CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Michael
Ijog to Lily’s just in time for Kate to drop off her cookies. Seriously, these are the most addictive cookies in the world.
“I should start charging you for that,” Kate says as I swipe one off the top of the box.
“Or,” I say, already biting into it, “you could finally just give me the recipe and set me free.”
Kate raises an eyebrow. “Free to what? Burn down your kitchen? Please. You don’t even own measuring spoons.”
“You don’t need measuring spoons when you have passion,” I say, hand to chest, dramatically. “Besides, I’m a man of many talents. Baking could be one of them.”
I help her carry the boxes to Lily’s, and we arrange them in the lounge. It’s almost been a week since my hand ‘injury,’ so I can easily use my hand now.
“I’m serious though,” I add. “You should monetize this. Open a cute little shop. Sell out in a day. Get discovered. End up on a Netflix show. Boom. Meet your future husband.”
She slaps my arm. “Shh!” She still chuckles, though, as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
She adds, “Because men are definitely lining up to commit based on cookie quality alone.”
“Are you kidding? One bite of these and any decent guy would never leave your side.”
“Kinda like what you’re doing now?” she shoots back before she can stop herself.
She freezes. I freeze. Her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. Then she immediately looks away, pretending to check her watch even though she doesn’t wear one. Then she mutters something I don’t understand, then speed-walks to her car.
I catch up to her and say, “Glad you think I’m the benchmark of future husbands.”
She rolls her eyes, but she chuckles again, easing the tension. “Not a benchmark, more like a prototype of what not to be.”
“Yeah, okay, Katie.”
She gets into her car and shuts the door. But as she does, I notice a flicker of a smile. I wave at her as she drives away.
I’m about to continue my jog when my phone rings.
“Mike!” my sister squeals as I answer.
“What? Is something wrong?” I ask, already panicked.
“Nothing,” she says too quickly, then adds, “I mean, yes. But not serious!”
I can hear chaos in the background—clinking dishes, shrieking, possibly a small dog yapping for its life.
“I need a huge favor,” she continues breathlessly. “Peter has this last-minute business trip to Cebu. Big pitch. Super important. I have to go too, because technically the idea was mine, but I let him pretend it was his because—ugh, office politics.”
“Trish—”
“Listen, we had a babysitter lined up for the weekend, but she just tested positive for the flu, and I can't bring Polly because the last time we flew she got airsick, and that would be fine for vacations, but this is important.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Take her here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I love Polly,” I say.
“Oh, thank goodness. It’s only for two days, Mike. Well, two and a half, including today. I’ll drop her off at school this afternoon, let’s meet then. Love you, bye!”
I shake my head. My sister loves to overcommit and overperform. She always gets bitten in the ass for it, but she never changes. Good for her.
I jog back to my house, thinking about making some last minute preparations for Polly. The only food in my fridge are eggs and the pre-packed protein meals. And maybe a bottle of sriracha. Not exactly child-friendly. What do children even eat these days? Are hotdogs still a hit? Nuggets?
I shake my head and glance at the clock. I can always go get something from Lily’s. Or the bistro in the corner of the village entrance (wittily named Corner Bistro). I take a quick shower, have lunch, and dress for Little Leagues.
I usually ride every morning with Kate on Mondays and Wednesdays, but Fridays are my “fitness” days, which means I usually jog to the sports complex.
Not today, though. With the Polly situation looming and my thighs still recovering from my leg workout this morning, I cave and flag down a tricycle.
They’re still the most uncomfortable form of transportation known to man.
The seat’s too narrow, the ceiling’s too low, and my knees are practically at my ears.
But until Heather finally relents and lets me bring my car here, it’s my humble steed.
When I arrive at Magnolia Preschool, Kate’s car is already in its usual spot—right by the gate under the one tree that actually offers decent shade. I walk past it, heading toward the little gym the kids use for sports classes, half-expecting the place to be empty this early.
So I’m a little surprised to spot Kate already inside, crouched near a set of foam cones, organizing them by color–red, blue, green, yellow. She doesn’t notice me at first, and for some reason, I don’t announce myself right away.
She’s still in her usual dress, and her hair’s up in a ponytail—well, it probably started off neat, but as usual, a few curls have already escaped around her temples and neck.
“Don’t you have class until 4?” I check my watch to make sure I’m not the wrong one here. Sure enough, it’s only 3:00.
She startles just slightly before straightening up. She dusts her hands off on her dress and flashes me a crooked smile. “One of the teacher's aides covered for me,” she says. “It’s nap time anyway. I needed to step out before I lost my sanity. Those kids are feral today.”
She places hands on her hips and looks at me.
“Feral?” I repeat, raising a brow and walking toward her.
“Yeah,” she replies. “One student tried to bite someone else over a sticker.”
I raise an eyebrow, walking toward her. “So you’re telling me you left the kids to come organize cones?”
“Correct. Because if I stayed five more minutes, I might’ve also started biting people.”
I laugh, and she shakes her head but smiles too, letting herself relax.
Just then, the door to the gym opens. “Mike!” I whirl to see Tricia running over to us. “Oh, hi, Miss Kate!” she adds.
“Hi, Tricia,” Kate replies smoothly, flipping into professional mode with that warm, practiced teacher smile.
“Sorry, we’re late. We were still packing and Polly couldn’t find her favorite water bottle—well, it was actually in the fridge the whole time, but, you know—” She gestures vaguely like that explains the chaos of raising a six-year-old.
Then she turns back to me. “Anyway. Mike, here’s all of Polly’s stuff.
Snacks, change of clothes, pajamas, books, a stuffed dog named Waffles, and possibly half the contents of my kitchen. ”
She hands over the bag like she’s passing off a ticking bomb. I glance down at it, then at her.
“She eats dinner before seven, hates itchy socks, and sleeps with Frozen playing in the background. Got all that?”
I blink. “Sure.”
“So sorry to drop all this on you!” Tricia says. “But we really have to go. Bye, miss Kate!” She doesn’t wait for a response as she runs back outside.
“What was that?” Kate asks, staring at me and the backpack.
“Polly’s staying over for three days,” I say, trying—and failing—not to sound proud. Honestly? I’m kind of thrilled. I love Polly. She’s chaotic and stubborn and once tried to sell me a single crayon for fifty pesos.
Kate raises both brows. “You? Alone? With a tiny human? For three days?”
“She’s six, not a grenade.”
Kate snorts. “We’ll see.”
I spend more minutes helping Kate set up the cones, until she has to go back inside to prep the kids for Little Leagues. I stay behind just waiting for them.
When they return at exactly 4:15, Kate is now dressed in her usual athletic leggings and a loose shirt.
“COACH MIKE!” a group of tiny voices shrieks in unison, led—of course—by Polly.
“There’s your grenade, coach.” Kate winks.
I chuckle and blow my whistle. “Okay! Warm-ups! Come on, little athletes. Dribble.”
The kids scatter to their spots with varying degrees of focus. One is tying their shoes. Another is pretending the basketball is a spaceship. Polly is already executing her “signature move,” which involves a spin, a jump, and no actual dribbling.
Kate rallies half of the kids on the other side of the gym and helps them warm up too. But then one kid launches himself out of the group, then bumps into Polly, and they both fall on their butts and cry.
We lock eyes across the gym like co-commanders witnessing a mission go down in flames. And then—at the exact same time—we break into exhausted smiles. Not because it’s funny (okay, it’s a little funny), but because this is just normal for us now.