CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Michael
Sundays are usually spent with family. Naturally, I don’t have that here. So I’m supposed to just stay home and catch up on TV shows.
But then when I look at my fridge, I have nothing but my pre-packed meals. I can’t eat sad beige food while watching a comfort show. So I decide to stroll down the local market again.
Maybe I’ll get another puto bumbong.
Before I walk out of my house, I glance at my shelf, which was empty before, but now filled with all the things I got from the market, in my attempt to copy Kate—mugs, scented candles, even scarves I’ll never use. I chuckle.
This place is growing on me.
The market is buzzing when I get there—vendors shouting prices over each other, kids weaving between stalls with sticky hands, Christmas lanterns still strung up. The air smells like roasted corn and coconut sugar.
Someone falls into step beside me. “Hey, man.” I glance sideways and see Richard grinning. He gives me a fist bump like we’re old friends.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, sidestepping a kid selling balloons.
“My dad really likes the homemade tea Freida’s selling here. Just grabbing a couple sachets before I meet with a client later.”
“Client? On a Sunday?”
“The law doesn’t rest.” He takes his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt.
“You’re a lawyer?” I blurt. Somehow I always pegged Richard as a stand-up comedian. Or an adventure vlogger. Definitely not someone who passed the bar exam.
He grins. “Why are you shocked?”
“You’re just… not very lawyerly.”
“Lawyerly?”
“I don’t know. Serious. Professional.”
Richard gasps, clutching his chest. “Wow. Defamed in the middle of Magnolia Market. I’m hurt, Lee.”
“You’re proving my point,” I deadpan.
“At least I’m not getting caught at midnight playing basketball with the sweetest girl in town.” He scoffs.
I freeze mid-step. “What?”
Richard smirks, all too pleased with himself. “You think the teenagers on the balcony kept that quiet? Half the town knows.”
I groan. “It’s just a playful evening.”
“This isn’t a press conference, you can be honest with me,” he says. “You like her?”
“I don’t.” And it’s true.
“Hey, Kate!” he says, turning behind me. I immediately look. My mistake.
“Thought so.” He smiles.
We pass the stall where Kate bought the fruits last time I saw her. I stop to get some bananas as the man behind the stall looks at me like I’m some criminal. “Are you courting our Katherine?” he asks as he hands me the paper bag.
“What? No.” I take it and pay him.
“So are you just playing her?” he replies.
“I’m not—” I sigh. “I was playing basketball with her. That’s it, sir.” I don’t stay to collect my change, and go straight to the next stall where Richard’s laughing his way to Freida selling tea.
“Geez,” I say. “Everyone’s meddling.”
“With what? Your relationship?” He laughs.
“Why are you so hell-bent on roasting me?” I ask. “Are you the one who likes her?”
“What? No, no. Not Kate.” His voice is quick, almost defensive, and then his expression shifts into something unreadable.
A flicker of something I can’t name. Sadness?
Embarrassment? Whatever it is, it passes before I can call him out.
He grabs the paper bag of tea and nods toward the exit. “Come on.”
From a distance I see Bon and Haley walking toward us. Bon’s skipping while holding two fruit shakes in one hand and a paper plate of kwek-kwek in the other. Haley’s trailing behind her, shouting something about her spilling sauce.
It’s distracting enough that I miss the uneven patch of street right in front of me. My sneaker catches on the edge of loose concrete, and instinctively I sidestep straight into the edge of a metal stall post.
“Ow, shit—” I hiss, jerking my hand back. Blood beads instantly where the rusty corner caught me.
“Oh my gosh!” Bon’s voice cuts through the noise. She and Haley rush over, fruit shakes forgotten. “You’re bleeding!”
“It’s fine,” I start, but Bon’s already gasping like I’ve been stabbed.
“It’s not fine. Ryan! We need Ryan!” she shouts. Freida also panics and calls for help.
“Everyone, it’s just a scratch,” I protest, but no one is listening.
Haley cranes her neck to look, wincing dramatically. “Ew. That’s deep. You might need stitches. Or, like… a tetanus shot. Do you have your anti-tetanus? Do basketball players even get those?”
“Haley,” I deadpan. “I’m not dying.”
“Yet,” she mutters.
Bon grabs my wrist and starts dragging me toward the end of the street. “Our house is right there,” she says, pointing to a house a few steps away. “Ryan’s there. He’ll fix it.”
“Bon, I don’t need—”
“Don’t argue with me!” she snaps, eyes wide with mock horror. “You want gangrene? You want to lose your hand? Imagine playing basketball with one hand! That’s tragic!”
