The Last Guy You Kiss

One

ONE

T here were many reasons why Mara Jane Barretto loved owning Wildflower, a creative studio and flower shop in the middle of Quezon City. This part of the city was still chill, made up mostly of small businesses set up by upper-middle-class families. It was indie, but unpretentious. Accessible, but still quiet. Mara liked that small things still felt like they could grow on this side of Metro Manila, and she never wanted to leave. Here she could whip up fantasies of spectacular weddings and over-the-top events, and, for the ones willing to pay for it, make them real.

She didn’t like that she had to explain to strangers what she did for a living—what is a creative studio? You style flowers? What do they need styling for? You used to work in marketing ? You left that for this ? Are you making money? Ah, you’re still single? Oh, single since birth? That explains a lot. Makes sense, makes sense.

Makes sense how, exactly? Mara did not want to know.

Anyway. A list of her favorite things about running Wildflower:

, Wildflower was on a street lined with little boutique restaurants, other specialty shops like hers. She had a neighborhood café, a neighborhood Japanese restaurant with excellent sashimi, and a bakery that sold the most sinful pain suisse . Since she graduated university ten, twelve years ago now, her world shrank quickly from the tall, congested spires of Makati to this quaint little street that she loved being a part of. Every morning, she got up, got dressed and hitched a ride with one of her sisters to the shop on their much, much longer way to work. In a country with an absolutely broken public transport system, this alone was a privilege, and a dream.

Two, Mara loved being in charge. She’d been called names for it, of course. Bossy, high standards, mataray. But she liked things to be a particular way, and people who understood that were the ones who stuck around. Her business thrived on being able to understand specific prompts, and one needed a firm hand in order to execute such specific visions. Things like, “I absolutely hate my boss but I have to get his retirement party decorated,” and, “Fake flowers for a Dungeons and Dragons session that’s also a wedding,” or in the case of today’s event, “All red, like bleeding love, but with, like, a bit of orange so it’s also fall.”

But Mara’s favorite thing about running Wildflower was when a client looked into her eyes—a little lost, a little helpless in the face of a major decision—and asked her favorite question in the world. that made her feel competent and trusted, and most of all, needed.

The question being, “What would you do?”

It was usually a wedding client, too. What would you do, if it was your special day?

Ah, yes. What would Mara do. What wouldn’t Mara do, really. Some days, she wanted a splashy, classic ceremony at Las Casas Filipinas de Acuzar. The resort had ancestral homes uprooted and shipped from all over the country (wild) and settled into a complex that looked like a world showcase at Epcot. She could picture renting out the place, guests strictly in barongs and Filipinana. Mara would stay away from any kind of traditional flower and opt instead to deck the warm-toned exteriors in shades of green. She would choose long palm fronds as banderitas across the venue, huge anahaw leaves as a base for the arrangements, ferns to make them fuller. There would still be flowers, of course—maybe a few delicate sampaguita for true Dalagang Filipina elegance. She could picture herself hiring a drum and lyre band for when she and her new husband left the church. For a wedding like that, nothing would be subtle. It would be a boisterous and loud declaration of love, and some days, Mara could see herself with that.

But there were other days she wanted to eschew all that tradition and just go for the big, in-your-face punch of color. Forget the church wedding altogether—they could just get a priest to bless them at the venue, how modern! And because asking anyone to leave Manila was such a hassle (especially during the holidays), she would have to choose a venue that was intimate and elegant at the same time.

There was always the Nielsen Tower in Makati—an old airport since turned into a restaurant, so at least the food was settled. The walls were all white, and it had marble floors and a spiral staircase in the middle of the room. But Mara loved the windows. Big, huge windows with black wrought iron frames, curved around the wings of the building. It was the perfect backdrop to fill with the most colorful flowers in her arsenal.

She could see huge peonies in bright pink. Orchids in magenta, framing the sides of the arrangements. Birds of paradise with their bright pops of orange, yellow green mums and variegated anthuriums. The flowers would breathe life into the venue while matching the wedding party’s tropical jewel tones. She could arrange them to descend from the ceiling, adding clouds of baby’s breath to make it feel like a floral sky inside an old airport.

Did it matter who the groom was? What he thought about her fanciful notions? For a girl who had never had a boyfriend, that was a minor detail that didn’t really matter. That mental role was easily filled by any of her array of Korean crushes via delusion. Currently, for example, it was Jo Yihwan from East Genesis Project. He was appropriately aged, had nice hands, and he could play guitar. What more could a girl possibly want from an imaginary husband-to-be?

“Ate Mara?”

