CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Michael
Iguess it’s only a matter of time before I have to confront this. The life I put a pause to.
My phone’s been vibrating nonstop for the past five minutes, lighting up the screen like a siren. A group video call. Of course.
I sigh and finally accept it.
“Finally,” Chris and Vince say. They’re my best friends in the team. We were in the same leagues back in college, and we’ve been inseparable since. We don’t usually do calls like this, though.
“Sorry, sorry,” I say. “I’ve been doing some R&R.”
“Community service, we know.” Vince chuckles. “But where?”
I pause. “I can’t tell you, Heather will kill me. But it’s a small town near Manila.”
“Okay…” Chris says slowly. “We’re not the type to pry. So if you need space, man, we respect that. But just tell us straight—how are you? You’ve been MIA for a whole month. No updates. No group chats. Just that one Instagram story where we caught a sliver of curly hair.”
I glance down and shrug. “I’m good. Better than I’ve been in a while, honestly.”
Chris narrows his eyes. “And?”
I frown. “And… what?”
“The curly-haired girl,” Vince says, smug now. “You posted a story. You never post stories unless it’s team content or ad deals. Is she one of the models from the last victory party?”
Chris perks up. “Or that coffee cart girl at the gym? The one who kept writing her number in latte foam? She likes you.”
“Everyone does,” Vince mutters, mock-exasperated.
“She’s…” I pause, caught somewhere between fact and hesitation. “She’s a neighbor. And a friend.”
“A friend,” Chris repeats slowly, like it’s a word he’s never heard before.
“Dude,” Vince sighs. “You don’t even say ‘just a friend’ like that unless you’re already halfway to not just friends.”
They’re not wrong.
But I can’t explain it—not even to myself yet. Not when it’s this soft, almost-invisible thread.
“She’s just… nice to talk to,” I say. “It’s different here.”
Vince and Chris stare at the screen with the expression of people who know they’re being lied to. But I’m not lying. I don’t like her, I just like talking to her. And spending time with her.
After a few seconds, Vince says, “Whatever, man. You can hangout with whoever you want.”
Chris snorts. “But we are gathering the team next week. Not official training yet, just our usual mid-season prep. SEA Games are in what, seven months? You coming?”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll try.”
When the call ends, I think to myself. I’ve always moved on instinct—train, play, win, repeat. It’s been my whole identity for a decade. But now, I kind of want to just stay still.
I get up and get ready for the day.
Polly went home last night after one last dramatic retelling of her “pillow battle championship” and a very serious goodbye hug.
We’d had a more structured Sunday, something I felt borderline proud of.
No ice cream after lunch. Only one episode of cartoons.
A single serving of popcorn during The Lion King.
We watched it at Lily’s. On Sundays, they roll out the old projector and let the neighborhood kids pile in with bean bags and hot chocolate.
Despite it being a kids thing, Bon and Ryan were there.
Apparently Ryan likes the movie. I can never tell with that guy.
He’s so… closed off, it’s scary sometimes.
Kate wasn’t there though. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen yesterday. I didn’t want to bother her anymore, so I only looked for her outside. She never went out.
But I hope to see her today. No, not hope. Just… expect. I expect to see her today.
When I get out of the house, ready to ride with Kate to go to the preschool, she’s not there. Her car is, but she’s not. I go back inside my house and wait for her through the window. Maybe she’s running late.
I watch as Haley gets out with her coffee in hand and sunglasses too big. She drives off with a loud screech. I watch as their mom walks outside and hops on a tricycle. Kate is still not out. Did she already leave? Did she take the tricycle? Did she oversleep? Or… did I do something?
I probably shouldn’t do this. I walk to my back door in long strides and down the steps to my backyard.
I probably shouldn’t do this. I approach our shared gate and hesitate as I hold the handle. I’m not going to trespass into her home when there’s a very real possibility that she isn’t even there.
I probably shouldn’t do this. I knock on her back door.
I take a breath, crack the door open, and step inside. “Kate?” I call. “Hey, I’m not breaking in, okay? Just… checking.”
No response.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. I probably shouldn’t do this.
I let myself inside, through their kitchen and into the living room. Still no sign of her. I climb the stairs and find a door slightly ajar. When I peek inside, I see a lump under the blanket, barely moving.
“Kate?” I say again, more cautious this time.
