Chapter 4
By my family’s twisted logic, getting forced into dishwashing duty grants me solo-walking privileges. Ma stays back to close the bakery, Achi is probably stuck in traffic on the way to Marikina, and I have the condo all to myself.
This rare moment of peace means I have a small window for chilimansi pancit canton.
My sister does regular “deep cleans” of our kitchen and that means throwing out any chips, candy, soft drinks—basically, anything with flavor.
During Achi’s last birthday, Auntie Baby and Auntie Grace sent over a cake each and Achi immediately gave one away.
If my sister wins the lottery, she would be the only person in the world who’d turn down the jackpot and say, “No, thank you. We don’t want to have too much fun. ”
I can live without the cake, the chips, the soft drinks, but my sister’s vendetta against instant noodles? It’s downright deprivation.
For my pancit canton stash, I have to regularly switch the hiding place just so my sister doesn’t throw away my noodles. I climb on top of the stool to reach for the broken kettle stored in the highest cupboard.
Aha! Noodles secured and found.
I’ve memorized Achi’s sermon about how instant noodles have dangerous amounts of sodium and are bad for my heart, but you know what? Pancit canton is good for my soul. After a day like today, nothing sounds better than a hot serving of spicy, savory noodles.
As I wait for the water to boil, I hear footsteps approaching the front door.
Shit shit shit.
I quickly stuff the sauce packets and noodles in my pockets.
“Nika?” Ma enters the condo, carrying two paper bags. “Kumain ka na? Ordered some food for dinner.”
She pauses when she sees me by the kitchen counter. “Why is the pot out?”
My face remains stoic, my voice calm. “Just needed hot water.”
“… From the pot?”
“Yeah, my throat was feeling weird, so I needed hot water.” I pat my neck for emphasis. “Lots of hot water.”
Ma then stares me down. “Are you making pancit canton?”
I’m about to counter when she asks, “What flavor?”
“Uh … chilimansi.”
She places her takeout on the table and tells me to help unpack the containers. “Make sure you throw the wrapper outside so Jackie doesn’t see.”
A moment passes and she adds, “And make sure you have enough for two.”
Pancit canton, rice, fish, dumplings, and bok choy. It really is a perfect dinner—fit for fine dining if you ask me.
“Nika.” Ma scolds me when I stick my chopsticks in my bowl of rice to prepare the noodles. “Leaving your chopsticks like that is bad luck. They look like incense at a funeral.”
I’m about to ask Ma how in the world she goes from looking at chopsticks to thinking about funerals, but I decide to leave it be. If Achi’s really going to Florida, having meals together would be a permanent thing—just Ma and me.
So I remove the chopsticks from the rice, leave them next to the bowl, and serve my mother noodles.
“This is sinful,” Ma mutters as she stares at the pancit canton.
I grab the plate of bok choy and place some pieces on top of Ma’s bowl of noodles. “Look, the vegetables make it healthy. God should forgive you now.”
A slight smirk crosses her face. “I’m starting to question the quality of your Saint Agnes education.”
“Unhealthy noodles plus healthy vegetables means the vegetables cancel out the noodles,” I say, laying it out for her. “That’s great math.”
Ma shakes her head, laughing. She tells me to add more vegetables to my plate while she checks her phone that’s been buzzing nonstop with her work group chats.
If every day could be like our dinner tonight, I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. Look, Ma and I are capable of bonding, having dinner alone without things exploding. Maybe the next time Ma talks to her friends about me, she’ll rave about how fun I am instead of how I’m hard to deal with.
“Are you giving any of your teachers trouble?”
I shake my head, trying to focus on my noodles instead of taking Ma’s accusation too seriously.
Then she asks, “You’re passing all your classes?”
“Think so.”
“Does that mean yes or no?”
“It means I think so,” I repeat.
“So you’re not failing anything?”
“You never ask Achi these questions.”
“I used to ask her about school too,” Ma points out.
“No, you would ask her about what honor she got or what awards they were giving her.”
“Your sister gets lots of awards. Why wouldn’t I ask about them?”
I sigh and drop it. Maybe Ma doesn’t do it on purpose, but I’m not sure if it’s sadder her subconscious already expects the worst of me.
That’s when all hell breaks loose.
“You skipped chemistry period?”
“Mmm?” I respond, my mouth still busy chewing.
“I got an email from school about your attendance.”
Her chopsticks drop to the bowl when she scrolls through her phone. “Annika, you’ve missed nine classes this quarter?!”
I think about making a chemistry-related pun that the subject isn’t really in my element … but something tells me Ma isn’t in the mood.
“How do you expect to graduate if you miss that much school?” Ma demands. “During your sister’s graduation, she had to go onstage five times to accept all her awards. Don’t you want that too?”
“Not a big fan of stairs.”
I can practically see the smoke steaming above Ma’s face. Yeah, not a great time for jokes.
She pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. “I know you’ve been having a hard time adjusting to the situation…”
By situation, she means her getting engaged to my dentist.
“And I’ve tried to be more patient with you. I tried letting how you acted at the ting hun go, but this can’t go on forever.” She clasps her hands together. “I want you to get back on track. Apply yourself in school, graduate, and get to college.
“Niks, we need to move on.”
My body stiffens at Ma’s words.
“I’m not going to graduation.”
“It’s still early in the school year. Of course, you can still graduate. I’m going to talk to your teachers. You know what, I’m going to have Jackie talk to them—”
“No, I don’t want to.”
Ma pulls back at this. Her mouth opens and closes multiple times, like she has no idea where to start.
“I don’t feel like going,” I explain, filling the silence. “Lots of successful people don’t finish high school and I already saw Achi do it—”
“You don’t feel like going?” Ma repeats, her voice growing louder.
“Nika, you know how many things I do every day that I don’t feel like doing?
Do you think I feel like waking up at five in the morning or staying in the bakery until midnight?
Do you think I feel like constantly worrying about how I’m going to pay your tuition and then find out that you don’t even go to class? ”
My eyes stay firmly on the table when I feel the hard lump in my throat.
“I don’t, okay? But I still show up even when I don’t feel like it,” she says. “You wonder why I don’t trust you to be responsible yet? This is why.”
There are a million things I want to tell Ma. I want to tell her that I don’t mean to make her life harder, that I don’t mean to make her feel like I’m wasting all her hard work.
I want to tell her that the real reason I don’t want to go to graduation is because I always thought I’d have Pa there in the audience watching me.
But I have no idea how to let any of these words out without bursting into tears.
The two of us sit in silence until Ma dismisses me from the table. “You should get started on your homework.”
She waves me off when I try putting the dishes in the sink. “Ako na. I’ll handle it.”
Maybe it’s for the best. I’ll probably just make everything worse, like I always do.
Following Ma’s orders, I let her be and retreat to my bedroom.