Not that she would know what else one could possibly want. Having only experienced the Eros kind of love from books, movies and music, the idea of romantic love was alien to one who had never experienced it before. It didn’t make her less qualified to do weddings of course—did a fantasy writer need to meet a dragon before they presumed volumes of lore about them?

But it did always make her wonder. Would it be nice, to have someone who loved you? Who wanted to gather everyone you loved, everyone important, and tell them that this person was the one for you? That there was no one else, till death do you part.

“Ate? Are you awake?”

It would be nice to have a wedding, to have people around you celebrate the fact that, hey, you found someone you think is wonderful! And your life is going to change, so here we are all, cheering you on!

“Si Ate? She’s not asleep.”

It could easily devolve into spectacle, sure. A very expensive, high-expectation spectacle that could slip away from you if you weren’t careful enough. But Mara had always been a careful person. And she probably wouldn’t choose anyone that wasn’t worth it.

“How do you know she’s not asleep?”

But how would she even know, if she had never dated anyone? Mara was fully convinced of the good parts of a relationship, the kilig, curl-your-toes, happy montage parts. It was the other parts she was unsure of.

“Because she isn’t snoring.”

Could she stand another person being that close? Could she even let them? How was she supposed to know, if she never had any experience in that area? Could she picture herself making compromises, learning to live with some nebulous somebody’s flaws and expectations? What if they changed? What if they woke up one day and decided they didn’t love her?

“Wow, as if siya hindi din snorer.”

Jo Yihwan could love her, of course. He’d said it on various live events and shows, at the end of every concert, and that hadn’t changed. Saranghae! But that was delusion, and delusion was easy. Delusion was fun, and hurt nobody, certainly not her. In delusion she happily stayed. Amen.

“Her eyes are open!”

“Mabel, she’s slept with her eyes open before.”

“I’m not asleep,” Mara announced, turning her head away from where it was resting against the car window to glare at her youngest sister, stuffed in the back row of the Honda beside her. “I’m dizzy.”

“I told you, you should have sit up front na lang,” a voice piped up from the front passenger seat. David, the groom, in a Barong Tagalog that could have used one more session with the sastre. “You’re always dizzy pa naman in the car.”

“Well, we can’t exactly pull over and swap seats now, can we?” Mara shot back, her headache getting in the way of her usually pleasing personality. Ha-ha.

“In this traffic, it’s actually a possibility.” Mabel, shifting in her seat beside Mara, looked out the window on her side of the car and sighed at the terrible Tagaytay traffic. It was already pretty bad up here on a normal weekend—their family knew well to stay away. But a weekend just after the holidays? Absolute hell. Bad choices made all around.

Not that Mara was going to say that out loud. This was Marina’s wedding day! A determined Marina was a Marina that got what she wanted, and so, a wedding the week after New Year’s in Tagaytay with all the traffic.

“Are we there yet? I need to pee,” announced the bride from the middle row, solely occupied by her, her bouquet and the train of her bespoke Heleyna gown. The middle Barretto sister was gorgeous. She always was. But even more so today, on her wedding day, all glowing skin and softly curled hair. Even after a night of very little sleep, running on adrenaline and, well…love, Marina looked as beautiful as ever. “Ate, can we pee?”

Mara had this moment earlier at the church, of seeing her little sister walk down the aisle, her face luminous and stunning. A woman in love. It suited her well. Mara remembered beaming with pride, fighting back tears and thinking that this was truly, truly worth it.

“Fuck, I really need to pee.”

“Ate Marina, you have to stop saying that, because now I need to pee.”

So here they were, ten minutes later, in a bathroom of a Starbucks. Mara was hunched over Marina slightly, holding up her baby sister’s volumes of skirt, as well as the hem of her own burnt orange dress. Ah, maid of honor duties.

“Do you hate me?” Marina looked up at Mara with her large, sweet eyes, mid-pee. Her family always joked that it was impossible to refuse Marina anything with those eyes. Marina had a big three astrology placement of Cancer Sun, Libra Moon and Gemini rising, which made her the most in touch with feelings among the earth and fire sign Barrettos. Her face was all worry and innocence, and totally unfazed that this conversation—which they probably should have had months ago—was happening now, of all times. Of all places. Hay, air signs.

“Would I be doing this if I hated you?” Mara, with two earth signs (Capricorn Sun, Virgo Moon) and a rising fire sign (Scorpio, heh) asked. Her thighs were cramping, because she was still in heels and standing at a very awkward angle. She was trying to find her words, which even in less stressful situations wasn’t easy.

“You’re avoiding the question,” Marina scolded her lightly, ignoring the frosty bite in Mara’s tone.

