probably checking on something important, so I finish my dessert instead.