Goodbye and Everything After

Chapter 1

I’m wearing black to my mom’s engagement ceremony because I’m mourning my mother’s lost potential.

This is a statement, a protest if you will.

For the past month, our world has revolved around the Lilibeth and Derrick ting hun. The soundtrack of our lives has been my mom’s and sister’s calls to people about jewelry, medallions, the perfect noodle recipe.

Ever since Auntie Baby told Ma that women enter the ceremony walking backward to fend off negativity, I’d catch Ma practicing in the kitchen. My mom is already the most superstitious person I know—it’s no surprise that she’d feng shui the shit out of her engagement.

All this fuss for a guy who talks to the moon.

No joke. I once caught Dr. Derrick outside our condo having a full-blown conversation with the sky. I rushed inside to tell Ma, naturally thinking this would be a clear sign that she should stay away from this man, but all she said was, “Derrick is very spiritual.”

Ma has always been superstitious, but at least her beliefs are always grounded by some sense and culture. With Dr. Derrick’s influence, Ma adopted his woo-woo stuff—rambling about the phases of the moon and wearing all the random jade jewelry that Dr. Derrick gets from Ongpin.

I wouldn’t be surprised if they plan on getting the moon to officiate their wedding.

Since Dr. Derrick is his family’s precious only son, his mom insists on the whole traditional Chinese Filipino engagement.

Which, honestly, I don’t get why Ma has to go through since she’s already been married.

Every time I bring that up with my sister, Jackie, she sighs at me like I’m a little kid and says, “That’s beside the point, Nika. ”

So, I played the role of good daughter and let go of all my very valid points during the whole engagement prep. My sister has outlined the ting hun program for me an ungodly number of times.

Step one: Dr. Derrick enters with his family. I, the dutiful daughter, guide them to their seats like they’re toddlers who aren’t familiar with the concept of sitting down yet.

Step two: My sister and I are supposed to serve Dr. Derrick’s family orange juice and candy for god knows what reason. Probably some Chinese Filipino tradition that says higher sugar levels mean higher happiness.

Step three: My mom finally graces us with her presence as Auntie Baby escorts her to the living room, walking backward for good luck (unclear if this is luckier than juice and candy).

Step four: Ma comes face-to-face with Dr. Derrick, where they exchange gifts, rings, and have a tea ceremony—practically sealing her fate with the dentist till death do them part.

“Oh, Nika! Hello!” Dr. Derrick stumbles into the apartment carrying a giant bouquet of flowers when I open the door.

No surprise that the man shows up to his engagement wearing his same striped purple tie that I’ve seen in every dentist appointment.

If he really were a medical expert, he would have observed by now that a striped purple tie clashes with everything—even his dental scrubs.

He wastes more of my time with another attempt at small talk. “What an … interesting dress. They do say that black jade stones can ward off negative energies.”

Too bad it’s not enough to ward off his negative energy.

While staring at the floor, I gesture to where Dr. Derrick is supposed to go. Achi told me I had to guide Dr. Derrick, she didn’t say I had to make eye contact with him.

For the record, I’ve been civil to Dr. Derrick.

This was the same dentist who suggested I get braces back in seventh grade, and I was mature enough to not hold that against him.

When Ma canceled my dental cleaning after we lost Pa, Dr. Derrick sent over a care package with condolences.

Ma immediately prepared to send him her own care package as a thank-you.

I wish I would’ve stopped their care-package flirting right then and there.

Just like a dentist-size toxic mold wearing a striped purple tie, Dr. Derrick continued to seep into our lives.

He started popping up during family dinners, Sunday Mass.

One time, Ma and Achi were stuck at work when I needed a guardian to sign my report card.

Ma had the audacity to suggest I get Dr. Derrick’s signature.

Naturally, I forged her signature instead.

Ma didn’t need to tell me they were dating—that report card defined their relationship for me.

And maybe I could’ve lived with that. If Dr. Derrick kept intruding into our lives, I could try to make an effort to hold my tongue, semi-acknowledge his presence when I was in a good mood. But Dr. Derrick ruined all chances of peace when he proposed to my mother.

Achi started calling him Uncle Derrick, but he’s firmly Dr. Derrick to me.

Scratch that. From this day forward, I refuse to patronize any of his teeth-cleaning services.

