CHAPTER THIRTY
Michael
Little League is cancelled for the week, and we only have the final game next Friday to worry about.
So I agree to go with Kate and her family to Tagaytay.
This is probably a terrible idea. But after a two-hour car ride packed with seven humans, two coolers, one karaoke mic (yes, inside the van), and enough snack bags to fuel a basketball team through a double-overtime game, I surprise myself by… not regretting it.
As we wind up the last stretch of highway, the air changes to something cooler.
Tagaytay in December is something else. The wind slips through open windows, the sky is wide, and everything smells faintly of pine trees.
Down below, Taal Lake glints in the early morning sun, and I feel my shoulders relax at the calmness of it all.
We file out of the van, and everyone stretches their legs. They gave me the privilege of sitting in front for maximum leg room. As I watch everyone marvel at the guest house we’re staying at, I can’t help but think.
If I grew up in a house like this—with chaos and cousins and casserole dishes that never match—would I still have ended up in basketball? Or would I be doing something else? Maybe I’d still play. I don’t know. I’ve never really given it much thought.
I glance at Kate, who’s laughing at something Haley whispered, and then I forget how to look away.
She’s wearing white shorts and a breezy blue top.
I expected her to wear her floral dresses, but somehow this makes her look prettier than usual.
I never noticed how evenly tan her skin is.
Her hair is not in a bun today, it’s just flowing down her back.
I should stop gawking.
Instinctively, I approach her, at the same time Haley’s called away by someone else.
She looks up at me, already asking with her eyes. I say, “No floral dresses today?”
She chuckles. “In this breeze? Never.” She groans. “But I can’t help but feel weird. Maybe I should’ve worn a dress.”
“Uh… Why?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Because,” she says, flustered now. “I have … collarbones. This top has too much collarbone. I feel like I’m trying too hard to be someone else.”
“You do realize your collarbones have always been there, right?” I say, as I stare at her neck like a creep.
She glares at me, then sighs and presses her hands against her cheeks. “Ugh. Sorry. I’m being weird.”
“You’re not,” I say. Before I stare at her even longer, I help her carry her bag.
“As your charisma coach, I’d say you should mix it up sometimes.
” She rolls her eyes as we walk side by side up the stone pathway toward the guest house.
The house itself is… nice. Bigger than I expected.
Pale yellow with green trim, a wide porch, and sliding glass doors that open into a cozy living area full of chatter, slippers, and relatives already staking out territory.
As we approach the doors, I continue, “For the record, I think you look great. In this or in one of your dresses.” She looks at me with narrow eyes. “Not that it matters what I think, of course,” I say.
I set the bags down just inside the foyer, where cousins are sprawled on the couch watching TV, toddlers are chasing each other with biscuits, and someone’s tita is already unpacking containers onto the kitchen counter.
I’ve been assigned to a room with their older cousin, who’s thankfully not a big fan of basketball, so he keeps mostly to himself.
I carry her bag the rest of the way down the hall, past an open door where someone is tuning a guitar and a little girl is brushing a stuffed bear’s hair. When we reach her room, I set the bag just inside and step back.
She lingers at the door. “Thanks for… you know. Helping.”
“Anytime,” I say.
I stand there until Kate turns her back.
I make my way back to the living area, where her cousin waves me over to show me where our room is.
As I trail behind him, I glance back—just once—to see Kate standing by the mirror, adjusting her hair and laughing at something Haley and her cousins are saying.
She catches my eye in the reflection and rolls her eyes at me as if to tell me I’m being weird.
And maybe I am.
Because I’m here. In Tagaytay. With her.
And I don’t regret it one bit.
Something is definitely wrong with me today. I should be thinking about my next game or the mess with my sponsors and my image. Anything else, really. But all I want is to recklessly ask her to hang out with me without the crowd later.
But I know better, of course. Especially when it comes to Kate. Boundaries with her aren’t as simple as lines that you eventually blur, they’re fences and walls that you carefully climb until you’re given permission to see the other side.
I know that if I push anything, I’ll ruin this beautiful day we’ve been having so far.
The rest of the day flows naturally. It’s a chill day, and everyone is just grilling, singing, and playing games. Some are huddled in smaller groups, and I just float my way into all of them. Wherever I’m welcome.
All day, I keep waiting for a moment when Kate’s alone so I can walk over, make some dumb comment about how the cold air is turning her cheeks pink.
But it never comes. She’s always surrounded: someone’s kid tugging on her sleeve, Lola holding her hand mid-story, a cousin pulling her toward another table.
She’s moving constantly. Nodding, smiling, laughing when she needs to.
And I can’t help wondering if she’s actually okay with all that.
I’m currently with Kate’s lolo, sitting on the wooden bench just outside the house, plates balanced on our laps, the muffled sound of karaoke leaking out from the windows. The air is cool in that Tagaytay way—damp and pine-scented.
Her lolo is very old. Nineties, maybe. Skin like paper but eyes that still catch everything.
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” he says, chewing slowly. “She’s my kindest grandchild.”
I smile, not even bothering to deny it. Anyone with eyes could tell I’ve been staring at her. “Yeah. She is.”
