Between Then and Now

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Bonita

W hat they don’t tell you about almost drowning is that it's not just a struggle against the water. It’s not just a struggle to stay afloat or to breathe, no. It’s a fight against your own mind, a silent battle with the panic that grips you when you realize you’re losing control. And you lose control really fast.

They don’t tell you that in those desperate moments, your life doesn’t flash before your eyes. Instead, time seems to stretch, and every second feels like a drawn-out eternity. The only time I felt the seconds drag out was when I ran errands for Natasha.

They don’t tell you about the silence that comes with it. A silence that’s not really silent because it’s deafening. The world above fades away, and you’re left with the muffled thud of your own heartbeat and the eerie calm of the world underwater.

And they don’t tell you about the insensible thoughts that race through your mind—the regrets (and not just the I-shouldn’t-have-brought-my-camera-out-there regret, but more of the I-should’ve-hugged-my-brother-more regret), the unfinished conversations, the faces of loved ones. You think about the promises you haven’t kept and the dreams you haven’t fulfilled. You think about the feelings you kept bottled up.

In the aftermath, I still have residual thoughts. Like how life is fragile and how every breath is a gift. Thoughts about how I really want my life to play out. Thoughts about how much I appreciate the people around me. And thoughts about Ryan.

Before I was swallowed by the waves, I saw him running toward me. And at the time, all I could think about was that I needed to get back to safety. Not just because I didn’t want to drown, but because I had to tell him how I felt. But who am I kidding? Even I don’t know what I feel right now.

Who’s to say it wasn’t just good ol’ adrenaline giving my mind a false beacon of hope to hold onto? When you’re that close to losing everything, it’s natural to cling to something—or someone—that makes you feel grounded. But how do I know if these feelings are genuine, or just a product of a near-death experience? If I hadn’t seen him running in my direction, would I still have had those thoughts?

I splash my face with water one more time before I step out of the shower. I think I slept for two or three days. I don’t even remember. All I know is this is the first time I’m putting on an outfit that isn’t pajamas. I have to admit, though, Ryan’s pajamas were comfier than mine. In fact, I wore them for two consecutive days. Not only were they comfortable, but they also smelled like what I imagined Henry Cavill would smell like.

I’m dreading facing reality because: One, I lost my camera, and I don’t know how to finish my documentary. Two, I don’t know how to interact with Ryan because of what happened between us and the fact that he’s been like a caregiver to me lately. And three, my date with John is tomorrow, and I don’t know what to feel about it. It’s not that I don’t want to go, it’s just that I have all these confused feelings about everything in my life right now. But I’ve already said yes, and I always follow through.

I put on a yellow sundress that reminds me of something Manang Linda would wear. Not because I dress like an old lady, but because she dresses like she’s perpetually a twenty-year-old in the sixties. And we all love her for it. I sigh deeply. I miss home. I miss the familiar comfort of my room, the easy laughter of my friends, and even my nosy neighbors. I never imagined I’d get homesick in just three weeks. To be honest, a lot has happened in the past three weeks that I never imagined before. And I’ve already gone too far down that road at seven in the morning.

I slip on my sandals, ready to face the world outside. At least breakfast will be something to look forward to. I’ve been eating soup and bland food for a while. Because, according to Dr. Miller, my body is still in a state of recovery, and I should take it easy with food because it might give me an upset stomach. To me, that just translates to boring food now, good food later.

I’m about to go out the door to grab my much needed tapsilog when Ryan breaks in, panting.

“They’re here,” he says in between breaths.

“Who?” I ask, “Breathe, Ry,” I add, seeing him struggle as if he just ran a marathon.

“Your…” he gasps for air, “parents.”

“My what ?” Before Ryan can answer, two figures hover at our door. True enough, my parents are here. In Batanes. A whole plane ride away from home. This isn’t what I mean when I say I’m homesick, Universe. I just wanted a quiet moment of reflection, not a checkpoint from my parents. Because the only thing worse than nosy parents is parents overcompensating for past neglect. And mine are both.

It also doesn’t help that my parents are retired and currently living off a fortune. My mom looks like she’s going on a luxurious vacation in the Bahamas, complete with the oversized sunglasses and an overly printed floor-length dress. My father looks like Charlie from Charlie’s Angels –you know, the red tropical shirt with the buttons open. Both of them look like they’re lost on their way to a five-star hotel, completely out of place in the modesty of the inn .