I stand by my belief that it’s a huge red flag that a dentist would romantically pursue any of his patients, especially his patients’ parents.

Like, whenever he was cleaning my molars and filling my cavities, was he thinking, Ooh, I’d love to shove my tongue down her mom’s molars one day.

Seeing how Ma went through all this trouble to celebrate being engaged to the dentist? This definitely warrants a day of mourning.

Meanwhile, my sister has decided to become the clear front-runner for ting hun MVP.

The rest of the Go family starts filing into the living room, and Achi is playing the role of perfect hostess.

Every time she bows at one of Dr. Derrick’s relatives, I sneak a piece from the giant candy box.

Achi doesn’t even bat an eye when his family keeps calling her Jacqueline (which I know she hates) instead of Jackie.

I had to do a double take when she arrived in a dress, heels, and lipstick.

My sister has always been naturally beautiful but refuses to do anything to accentuate her beauty.

Like, a few years ago, someone stopped us at the mall and asked Achi if she wanted to compete in a beauty pageant to be the next Ms. Chinatown.

She refused to do Ms. Chinatown, but this she was willing to get made-up for.

“Nika,” she scolds when she catches me sneaking another piece of candy.

I gasp and cover my mouth. “This is bad luck too?”

She snatches the candy box from me and slams it shut. “Don’t you think dressing like that is enough?”

“I wanted to wear my nicest dress,” I say, pretending like we didn’t already have a five-hour long argument about my outfit this morning.

When one turns eighteen, some say that marks a girl turning into a woman.

When Achi turned eighteen, she switched from human to robot.

Five years later, she still only cares about following Ma’s rules, being on our “best behavior,” and showing society that the Ilagan women are doing A-OK.

Of course, she can’t resist lecturing me about my “impulsive tendencies.”

“Nika, when you put on that dress this morning, did you stop and think about the consequences of your actions?”

Of course I did. The consequences were my main motivation for executing said action. Contrary to her opinion, I’m fine with other people thinking, Nika’s being the bitchy sister again. At least I’m the bitchy sister who looks good.

Mourning purposes aside, it’s also very satisfying that black is my color. In her bright red dress with gold circles all over it, Achi looks like a walking red envelope.

Achi skims Ma’s notebook of superstitions one more time.

Ever since she took over ting hun planning, Ma’s “book of superstitions” became her bible.

“When you serve juice to Uncle Derrick’s relatives, remember you’re supposed to say, Tshia dimmmmmm.

” Achi enunciates the words as if she hasn’t been telling me how to say “Please drink” in Hokkien every single waking moment of the past month.

“How come you never teach me how to say bad words in Hokkien?”

Achi grumbles and tells me to let her handle the talking. She goes back to studying Ma’s notebook again and blocks my view when I try peeking. “The notebook is reserved for the planning committee.”

“There are four people planning this ting hun, so we’re all on the planning committee.” I try grabbing Ma’s notebook and she dangles it above her head so I can’t reach. Ugh. I hate it when she uses my height against me.

When Dr. Derrick mentioned that his family wanted to hire a ting hun coordinator to plan the engagement ceremony, my type A sister couldn’t resist volunteering for the job. For the record, no one asked her—and no one asked me if I was okay with getting grouped into “committees” with my aunties.

Auntie Grace and Auntie Baby have been friends with Ma since high school, and they grew even closer when they all had babies at the same time.

They joke that they were always fated to find one another since all their names started with Marie: Marie Beth, Marie Grace, and Marie Francesca (side note: People call Auntie Baby “Baby” because she’s the youngest in her family, not because it’s short for Francesca).

Together, they call their friend group the Marie-tres.

They’re not only Ma’s best friends, they’re Ma’s number one enablers.

The reason why it took forever to schedule this ting hun is because Auntie Baby kept finding new ways why every single date of the year was bad luck.

When Ma told her Marie-tres that she wanted to get engaged on a “lucky” date, Auntie Baby went on and consulted all the feng shui experts around the country.

The only date that Auntie Baby’s several sources agreed on was August 8, 2088 (I was fine with putting off this whole wedding idea for another few decades, but of course, my sister had to butt in and ruin the fun).

I love my aunties. Ma doesn’t have any sisters, so Auntie Baby and Auntie Grace have always filled that void. Auntie Grace’s daughter, Kayla, even became my best friend.

It’s Auntie Baby’s son who I could use less of.