“I’ve always told her,” he continues, “not to be too kind. She will be taken for granted. She will get hurt. And maybe that’s why she never had someone to introduce to us. Always so guarded, our Katherine. It’s only in our little gatherings that she lets it all down.”
He pats my knee with a hand that feels lighter than it should. “But here you are.”
I blink. “Here I am,” I echo.
“I don’t care if you’re a national athlete,” he says matter-of-factly. “Or the president of the country. All I care about is how our Kate is treated. She’s too nice to notice anything bad for her.”
I don’t respond right away. I just look toward the house.
Through the window, Kate is mid-laugh, her head tipped back. She’s glowing. From the fairy lights above her, or the warmth of the room, or just who she is, I don’t know.
Lolo’s right. She doesn’t look guarded at all.
But the longer I watch her—the practiced smile, the way she leans in and listens, the way she gives everyone exactly what they need from her—the more I start to wonder if this is the guard. The cheerfulness. The kindness.
The softness.
And then my mind flips through every moment she’s been mean to me. All the eye rolls, the muttered insults, the way she teases me like it’s instinct. Those tiny flashes where her voice sharpens, where the sweetness cracks and something real slips out.
Those are the only moments I’ve seen her actually unguarded.
And somehow, I’m glad I’m the one who gets to see it.
When the night dials down, everyone settles down in their respective rooms, but I stay outside.
I’m wearing a hoodie over my shirt, because Tagaytay at night is oddly cold.
I can see the Taal volcano and the lake from here, but it’s dark, and I can only make out silhouettes.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring into the blank space, like I always do when I’m left alone.
I wonder where I’d be right now if I hadn’t pushed that ref? Would I have met Kate? Probably. I would’ve seen her when I visited Polly. But that would be it. I probably wouldn’t know her well enough to know she bakes good cookies and has a cat named Siopao because her mind is weirdly beautiful.
I chuckle to myself as I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and see Kate, her hair ruffled like she tossed and turned in bed but couldn’t sleep. Her glasses are foggy from the cool air.
She stops short when she sees me.
“Oh,” she says. “You’re here.”
I raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Technically, so are you.”
“Right,” she says. “I—uh—I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d get some air.” She’s wearing matching pink pajamas printed with teddy bears, and a giant cardigan that she puts over herself.
“Plenty of air for everyone,” I say.
She walks slowly and stands beside me, overlooking the darkness too. I glance at her, at the moonlight reflecting on her face, at the way her silhouette makes her look more serious than she seems.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” she says after a moment, looking up at me.
“To the trip?”
She nods. “I thought you were just being nice. Saying yes to say yes. You know… to be polite. But… thank you. I didn’t know how much I needed company until you showed up.”
I put my hands in the pocket of my hoodie. “You have a lot of company,” I say. “A full van’s worth. You were barely with me today.”
“Yeah, but I’m always the company. The helper. The one who fetches the ice, chops the fruit, answers the questions, holds the baby. I love them. But sometimes I feel like I’m just floating through the day ticking off tasks.” She pauses.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” I remind her.
She stays still for a while, until she mumbles and sighs. “I know.”
“So tell me,” I say, facing her. “What would you have done today if you weren’t ticking off tasks?”
She thinks for a moment, then says, “I don’t know. I never really thought about it…”
“Well, think about it,” I say.
She chuckles. “Um,” she starts. “The realistic thing to do would be to curl up somewhere and read my book. I’m almost at the juicy part.”
“Yes, your romantic smut, I know,” I say as she laughs. “But I’m not asking for realistic, remember? I’m asking for what you want.”
She shifts and crosses her arms. “That’s harder. I don’t usually ask myself that.”
“Okay, but pretend you’re the main character in your book for a second. What would she do?”
She laughs. “She’d probably storm off to a beach somewhere, dramatic and barefoot, with the wind in her hair and some beautiful stranger falling in love with her from across the shoreline.”
She pauses for a while and looks up at me. “Sorry, hopeless romantic, remember?”
I smile. “That’s perfect. Let’s go.”
“Where? Beaches are, like, two cities away,” she says.
“Then we find the next best thing,” I say.
She stares at me, unsure. “We’re just gonna… go?”
“Yep.”
She hesitates. I can see it in the way her fingers tighten around the edge of her sweater, the way her mouth opens and closes like she’s about to make an excuse but can’t find one.
Then, without a word, she suddenly turns and jogs back into the house. For a few moments, I wonder if she just ran away and left me, but then I hear the quick shuffle of feet, then she reappears a minute later, holding a set of keys.
“Haley wouldn’t mind,” she says, trying to sound casual.
“You mean Haley wouldn’t know?”
“Yes,” she says. “She would definitely mind.”
We both laugh as she tosses me the keys. “Great,” I say, “Let’s go find your barefoot beach moment, Katie.”
“Or the next best thing,” she adds as we locate Haley’s car and she slips into the passenger seat. I look at her, her face happier than it was ten minutes ago.
And I stare at my reflection as I adjust the rear-view mirror. I’m happier too. Because I came here not expecting anything. Definitely not this. But somehow, the next best thing is starting to feel suspiciously like the first best one.