Epilogue
EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
“So, you going to be working here permanently, sis?” I ask Eva, watching her make turon. She takes thinly cut slices of saba—or what we like to call “baby”—bananas, dips them into brown sugar, and places them into a spring roll wrapper with thin ribbons of canned langka, or jackfruit, still glistening from their sweet syrup.
“I keep trying to hire her. But she keeps saying no,” Paolo says. “Eva, you have what it takes to be a professional cook.”
“Aww. Thanks, Paolo. I’m okay to just pop in every now and then and learn a few things from you. The real master chef.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But thank you, regardless,” Paolo says. “Hey, don’t forget to add my little secret ingredient.”
“Oh, right!” Eva says, pulling a bowl of chopped candied ginger closer to her. She sprinkles bits of it on top of the filling before rolling everything up and placing it on the sheet pan next to Paolo at the stove. The air crackles with the sound of him dropping each one into oil and turning them to cook equally on both sides. When they’re golden brown, he dunks them into a pan of freshly prepared caramel and sets them on a serving platter.
I reach out to take one, but Paolo points at me with his kitchen tongs. “Not yet! They’re too hot. And watch your scarf.”
“Oops, thank you,” I say, sweeping back my colorful jacquard pashmina wrap. I’d tied it into a festive ascot, but it had come loose and was dangling dangerously close to the hot oil. “I wouldn’t want to suddenly go up in flames.”
“Not any more than you usually do, at least,” Paolo says.
I give him a dramatic, outraged look. He laughs and gives me a quick kiss, leaving a trace of the caramel he’s been tasting on my lips.
In the past few months, I’ve welcomed back my childhood flair for over-the-top clothing, jettisoning my old, boring wardrobe and buying new pieces. I’ve added back silk shirts, sheer textiles, scarves—as well as even more gender-fluid clothing like crop-tops and skirts. Today, I’ve paired the scarf-ascot with a pink polka-dot romper. Admittedly, not such a great outfit for a restaurant kitchen, but I feel damn cute in it.
“Well, Eva, if you ever change your mind about working here, let me know,” Paolo says. “We could really use the help. I never expected we’d be getting this much business this quickly.”
He didn’t. But I did. Not only because I knew how talented Paolo was, but because all the stars seemed to align.
With the GiveFunds donations we received, plus Sonny Sazon’s financial assistance, we were not only able to get the Pink Unicorn financially stable, but we were also able to implement all the renovation plans my mom had helped me put together previously, and more. The interior was repainted, the furniture pieces mended, the awning cleaned, and the sculpture sign outside replaced with a shiny, new pink unicorn.
Paolo was also able to lease and fix up the abandoned space next door, turning it into SAZON, his casual, street-fare-style Filipino restaurant. As per his dad’s request, a pass-through window was created in the shared wall between the two spaces, allowing Pink Unicorn patrons to order food. In the months that followed, Paolo planned the menus, cooked the meals, and stayed open late for the huge crowds that had started to regularly appear for all the ongoing Pink Unicorn events: a new open mic night, live music night (when Kat and the Nine Tails often performed), a RuPaul’s Drag Race viewing party hosted by Benta Box, and, of course, karaoke night. Hosted by yours truly.
“Okay, you can take one already,” Paolo says, handing me the tray of cooked turon. “I see you salivating.”
“Only for you, honey,” I say, grabbing one before he changes his mind. I take a bite. My teeth crunch through the thin candy coating and crisp wrapper before sinking into the gooey center. I taste the sweetness of the bananas, the tenderness of the langka, and the bright punch of ginger, all in one glorious bite.
“Oh. My. God,” I say, my eyelids fluttering with ecstasy. “Eva, I have to hand it to you. You’ve improved leaps and bounds learning how to cook from Paolo,” I say. “You sure you don’t want to go into the restaurant business?”
“Maybe as a backup plan,” Eva says, grinning. “Because I’ve been meaning to tell you. I interviewed for a new job, and I just heard back. I got the position!”
“A new job?” I ask. “But I thought you were happy working at the hospital?”
“I liked it okay, but this position’s way better. Say hello to the new Youth Services Manager at the LGBTQ Community Center in Oakland.”
“Are you serious? That’s great, Eva!” Paolo says.
“Thanks! I don’t know how much of a difference I’ll be able to make, but I want to try to make sure kids don’t have to go through what you did, Rex.”