“Oh, Bonita!” My mom pulls me into a tight hug. My dad follows suit and hugs me tighter.

“Heyyy, guys…” I manage to say, trying to hide the confusion in my voice. “Whatcha doing here?”

My mom looks at me as if I’ve just asked the most absurd question. “Honey, we were alerted by your smartwatch that your heart struggled.” Oh. For the first time in forever, technology is on my parents’ side. If only my camera were as resilient as my smartwatch.

She continues, her gaze softening as she gently touches my cheek with that unmistakable motherly tenderness. “We were notified immediately when you regained consciousness, but we just had to come here and check on you in person.” Her eyes are filled with concern and love. “How are you? And what happened?”

“You got a notification that my heart slowed down, and you somehow arrived in the most glamorous vacation wear I’ve seen in ages?” I say, chuckling halfheartedly.

“Oh, we shopped at the airport when we were re-notified of your good health,” my mom says. “We’re not that terrible, you know.” Living off a fortune, indeed. Who the hell shops last minute at the airport?

I love my parents, I do. But I love them in a way that I'll be sad when they die, not in a way that I want to sit and have endless conversations with them. It's complicated. I appreciate their efforts and care, but spending extended periods of time together can be draining. Watching them interact with each other is confusing; their dynamic has shifted dramatically over the years.

There was a time when I thought their marriage was on the brink of collapse. The fights were loud and frequent, filled with words that cut deep. I remember nights lying in bed, listening to them argue, wondering if this would be the time they finally called it quits. But somehow, they pulled through. They went from a couple that seemed to be at each other's throats to one that’s now all lovey-dovey. They patched things up, and as a daughter, I'm grateful for that. It’s a relief not to worry about them splitting up, and an even bigger relief not to worry about them hurting each other. But it's also disconcerting. Witnessing their affection feels almost intrusive, like I'm peeking into a private part of their relationship I was never meant to see.

I ask them to take a seat at the foot of my bed, and they oblige, their luggage in tow.

“Do you want me to go out to give you guys privacy?” Ryan asks, awkwardly standing by the door.

“No!” I say too soon “Stay, please,” I add, instinctively holding his arm to pull him into the room with me. The need for his presence feels almost desperate, and I’m so thankful that he lets me drag him with me as we sit on his bed while we talk to my parents.

We tell them everything, from the child drowning to my blackout to Ryan completely saving me. As we recount the events, I notice the way Ryan’s voice slightly trembles when he describes finding me unconscious. He talks about the panic, the fear, and the overwhelming relief when I started breathing regularly again. I thought I’d only imagined Ryan’s lips on mine when I was at the beach, like one of those near-death hallucinations, but hearing the verbal confirmation from him today makes my mind swirl. It’s real. He saved me.

I can see my mother’s hands trembling slightly, and my father’s jaw tightening with every word. They don’t interrupt, letting us pour out the details of that terrifying day .

“You gave our Bonbon rescue breathing?” my dad says. “After diving into the ocean to save her?” he continues.

“Yes, sir,” Ryan answers with a curt nod.

My parents exchange a look that seems to say they’re piecing together something more than just the facts. After a moment, my dad breaks the silence, his tone both approving and matter-of-fact. “Always knew you were a good kid.”

My mom, her eyes moistening slightly, takes Ryan’s hand in both of hers. “Thank you, dear. We’re so grateful for what you did. Your mother would have been so proud of you,” she adds.

“No thanks necessary,” Ryan responds, his voice steady. “I’d do it all over again if I have to.” He throws a very subtle glance in my direction, but I catch it. Our eyes meet briefly before we both look away—me, to focus on my fidgeting hands, and Ryan, to stare at the wall. So much for subtlety.

After a few moments of awkward silence, my mom finally breaks it with forced cheerfulness. “So, this is where you’ve been staying?” She stands up and starts to survey the room with a critical eye. “So cute and quaint.” Her mouth says the words but her eyes scream to be taken out of the inn.

My dad, sensing her discomfort, clears his throat and tries to smooth over the situation. “Well, it’s certainly… cozy,” he says, his eyes shifting between the room and my mom’s increasingly discontented expression.

Ryan steps in with a warm smile. “It’s not much, but it’s comfortable and has a lot of charm. I’ve been staying here too, so I can vouch for it.”

“Yeah, it’s grown on me, too,” I say.

