Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
KIERAN
I sketch like I’ve never sketched before in my life.
I want to get it done in case she changes her mind, then chastise myself for thinking that.
I’m torn between the desire to lay her all out on the page, and wanting to make this moment last as long as possible.
Isabel is all warm tones—red with my desire, yellow for all her light.
There is a glow to her, as if she had her own solar system spinning around and around her, and I was just some schmuck of an asteroid pulled into her gravitational force.
By sunup, I’ve finished. She hugs the fabric and peers over my shoulder at the canvas.
“Oh, wow,” she breathes out. “I looked like that?”
Better. I tried my best to do her justice, but the real thing is unmatched.
“You should get some rest,” I tell her. I fully intend on finishing the first painting so I can dive right into this one.
“What about you?” she asks.
“I’m going to finish up around here and then follow.”
She places a hand on my shoulder and presses a kiss to my cheek. It startles me. My stomach does a kick flip, and I stiffen in my shorts.
“Can you step outside while I get changed?”
I nod, obliging her. She comes out of the studio moments later, fully dressed and looking sleepy. I’m buzzing with energy. I don’t know if I can even sleep after tonight.
“Good night,” she says to me, rubbing my arm. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe out.
“Make sure you get some rest.”
“I will.”
“You promise,” she says, already backing away from me.
“I promise.”
I watch her figure turn and disappear into the house. The image burns in my memory. Already my hands are itching to transfer it to the page.
My eyes are wide open. There’s plenty of scenes worth painting here—and she’s in all of them.
My dream changes when I go to bed that morning.
Isabel is on her side, wrapped in a blanket next to me, her shoulders bare.
She’s naked under the covers and I know it.
The sun rises behind her, swathing the room in its golden embrace.
I reach for her as she leans in for a kiss.
I wake up with a jolt before we make any contact, hand burning as if I’d felt the warmth of her skin against mine.
Cisco steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Playing footy today,” he says. “You coming?”
Isabel
I went to sleep with my heart hammering in my chest and wake to a similar feeling.
It’s another spa day, and this time Chiara tells me I’m not allowed to back out.
The boys have already left for football, so we pile into a smaller van, me wedged in the back between Chiara and Ravina while Natalia, Luz, and Erin chatter up front.
I startle when Ravina pinches the hem of my blouse between two fingers and rubs it. “Is this Anthropologie?”
I furrow my brows. “No.”
“Free People?”
I shake my head.
“It has to be Reformation,” Chiara chimes in.
I shake my head again.
“Ugh,” Ravina groans. “Don’t say it’s thrifted. Where is it from?”
“My mom made it,” I say. “She makes most of my clothes.” I can’t hide the hint of pride in my voice even if I tried.
“No shit?” Ravina says. “I love your outfits. She really made them?” She continues rubbing the hem of my blouse between her fingers. I try not to preen, but it’s so nice to hear Mama’s work appreciated. “This is linen?”
I nod.
Natalia’s head whips around. She scans me up and down. “Your mom made that?”
Why does she sound so accusatory? It’s such a strange thing to lie about. “Do you think she only makes ternos for Freshman Night?” It’s a risk to bring up, but the slight flush on Natalia’s face is admittedly rewarding.
“Oh my God, I remember that!” Luz exclaims. “Piss girl!”
I’m happy when Ravina pushes me to lean forward, grabbing the back of my collar to look for a tag. It distracts everyone from Luz’s comment.
“No tag,” Ravina announces.
“I thought for sure you thrifted it,” Chiara says.
“We don’t all dumpster dive for clothes, Chiara,” Natalia says in what I assume is a joke.
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Chiara deadpans.
“I guess Sugar would, though,” Natalia adds. Of the many things she’s said about me, this one is tamer, so I let it slide.
“You didn’t cut off the tag?” Luz asks.
“Why would I do that?”
Ravina fiddles with the fabric, then lets me go. “No stitches there. No evidence there ever was a tag.”
“That would’ve been super mega lame of you to lie about anyway,” Erin says.
“Does she take commissions?” Ravina asks me, eyes wide with hope and wonder.