“You’re going to make a huge difference in so many people’s lives,” I say. “I’m so proud of you, sis.”
I hug her. She smells of fried food, and it’s wonderful. She smells like home.
My mom pokes her head into the kitchen. “Hoy, why don’t you all come out and join us for the rest of the meal? Dito na kayo!”
“We’re coming!” Eva says.
“Can you take the turon out?” Paolo asks us.
Eva and I carry out the tray as well as a huge plate of ube crinkle cookies that Paolo had baked earlier. Everyone else is at the big table in SAZON’s dining room, finishing up a huge brunch. Mom and Dad, who have come right after church, Kat, starving after a late-night set with Nine Tails in Berkeley, and my uncle, still recovering from a full evening of performing at OASIS and a long night with—
“That Bryan! Susmaryosep, he kept me up all night!” Tito Melboy says, fanning himself. “I’m telling you, he’s insatiable.”
My mom cackles and slaps Tito Melboy’s shoulder while my dad rolls his eyes. “Rex,” he says, “are you sure you can’t just sneak a beer in here from next door? I need a drink.”
“Still working on the liquor license. For now, it’s one way only,” Paolo says, emerging from the kitchen with a tray filled with glasses of fresh buko juice. “These glasses of coconut juice will have to do. In honor of Tito Melboy, of course.”
“I approve!” Tito Melboy says. “Maraming salamat.”
“Paolo, the fried pork belly is amazing,” Kat says with her mouth full. “I’ll take a bucket back for the band.”
“It’s called lechon kawali,” I say. “And Paolo’s is special. He smokes it at the end.”
“Something I tried out at AquaMarine,” Paolo says, winking at me. “Oh, sorry, guys. Just noticed you’re out of water. I’ll go get more.”
“I’ll join you.” I stick my arm in Paolo’s and accompany him back to the kitchen.
We sneak to the refrigerator where he’s hidden a small bottle of champagne. Not for serving, for us only. He pours us two glasses.
“You know,” I say, “once you get the liquor license, you’ll really be connected to the Pink Unicorn. You give them food, and they’ll give you drinks in return.”
“It’s more of a commitment, for sure,” he says, sipping his drink and eyeing me. “And speaking of commitments, have you been thinking about my offer?”
About a month ago, Paolo suggested we move in together and offered up his place for us to live. And though I do want us to be together, I’m not quite sure about the arrangement.
“It’s just, everything is here in the East Bay. My family, the Pink Unicorn, your restaurant.”
“Well, maybe we could look into getting a place together? Like here in Oakland?”
I smile. “I like that idea.”
He puts his glass on the counter, does the same with mine, and takes me in his arms. “Good. For now, I’ll just have to settle for having a stash of my things at your place.”
After the big fundraising event was over, Paolo had come back to my condo. I’d gotten into my mango dress in a hurry that night, so my trunk was still open with all its contents scattered around it.
“It really is a beautiful trunk,” Paolo said.
I had kneeled down on the ground and started trying to organize things. “It’s a total mess, though. I’m going to have to reorganize everything.”
“Or hear me out,” Paolo had said, gently taking my hand. “Don’t put any of it back. Keep your drag with the rest of your clothes in your closet. Where it belongs.”
I’d never done that before. Never given myself the permission to put my drag next to my day-to-day clothes. I’d always kept them apart, as if they had no right to comingle.
But I liked Paolo’s idea. My Regina clothes were equally as important as my Rex clothes.
“I guess I can figure out some other way to use the trunk,” I had said. “Maybe as a coffee table?”
“Hmmm.” Paolo stooped down and slid the trunk over until it lay at the foot of my bed. “How about here? Instead of keeping your drag in it, I’ll keep a bunch of my things.”
His things. Not Regina Moon Dee’s. There seemed to be a bit of poetry in that. We’d turn my trunk from where I hid a part of myself to a place where a part of him could openly stay.
“And why would you want to keep a bunch of your junk in my trunk?” I asked.
“For whenever, you know, I just happen to sleep over?”
The look on his face was the same one he has now in the kitchen of his restaurant. Earnest, and excited, and slightly devilish. He leans in and kisses me deeply. So deeply that we fog up his glasses.
“Well then,” I say, catching my breath. I pick up my champagne again. “Here’s to SAZON. And to you, the new king of Filipino cuisine.”
“And to you,” Paolo says, clinking his glass against mine before kissing me one more time. “My karaoke queen.”