My mom gives a short nod, though she clearly wishes she were somewhere else. She glances at my dad, who seems to be trying hard to ignore the growing tension. “Well, we’re just glad to see you’re okay. We were really worried.”

Ryan and I exchange a glance, both trying to navigate the delicate balance of being supportive while accommodating my parents’ discomfort.

“Well, if you need anything or want to get out and explore, just let me know,” Ryan offers, attempting to lighten the mood. I look at him in horror, my eyes wide as I rapidly shake my head in disagreement. Ryan catches my reaction and mouths a “What?”, his expression puzzled but concerned. My parents are nosy, intrusive, and overcompensating. There’s no way they will pass up an opportunity to linger. And true enough, before I can respond, my mom claps her hands together with a decisive nod.

“Yes! We’re leaving tomorrow, anyway,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “You should definitely show us around!”

My dad gives a resigned smile, clearly going along with whatever will make my mom happy. “Yes, a tour sounds great. We’ve only got a day, but we’d love to see as much as we can.”

I stare at them, trying to process the fact that they’ve gone to the trouble of booking same-day flights just to spend a single day here. It’s almost comical in its extravagance.

“Well, that’s settled then,” I say, forcing a smile as I try to embrace the situation. “I guess we’ll make the most of it. I’ll show you around, and we can try to fit in as much as possible before you leave.”

I motion for Ryan to meet me in the hallway, and we excuse ourselves.

“Look, you don’t have to stay for the whole tour; you probably have things to do,” I say as I close the door behind us.

Ryan shakes his head, a reassuring smile on his face. “No, I can have someone cover for me. Besides, there’s only a week left. We’ve administered all the vaccines, and we’re just really checking up on locals in the last week. Not that busy anymore.”

His willingness to stay and help eases a bit of my anxiety. I look at him, grateful but also aware of the underlying tension between us. “I know things aren’t exactly… normal between us,” I begin, my voice trailing off as I struggle to find the right words to address the awkwardness that has settled in since the incident.

Ryan reaches out and gently holds my hand. His touch sends a comforting jolt through my stomach, a mix of warmth and reassurance. “We can talk about all of it after they leave,” he says softly, his eyes meeting mine with a promise of understanding.

I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what there is to talk about. It’s clear that he’s doing all this caring for me because he somehow assumed responsibility for my well-being. But I know where his heart lies. And while I’ve always had no problems with saying how I feel, I also always have been a good friend. And good friends don’t tell their friends that they have inexplicable feelings for them. But I suppose we can talk about it once and for all. To clear all the tension and reconvene on where we stand.

Just then, my mom opens the door and catches sight of me and Ryan holding hands. Her eyes widen slightly, and before I can think, I pull my hand away, my cheeks flushing. “It’s not what it looks like,” I blurt out.

My mom raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Oh, really? Because it looks like you two are holding hands.”

“Okay, it is what it looks like, but it’s not what you think,” I say quickly, trying to salvage the situation .

My mom’s teasing smile doesn’t falter. “Alright, Bonita, if you say so.” She glances at Ryan, who is doing his best to look unbothered by the whole situation. Give it up for the master of the stoic expression, ladies and gentlemen.

Ryan clears his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “We were just finalizing the plans for today. I was thinking we could start with a tour of the local market and then maybe visit some of the scenic spots.” Suddenly, the tables have turned. Ryan is the one saving me from an awkward conversation. I don’t know if it’s because I taught him well or that he has rubbed off on me. Either way, this is not good for me.

My mom’s eyes light up at the mention of the market. “That sounds perfect! I’d love to see what local goods they have here.”

“Great,” I say, trying to match Ryan’s unexpected easy confidence–confidence that he stole from me because I am a giant mess over here. Did my social skills drown in the ocean? “The market is really vibrant and has a lot of unique items. I think you’ll both enjoy it.”

My dad suddenly pops his head out of the door and all four of us are cramped in the hallway. “Let’s go, then,” he says.

We step out into the bright morning sun, my parents chatting animatedly about their expectations for the day. Ryan walks beside me, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of a little normalcy between us. It’s almost nostalgic.

“Ready?” Ryan asks, his voice soft but reassuring.

“Nope,” I sigh as I put on a bucket hat, trying to shield myself from both the sun and the overwhelming emotions swirling inside me.

“Atta girl,” he says with a chuckle, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.