A groggy voice floats out: “You can’t see me like this.”
I exhale in relief and step closer. There’s a trash bin next to her bed and a half-eaten banana on her nightstand. I gently lift the blanket and see a mess of curly hair covering her face.
“Go away,” she says.
“What happened?” I ask, taking strands of her hair out of her face so I can see her. She’s pale.
“I think…” she groans, “I think I got food poisoned by an experimental tofu empanada.”
I blink. “That’s… specific.”
“It was in the fridge too long. And I was hungry.”
I just stare at her, still in her pajamas. I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s hard when she’s pouting like that.
I scan her room, and somehow I feel honored to be here.
The walls are a muted purple, covered with mismatched photo frames—kids from her class grinning toothlessly, Polaroids with her friends, a blurry shot of fireworks from New Year’s.
Shelves are mounted on the wall, uneven: romance novels stacked sideways, children’s picture books crammed between them, a half-burnt vanilla candle balanced on top.
There’s a string of fairy lights hanging crookedly over the window, half the bulbs burnt out, and next to it, a corkboard cluttered with pastel sticky notes and to-do lists written in loopy handwriting.
And then, there’s a shelf full of tiny teddy bears.
She peeks out from under the blanket. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
“I would never,” I say, sitting gently at the edge of the bed. “How bad is it?”
She closes her eyes. “I’ve emptied that bin three times over the course of the evening. Haley suggested I go to the hospital, but Ryan said I just needed to hydrate and pack up on vitamins.” Ryan really is the neighborhood doctor.
“Is that why I couldn’t find you at all yesterday?”
She narrows her eyes and props her elbows so she can sit up. “Why were you looking for me?”
I blink, unsure of how to answer that. “I, uh, I wasn’t,” I say. “It was Polly.”
“Okay…” she says. “Well, tell Polly I couldn’t fulfill my princess duties because I was betrayed by soy.” She sits up, groaning, as she ties her hair into a bun. She’s still in her pajamas. A matching set with cupcake prints.
“You want me to tell a six-year-old you got taken down by tofu?”
“Maybe say it was poison. Like a fairytale curse for the princess. Less embarrassing.”
I smile, and without thinking, reach for the sports drink, cracking it open. “Here you go, Princess. Sip. Slowly.”
She accepts it, her yellow-painted fingernails wrapping around the bottle, and our fingers brushing for a second. “Thanks,” she says, quieter now.
“Your family left you alone?” I ask, clearing her bedside table.
“Haley wanted to stay, but I told her she couldn’t stop her rehearsals. My mother went out to get some medicine, but I suspect she’s going to be distracted by someone along the way.”
“Do you need anything else?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine. Ryan said not to eat anything oily. So I’m stuck with my crackers and fruits.” She gestured to her nightstand.
Before I can respond, something orange and white blurs past the doorway and launches itself at me. I flinch, knocking into the side of her desk with a dull thud.
“Oh! That’s Siopao—my cat.”
I stare at the offender now rubbing against my leg like he didn’t just try to assassinate me. “Siopao? That’s what you named him?”
She shrugs, amused. “It’s not cruel. It’s a reminder that I rescued him from getting turned into street food.”
I squint at her. “You’re aware that’s the exact rumor, right?”
She grins. “Exactly.”
There’s a brief beat, and I glance back at the water bottle on her table. “Do you need more water? Energy drink? Electrolytes? I have tons.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.” She chuckles. “But no, I’m fine.”
“Do you need…” I hesitate. “Company?”
Her eyes flicker up, surprised. For a moment, she doesn’t answer. Then she adjusts her blanket and leans back against the pillows like she’s too tired to think too hard about it.
Siopao hops up to the desk, and I start scratching his head. We’re friends now.
“I won’t be very entertaining,” she says.
“But I will,” I say with a smile.
She smiles faintly, then scoots to the other side of the bed, and pats the space beside her.
And I sit. Not too close that our shoulders are brushing, but close enough that I can feel her looking at me.
The room is quiet. The fan hums in the corner. Somewhere outside, someone in the street is shouting the usual morning snacks. Siopao purrs, but then decides to sit near the window and take a nap.
Kate exhales slowly. “This is weird.”
I look at her. “Good weird?”
She closes her eyes. “Undecided.”
Fair enough. But she’s not asking me to leave. And I don’t want to.