“I—I can ask.”
“We’ll pay, of course,” Luz adds.
“Luz!” Natalia chastises.
I see an opportunity to deepen my friendship with the girls, so I take it. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure my mom will be happy to make you guys stuff. Maybe just pick out your own fabric?”
The girls are already scrolling Pinterest on their phones, looking for inspiration.
I make a mental note to beg my mom on the phone later.
If I have to leave Exeter Park to help her make the clothes, I’ll do it.
I’ll pay for the other materials, cover the electricity bill with my savings so she doesn’t have to worry about energy consumption with her sewing machine.
“Natalia?” I prompt. I’m not going to hump her leg, but I’m not going to stoop to her level and exclude her either. “Do you also want something made?”
She turns her back to me. “I’ll think about it.”
“We can go to a fabric warehouse after the spa? My mom likes the one near Eastwood. They have a lot of options.” Actually, Mama prefers those open-air markets on side streets, but I know Natalia would never be caught dead there.
Phones start buzzing in the car.
“Wait, wait, make a new group chat,” Erin says. “Add Isabel so she can help us pick from options.”
Ravina hands me her phone. “Put your number,” she says.
I can’t help it. I feel like I’ve just won the lottery.
* * *
Manila traffic is insane as usual. The drive to the fabric warehouse would take only fifteen minutes on a good day, but today it takes us over an hour.
In that time, the girls tire themselves out gossiping, planning their Pilates schedule, singing to the radio, and then going quiet when they’re drained of all energy.
All that rest and relaxation from the spa is now long gone.
I’m relieved when we get there. Standing by the shop entrance, I watch as Natalia orders the sales associates to carry rolls of fabric to the counter. I try not to laugh. ‘Excessively’ seems to be the only way she knows how to do things.
Mama is delighted when I ask for her help.
“Are you kidding me? Of course! Do you need me to meet you there? I can take the girls’ measurements so we know how much fabric we’ll need for everyone.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I say. “Natalia’s buying full rolls.”
“Full rolls?” Mama gasps. “That’s too much! It’s not going to fit here.”
“Well, then maybe we can—” I stop myself from even thinking about inviting the girls to our townhouse.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of it; I just don’t want to give them any more fodder to make fun of me.
“Maybe we can meet you at a restaurant. You take their measurements, take as much of the fabric as you need, then Natalia can arrange to have the extra fabric picked up?”
Mama hums. “Okay, I think that works.”
“I’ll send you the designs they want,” I say. “But Ravina wants you to surprise her. She says she wants you to make her something that you think would suit her.”
“Okay, anak,” Mama says. “Tell me where to meet you and when.”
“Okay, Mama. Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We hang up and I go over to Natalia to sort out our plan. She walks down the aisle inspecting the fabric with her back turned to me. She says, “Just tell her to come over. She can arrange it with Shirley.”
“Are you sure?” I was certain she wouldn’t want my mom anywhere near her home after everything she’d said about her. I can’t tell if I’m relieved that it isn’t true and that she’s open to my mom making something for her, or frustrated that she’s so shameless about it.
“It’s easier for everyone.” She pulls on white lace and holds it against her lap. “What do you think?” she asks.
She’s asking for my opinion? “What do I—I think it looks good.”
“Right?” Natalia beckons a sales associate over. “I’m thinking a see-through skirt to wear over my bikini. I’d make it myself, but I’ve just been so burned-out these days.”
How can anyone who never works ever feel burned-out? “I didn’t know you made clothes,” I say, watching as the sales associate carries the whole roll to the counter. I have no idea how it’s going to fit in the car; knowing Natalia, she’ll probably have a truck come over to take it home.
Natalia scoffs at me. “I went to Parsons, Sugar.”
“Right.” Like I was supposed to know that. I guess for someone who posts so much of their life on the internet, she just assumes everybody does know every little thing about her.
I text Shirley my mom’s number as the cashier rings up several rolls of fabric: Natalia’s lace, white linen, dusty pink silk, black and white polka dots. Mama sends me an excited text, telling me she’s getting ready to come over.
