CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Joshua
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Joshua
I have a feeling she’s crying. And I hate that I’m the reason why. The truth is, I came to the Corner looking for her because I wanted to be honest about how I feel. That after that night in the tent, everything changed. Or maybe just really became clearer.
I get out of the bistro to go back home, because suddenly, my morning became terrible. The sun is relentless, but my chest feels heavy and cold, like I’ve been carrying a block of ice in place of my heart. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone as I make my way home. The world feels smaller, suffocating, and all I can think about is her.
I like Emily. So much it made me jealous to see her with Rob. It threw me off, and I was too annoyed to speak. But when she told me it was nothing and that he was just apologizing, I tried to ease back into the conversation. I tried to recover. I tried to tell her that I want her in my life when we’re back in New York, that I don’t want this connection to end.
But I couldn’t. And she told me we had a good run, and she left. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe I don’t really get to try with her. Maybe Emily is meant to be a reminder that I’m not someone who should be in a relationship because I will overthink every single action. And nobody wants a paranoid guy who second guesses everything, right?
So now, I’m back to where I stood. Nowhere. Someone who has no right to feel bothered about who Emily’s talking to. Someone who has no business with what she’s doing on her alone time. Someone who’s just another person to her.
I glance back in the direction she went. I think about following her, about saying the things I should’ve said back at the bistro. But would she even want to hear them? Would it matter? Would I even know what to say? I don’t even know what I’m feeling. I just want her to stay around. And I don’t think that’s enough.
From the way she walked off, it’s clear she wanted space—from me, of all people. So I continue walking.
When I reach our home, I hear faint voices in the dining room. The smell of garlic fried rice and tocino wafts through the air. My parents are at the table, their plates already half-empty, but they look up when I walk in.
“Josh!” my mom says with a smile, gesturing to the food laid out. “Sit, eat with us.”
I hesitate for a split second, memories of strained family dinners flashing through my mind, but something in her voice feels different. I can’t remember the last time I had a meal with them—at least, not one where we weren’t arguing or tiptoeing around each other. So I decide to stay, telling myself to make the most of it. I’m leaving anyway.
“Are you ready for your flight?” my mom asks casually, slicing through the quiet. I nod, not trusting my voice to sound steady. I take a seat and put some food on my plate.
“You’re flying with Emily, right?” she adds, her tone a touch too curious.
“Yeah,” I manage, my grip tightening on my fork.
“She seems like she’s good for you, that girl,” my dad chimes in, his voice calm as he sips his coffee.
I blink, caught off guard. “Too good,” I mutter.
My dad chuckles, a rare sound that I’m somehow glad to hear. “All the best women are,” he says, with a glance and a smile toward my mother.
“I’m happy for you, Josh,” my mom cuts in, her voice softer. “You finally found someone who made you want to commit. I know it’s been hard. All those years of dating on and off, of avoiding anything serious. It’s good to see you done with that.”
My chest aches, and the twisting in my stomach becomes unbearable. Commit? I’m not even sure where Emily and I stand, and now I’m sitting here being congratulated for something I haven’t even done. That word has haunted me for years. It’s a chain. It’s the echo of slammed doors and voices raised loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
I can’t believe I’m sitting across from my parents, letting them believe I’ve somehow outgrown all that fear and resistance. That Emily has magically turned me into someone capable of the one thing I’ve avoided my entire life.
The worst part? I want it to be true. I want to be someone who can be that person for her. But I can’t. Because I don’t know if I can do that without hurting her. Just this morning, I saw the hurt in her eyes. Hurt I caused. All because we put our walls down for a single night.
I swallow the lump in my throat and manage to say, “Thanks.”
My mom sets her coffee mug down, the soft clink of ceramic on the wooden table louder than it should be in the quiet kitchen. She leans forward, hands clasped in front of her, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes me sit a little straighter. The seriousness in her expression feels like the calm before a storm, and I brace myself.
“Josh, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to talk to you like this,” she says, her voice steady but with an undertone of urgency. “So I’m taking this opportunity.”