“Eh.” Mara shrugged. “Alam mo na ‘yan, Marina.”

“Are you mad that I got married before you did? Are you mad that I didn’t tell you first? What are your feelings about it?”

“Marina.” Mara shifted her hold on both their dresses, feeling her back start to protest. She was pointedly avoiding her sister’s gaze. “I don’t—”

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you, all of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on.” Marina rolled her eyes in a way that would have made Mara proud if it wasn’t directed at her. “Every person who found out I was engaged congratulated me then asked you if you’re okay to be…nalipasan.”

Mara wrinkled her nose in distaste. Passed over , which sounded so bland compared to how the Filipino word hit. Nalipasan sounded so harsh, like something terrible had happened to her. Nasaktan—hurt—was formed the same way, different root words with the same prefixes and suffixes (En-glish major ka, girl?) to mean that something had happened to her. Something that wasn’t good, when in fact it was just…it was what it was.

Mara squirmed uncomfortably. Surely Marina had bigger things to mentally break down than Mara’s messy swirl of unexamined emotions. Mara knew she could say exactly what her sister wanted to hear— I’m fine, I’m okay. I’m so happy for you it makes me want to burst into tears— and Mara wouldn’t be a liar, because it was all true.

But the funny thing about being human was that two things that sounded contradictory could both be completely true. That as much as Mara was happy for Marina, there was a little box locked tight in the back of her head, one she’d labeled “My Formerly Delusional Feelings for David—DO NOT EXAMINE.”

Because David had been Mara’s friend first. Her office mate, whom she bonded with over work calls during the pandemic while they navigated marketing makeup to a world that didn’t need it. Who she got even closer to when work from home sadly ended, who encouraged her to open Wildflower. Owned 10 percent of it, in fact, because David was the kind of guy who put his money where his mouth was.

David was Marina’s husband now. And it had nothing to do with Mara at all.

“I could never be mad at you,” she said to her sister now. “Nalipasan is just a word. People will always have words. If it’s not me being unmarried, it’s me being fat, it’s me being in a job they don’t understand. And I don’t need to listen to them, because they’re not important to me. You are. And Mabel, and Mom and Dad.”

“And David.”

“Yes.” And her teeth were only a little bit gritted when she said that. “David now, too. Alam mo na yan, Marina.”

Two facts. Seemingly contradictory. Both equally true. , that she loved that her sister was marrying someone Mara thought was great. Two, that Mara was not quite over that she thought David had been in love with her.

“Okay.” Marina seemed satisfied. She stretched and reached behind her to flush the toilet. “I just want you to be happy, too, Ate. Whatever that looks like for you.”

“Are you sure you want me to be happy, or do you just pity me?” Mara asked, genuinely curious. But when Marina winced in response, she knew her tone came out too harsh. Too sharp. She said too much, and it wasn’t what Marina wanted to hear. Mara decided to backtrack. “Marina. Please don’t focus on me. You worked too hard on today to feel guilty for being happy. And it’s good to feel happy.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Mara insisted, standing back up and holding out her free hand to grip her sister’s. Reassuring Marina that things were okay was territory she knew well, and one she could guide her little sister through. Comfort zones were Mara’s favorite place to be.

They made their way to the sinks to wash their hands. “No buts. Just like you.”

“Gaga!” Marina exclaimed, giggling as she flicked water in her sister’s direction. Mara squealed in surprise.

“Hala!” Mara exclaimed back, retaliating after she washed her own hands.

“Hoy, hoy, hoy, what’s happening here?” Mabel asked as Marina opened the door with a flourish. Mara spotted David at the counter retrieving their orders. She was very much looking forward to her peppermint mocha. “Having a moment without me?”

“Married women are so scary,” Mara announced, moving out of the way for Mabel to wash her hands. “Mabel, take your Ate to the car. You can chismis with her while you wait for me.”

“Why, what are you doing?”

“I need to pee, too.”

She didn’t really. Mara just wanted a second to catch her breath. It wasn’t easy, running around in heels and a dress cinched to her waist. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was intact, as was her dress and her lipstick. Nothing out of place, everything as she preferred. The hair was a little too stiff for her liking, but her makeup made her look like a blushing, happy maid of honor. She looked pretty, she thought. Gorgeous, even.

She didn’t look like someone who was passed over. But the feeling was there, like a loose thread she had yet to cut off of a crochet project.

Mara took a deep breath, taking in Marina’s worries, her fears, her guilt, and breathed them out. She refused to hold on to any of that right now. And with a smile on her face, she headed back to the car. David had graciously decided to put all of Marina’s skirts on his lap and let Mara take the front seat.