On the car ride home, I learn more about each girl.
Ravina studied drama but dropped out at the beginning of her sophomore year to pursue a career in lifestyle influencing.
Erin studied music production and has several songs under her belt; I’m told her dad is something of a big deal in the music industry, and that she intends to follow in his footsteps.
They’re marketing her as an indie darling, and Natalia playfully calls her an industry plant.
Luz studied Art History and took an internship at the MET, though her parents insist on her returning to the Philippines for good to work for the family business.
Chiara was a Public Health major who’s taking an extended gap year (now on her second year) before applying for med school.
It fascinates me, how they’re all so different but the same in their own little ways.
I’ve never been part of a friend group; it’s always just been Rocío and I, Joaqs notwithstanding.
Sometimes we were with Inigo but not always, so I’ve always wondered how such group dynamics could work.
I still don’t know how they do it, what exactly keeps them bonded beyond shopping, drugs, and—well—poking fun at people, but now I can sense there’s a lot of love there. Or if not love, then at least fondness.
Shirley leads us into the study where she directs the maids to set the rolls of fabric off to one side.
Floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves line the wall, and a large executive desk sits in the center of the room.
A framed portrait of an Aranaz ancestor hangs on the wall behind it.
Under the window is a large gray ottoman where Ravina drops with a sigh.
“Shirley, please bring my kit in,” Natalia orders. Turning to me, she adds, “Your mom should find everything she needs there. Scissors, needles, etcetera.”
Half an hour later, Shirley ushers my mom through the door. All my exhaustion is swept away the minute she pulls me into her arms.
“Mama!”
She kisses my temple. I pull away to introduce her to the girls. “Mama, this is Natalia. That’s Luz, Erin, Chiara, and Ravina.”
“Hi, girls,” she greets. Natalia approaches to press her cheek against Mama’s, and the rest of the girls follow suit.
“Thanks so much for doing this,” Luz says. “We’d really like to pay—”
Mama waves her off. “Please, it’s really my pleasure. It’s the least I could do after you guys have taken care of my Isabel all summer.”
Natalia’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. I wonder if this feels as strange for her as it does for me.
“Okay,” Mama says, taking her tape measure out of her bag. “Who wants to go first?”
* * *
Mama leaves a couple hours later, having taken everyone’s measurements, sketched out approved designs, and cut up the necessary fabric.
Shirley gives her a giant grocery bag to store the fabric in, and Natalia orders the driver to take Mama home so she doesn’t have to commute.
It’s such a small act of kindness, but I’m beyond grateful for it, even more than when she bought me a Prada dress.
“God, your mom is so cool,” Ravina gushes as we file out of the study and upstairs to change for dinner. The concept is new to me: changing clothes just to eat, but to the rest of them, it’s normal; the reverse is what sounds absurd. If I lived like this, our laundry bills would be sky high.
“You’re pretty close, aren’t you?” Erin asks.
“Yeah, we are,” I say proudly. “It’s always just been me and her, so.”
“Was she a model?” Ravina chimes back in.
“I don’t think so,” I answer.
“When did she say she’ll have my skirt ready?
” Natalia asks. She’d commissioned several pieces from Mama, including a linen blouse and a silk slip dress.
Mama promised her she would work on the skirt first, so Natalia can wear it to her family’s private island off the coast of Luzon later this week.
Yeah. Where most people own vacation homes, the Aranazes have a whole private island. Imagine the kind of power having that much money gives you. It’s unfathomable.
“By the end of this week,” I say.
“We leave for Oikos on Sunday.” Natalia glances over her shoulder at me. “It’ll be ready before then, right?”
Mama never breaks her promises. “I’ll make sure of it,” I tell her.
Ravina clamps my hand in hers and squeals. “I’m so excited! Everyone’s going to be so jealous when I post it online. I already know all the comments are going to ask me where it’s from—”
”—And you get to say, sorry, it’s custom!” Luz finishes off with a laugh.
It’s unsettling to want that, but I smile anyway. I’ve made progress. This is a breakthrough, and I know it.