“Since when do you know words like gangrene?” Haley asks, following us.
“Since I married a hot doctor, thank you very much.”
“Translation: you binge-watched Grey’s Anatomy.” Bon shoots Haley a look but she just laughs it off.
Richard, utterly unhelpful, is doubled over laughing. “This is the best day of my life,” he wheezes. “Michael Lee, national star, taken out by… a metal stall post.”
I glare at him. “You could help me, you know.”
“I am helping,” he says cheerfully, following behind us. “I’m providing moral support.”
Haley leans in close, voice just loud enough for me to hear. “So. Midnight basketball with Kate, huh?”
I sigh, blood dripping down my wrist, wishing I’d stayed home with my sad beige food.
By the time we reach Bon and Ryan’s house, Bon is dragging me by the wrist like I’ve lost a limb, Haley’s yelling “Stat!” for dramatic effect, and Richard is laughing so hard he’s wheezing behind us.
Bon doesn’t even walk gently. She just barges in, fruit shake in one hand, my bloodied hand in the other.
“RYAN!” she screams. “He’s bleeding! It’s an emergency.”
I half expect Ryan to run down the stairs or drop whatever he’s doing at Bon’s tone of urgency, but he just calmly walks out of the kitchen, securing his watch on his wrist. He looks like he’s about to leave, but he approaches us anyway.
“Bonbon,” he says. “Please tell me this is an actual emergency. We talked about this. Papercuts are not a reason for amputation. And stomach aches are not life-threatening.”
“This is serious!” she insists, thrusting my hand toward him like she’s presenting evidence in court. “Look! Blood!”
Ryan peers at it for a grand total of two seconds. “That’s… a scratch.”
“A deep scratch!” Haley adds helpfully, sipping from Bon’s second fruit shake.
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Does it hurt when I do this?” He gently presses around the wound.
“Little bit,” I mutter.
“Yeah, you’ll live.” Ryan grabs a first-aid kit from a shelf like this happens weekly. Knowing this town, it probably does. “Sit down.”
I sit, and finally look around. The first thing I notice is how… alive their house feels. It’s loud without being noisy—walls filled with mismatched picture frames, travel souvenirs, and Polaroids of Bon and Ryan’s friends crammed into Magnolia Heights’ tiny spaces.
And then my gaze catches on a smaller photo wedged between wedding pictures. Bon with Kate. She’s laughing so hard, her eyes are shut, powdered sugar smeared on her cheek like she doesn’t care. She looks… different. Lighter. I look away before Bon catches me staring.
Bon hovers over me like a helicopter parent while Ryan disinfects my hand. “Do you think he needs stitches? Ry, what if it’s tetanus?”
“Bonita,” Ryan says flatly, “stop diagnosing people.”
Haley smirks from the counter, munching on bacon that’s probably not hers. “Would make a good headline, though. Michael Lee Injured by a Metal Post After Midnight Basketball Game with Local Girl.”
I groan. “Can we not bring Kate into this?”
“Too late,” Richard chimes in, gleefully holding up his phone. “Group chat’s already buzzing. Lila texted: ‘Michael Lee injured, Ate Kate probably comforting him rn.’”
Ryan tapes the bandage neatly, completely indifferent to the gossip around him. I aim to be this unbothered. “There. Just don’t use it today. Wash it tomorrow. If it still hurts, slap on a regular band-aid.”
I thank him. “Do you always do this for the residents?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, standing. “Bon’s very dramatic when someone gets hurt.” He leans down and kisses her temple, murmuring, “I’ll be back after lunch.” He waves goodbye to everyone as he leaves for a surgery he’s performing.
As he steps out, my phone buzzes.
Katie: You okay? Everyone's worried.
I stare at the screen longer than necessary, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Everyone’s worried. She’s worried?
Michael (Me): Thanks for worrying, but I'm fine. Barely a scratch.
Three dots appear. Then vanish. Then appear again.
Katie: Guess I'll return the 'Get Well Soon' balloons I just ordered.
I laugh, then quickly try to hide it. Thankfully, Bon and Haley are busy talking, and Richard’s eating in the kitchen. It’s not lost on me that even without Kate, I still feel like I belong in this weird little group.
Michael (Me): Haha. Where are you anyway??
Katie: Buying baking supplies. Why?
Michael (Me): Nothing. Just making sure you're safe from metal posts
I stare at the screen even after the chat ends, thumb hovering like I’m waiting for her to say more. Which is stupid.
I’ve never even been a texter. I even leave people on read, reply three hours late, and forget birthdays unless my calendar screams at me.
I guess this town’s really growing on me.