“Sipsip,” Mara teased him as he handed her iced coffee over. pump mocha, three shots peppermint, just as she liked. David was a sweet guy that way.

“You’re welcome, bestie.” He winked back at her before letting Marina rest her head on his shoulder. They really were sweet together. “LOL, your face showed up on my feed again.”

“Are you scrolling social media on your wedding day?” Mara asked tersely, as Mabel started laughing in the back seat.

“Oh my god, it never gets old.” She chortled, as David presumably sent the goddamn meme to their group chat (“Lady Whistledown Chika Room”). Mara didn’t even need to know what the meme looked like—she’d seen it on her feed, in her inbox, had it printed out and taped to her office door.

It was just a photo. A photo one of David’s friends (ugh) randomly took of her and posted on his stories. They had been drinking when he said something idiotic, and Mara glared at him like he was gum under her shoe while he had his camera pointed at her.

But the way the internet worked, Mara’s scowl had been terrifying enough to turn into a universal photo that stood in for threatening bodily harm and/or emotional damage to anyone who saw it. It became an eldest Asian daughter meme. An “Oh you think you have it hard? Try being the eldest daughter in an Asian household” kind of thing.

On the bright side, she noticed people were a little more hesitant to mess with her after that. But on the not-so-bright side, she didn’t know what people were doing with a photo of her face.

of her many, many goals for tonight’s festivities was to hunt down the member of the groom’s wedding party (he had been in charge of the wedding cord, how appropriate to wring his neck with) who had managed to evade her thus far and shove something up one of his orifices. She had not decided which one yet.

Jay Montinola, Secondary Sponsor for the Wedding Cord. Oooh, just the sound of his name made her blood boil like the fires of Tartarus.

“Ate, do you think we can stop by McDo or something?” Marina asked as their car pulled away from the coffee shop. “I’m starving.”

* * *

They finally made it to Luisa’s, one brief fast-food stop later. The bride and groom were promptly whisked away for touch-ups and more photos, and the bridesmaid and maid of honor were left to their own devices.

Luisa’s was the premiere garden venue in Tagaytay. Best for laid back, but still formal weddings, which meant most weddings. Of all of Mara’s clients, one out of three chose this place as their reception venue, for good reason. It was always worth it to attend, being such a gorgeous venue, and (mostly) because the food was divine .

“Anak ng kabayo,” Mabel hissed as she somehow managed to clamber out of the Honda. “Ang lamig. I need the strong arms of a man to provide help. Sexy help.”

“Raise your standards.” Mara laughed as she wrapped her arms around her sister’s bare shoulders. It did little to ward off the cold, but it was better than the six yards of organza they were wearing between them. Tagaytay in January meant piercingly cold winds or still, misty fog, and there was no happy middle. Neither were ideal formal attire conditions. “Don’t worry, Mabel. All we have to do is go to the venue, find Des to change our shoes, then we will enjoy ice cream and beer until we have to have dinner. Good plan?”

“Good plan,” Mabel agreed. “Ate, your skin is colder than mine,” she complained as the sisters shuffled toward the casita pavilion, the holding area for the guests until the reception later that evening. “And my feet hurt.”

“What are feet?” Mara deadpanned to her sister. “Also of course my skin is cold, I’m a cold-blooded—”

“H-oh!” The cheerful voice of the wedding coordinator cut Mara off as they arrived at the registration area. Desiree had come highly recommended by her clients and, in fairness, was doing a great job. Mostly because Des very quickly understood that the person who knew what the bride truly wanted was the maid of honor. “Ladies, I have your sandals. Um, ma’am.”

“Des, please stop calling me ma’am.” Mara sighed. “I’m not that scary.”

“Nah, Ate. You’re scary,” Mabel reminded her, grabbing her paper bag from Des. Mara opened her mouth to protest, but Mabel was quicker. “Of course we all know it’s what’s best, and you’re almost always right.”

“As you guys should.”

“Still scary, though. Meme-worthy kind of scary.” It took her sister two seconds to switch out her shoes for sandals, and she zipped back into the venue before Mara could say anything.

“A meme? Oh my god. That’s why your face was so familiar.” Des gasped, and Mara had to hand it to her. Marina’s wedding planner didn’t miss a trick. “You’re the eldest Asian daughter.”

Great. So, new plan. Mara was going to change shoes, find David’s friend (Jay Montinola, cord sponsor, bane of her existence), glare at him with the fire of the deepest pits of hell until he spontaneously combusted into fine dust, and then get ice cream.

Good plan.