I raise an eyebrow, unsure where she’s going with this. I take a bite of the food in front of me, the flavors barely registering as the weight of their attention presses down on me. My mom glances at my dad, who shifts in his seat before giving her a slight nod.
“We’re sorry,” she says finally, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.
“Sorry?” I echo, my brow furrowing as I set my fork down.
“For being the way we were when you were growing up,” she continues, choosing her words carefully. “We weren’t exactly… the best parents.”
The words hit like a slow-moving wave, unexpected but overwhelming as they sink in. Bon warned me this might happen. She said our parents have been on some kind of strange redemption tour, showing up unannounced, saying things they never would’ve said when we were kids. She told me they even followed her to Batanes last year after her near-drowning incident, desperate to make things right. Bon said their apology had been awkward at first but, somehow, it helped her.
My dad clears his throat, breaking my train of thought. “We were the worst, actually,” he says bluntly.
My mom glances at him, her lips pressing together briefly before she turns back to me. “We’ve spent years trying to make amends with Bonita,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “We knew we’d failed her, and we’ve worked to show her that we’re sorry. But with you…” She hesitates, her hands tightening around each other. “We never had the chance to do that with you. You left early, and when you’re here, you’re so rarely with us. That’s on us.”
I shift in my chair, the fabric scratching against my skin as I adjust my position. The air feels thick, like the room is holding its breath. “Mom, Dad—”
“Let me finish, Joshua,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. Her use of my full name makes my stomach twist, like I’m about to get scolded—but this isn’t that. This is something else.
“You grew up in a house that wasn’t kind,” she says, the words heavy with regret. “A house where arguments drowned out laughter, and love felt like an afterthought. We were selfish. We put our problems ahead of you and Bonita. We didn’t protect you from the fallout, and we should have.”
My chest tightens, the weight of her words settling in places I didn’t realize were sore. Part of me wants to tell them it’s okay, that it’s all in the past. But another part—the part I’ve buried under layers of detachment—knows that would be a lie.
“We should have done better,” my dad says, his voice rough like gravel. “But instead, we gave you every reason to distrust love. Every reason to think commitment leads to pain. And we’re sorry.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I stare at the wood grain on the table, tracing the patterns with my eyes because looking at my parents feels too raw. I never thought I needed an apology from them, but now that it’s here, I don’t know what to do with it.
“Why now?” I ask quietly, my voice barely audible.
My mom exhales, the sound shaky. “Because we see how much you’ve changed, Josh. Despite everything, you’ve grown into someone kind and good. Someone who’s willing to try.” Her lips quirk into a small, bittersweet smile. “I see that in how you are with Emily. That growth, that strength, that’s all you. And I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.”
Emily. Her name feels like a lightning bolt, electrifying and disorienting. My stomach twists, but I don’t say anything.
“She’s good for you,” my dad says, his tone softer now. “Maybe that’s because she’s helping you see what we didn’t.”
“That love doesn’t have to hurt. That it doesn’t have to end in disaster,” Mom finishes, her voice steady again. They share a look—one of those wordless exchanges that only comes from years of being together. It’s subtle but unmistakable. And for the first time in a long time, I wonder if maybe I was wrong. Maybe what they have now is real. That it’s not just a fragile truce that will crash and burn eventually.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to process their words. “Emily and I…” I start, but I don’t know how to continue that. Emily and I are what, exactly?
“You don’t have to explain,” my mom says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Whatever it is, whatever it becomes or doesn’t become—that’s up to you. But I want you to know that you deserve it, Josh. You deserve happiness, even if it scares you.”
Their words settle over me, heavy and strange. It’s like they’ve peeled back a layer I didn’t even know was there, exposing parts of myself I’ve spent years ignoring.
“How did you know it scares me?” I ask.
“Because real feelings scare the hell out of everyone,” my dad says, his bluntness cutting through the tension. “It’s part of being human.”
I manage a chuckle, a short, breathy sound that feels like a release. But the questions keep circling in my mind.
How do you commit to something that terrifies you? How do you hold on to someone when all you’ve ever known is how to let go?
How do you choose to stay when running away has always been easier?