Chapter Four
By nine that Monday morning, Evan is already at his desk eating a ham and cheese croissant, looking over an article before he has to turn it in, when he hears the elevator doors open.
Evan’s eyes flick toward the lobby to see Dalisay walking toward her section of the office. Her hair is braided today, a plait lying delicately over one of her shoulders, and she’s wearing a knitted gray sweater and gold bangles on her wrists. In one hand, she carries a packed lunch from home. He doesn’t mean to stare, so he snaps his attention back to his work; this article about Pompeii isn’t going to finish itself. But out of the corner of his eye, he sees her coming his way. The closer she gets, the faster his heart races. Is she coming to chew him out for staring? She must think he doesn’t know that “no” is a complete sentence.
Evan frantically brushes away any lingering croissant crumbs that might be on his chin right before she gets to his desk. When she arrives, she pauses for a moment, like she’s trying to think of something she’s forgotten, but she doesn’t look angry.
There’s a beat while they both stare at each other.
“Hi?” he says, filling in the silence.
At his desk nearby, Riggs hears Evan’s voice and swivels around in his chair to see Dalisay standing there. She looks at Riggs briefly before turning her attention back to Evan. “Do you have a moment?”
Evan juts out his lower lip, confused but intrigued. “Sure.”
Riggs makes an open-palmed gesture and mouths: What’s up? But Evan only shrugs as he gets up from his desk and follows her into the kitchen. She puts her packed lunch in the fridge, then turns around to face him, the color high on her cheeks. Is she blushing?
“I wasn’t fair to you the other day,” she says, jumping right to it.
Evan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is this an apology or something? Because I really don’t need one. Message received.”
Dalisay shakes her head and folds her arms over her chest, making her bracelets chime when they clink together. “It’s not that. Listen, where I come from, when people ask each other out, there’s this courtship ritual—”
“The Five Stages, I know.” This time Dalisay’s eyebrows shoot up, so Evan explains, “My friends told me. And believe it or not, yes, I have friends.”
She almost laughs but catches herself and tongues the inside of her cheek. A thrill rushes through him at almost making her break. But she made her views quite clear last week.
Dalisay twists the ring on her finger. “Well, I thought about it some more, so I’m giving you a chance to try again,” she says.
“To ask you out?”
She nods, and Evan lets out a laugh. Now it’s time for some payback. “Ah, I see. Well, five seems like a lot of steps just for one date.”
Dalisay’s eyes flash but a smile curls her lips, making dimples appear on her cheeks.
“Are the Five Stages really that intimidating?”
“No, I just know when to cut my losses.”
Dalisay narrows her eyes slightly, like she’s X-raying him. “And here I figured since you were so bold as to ask me out on my first day, nothing could scare you.”
“I’m not scared.”
She tilts her head. “No?”
“No. I’m not really into pursuing women who aren’t interested in me.”
Dalisay inspects him for a long second. “Well good, because you’re right, I’m still not interested.”
There’s no way Evan is looking away first. He lets his eyes bore into her. “So then why were you giving me another chance?”
Dalisay shifts her weight from one hip to the other, looking right back at him. “I wanted to see if you would try it, maybe to prove that you’re not like other American guys.” Then a spark of something ignites in her eyes that makes Evan’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest. “You know what, I bet that you can’t do all Five Stages.”
A buzz of interest hums through his brain. Is that a hint of playfulness in her smile? He can’t help but smile back. “A bet, huh?”
Those are fighting words. Once, in college, his friend Yoon-gi bet him a hundred bucks that he couldn’t eat ten ghost peppers in one sitting. Granted, they’d had too much tequila and not enough sense to realize how dumb of a bet that was, but Evan agreed anyway, and used those hundred dollars on a plumber to fix his toilet. It was one of the worst experiences of his life. One may have expected that he’d learned his lesson, but he just smiles and licks his lips. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“Hmmm, yeah.”
“Is this some reverse way of getting me to ask you out?”
Dalisay shakes her head. “No. At the end, you don’t even have to follow through. I just want to see if you can do the Five Stages. Call it an experiment.”
“No strings attached?”
“None.”
Well, this would at least take the pressure off.
She starts to say, “The first stage—” but Evan finishes for her.
“Teasing of friends. Like I said, I know.”
“So you know what the others are too?”
“Nah, didn’t ask.”
Her smile curls higher. “Good. Knowing more would make things too easy, Mr. Saatchi.”
“And we can’t have that.”
Dalisay steps closer to him and he catches a whiff of lavender. “Once I feel you’ve adequately completed each stage, I’ll give you further instructions.”
It sounds like something out of a spy movie, and excitement begins to course through Evan’s veins. This is starting to feel fun. “So, what’s in it for me?”
“Besides learning what it feels like to lose?”
Evan can’t help but feel turned on by Dalisay’s smirk.
“Do all Five Stages—just like it’s supposed to play out, fair and square—and you win …” She thinks about it a moment, humming, then says, “The tour. The all-expenses-paid cross-country tour from Kyoto to Bangkok that Overnight’s sending me on. I know you wanted to go. So do all Five Stages and you get to go in my place. I’ve already been to most of the cities anyway.” She crosses her arms over her chest and juts out her chin, as if daring him to take the bet.
There has to be a catch, Evan can feel it. “What’s in it for you? What do you get if I fail?”
“The satisfaction of proving you wrong.”
He scoffs. “Come on, there has to be something you want. Make it an even trade.”
Dalisay considers him for a moment, looking him up and down. “I don’t know. What do you have?”
“Honestly?” He holds out his hands, gesturing to his reasonably priced clothing. “Not much. I’m not exactly in the lap of luxury.”
“Then how about something you care about? Your car or—”
With a laugh, he says, “You don’t want my car. Trust me.” He wouldn’t thrust Bettie upon anyone, even his worst enemy.
She seems to believe him, and rightly so. “Fine. How about if you lose, I get to go on one of your trips, since you seem to love Europe so much. Ooh, Vatican City! You go to Italy all the time, right? I can check that off the bucket list. Finally see what all the fuss is about.”
“Deal.” Evan’s smile widens. “What about the rules? It sounds too easy.”
“Easy?” Dalisay laughs. “The only rule is you have to play fair. Really convince me. Go through all the stages like you’re supposed to, no cheating or half-assing it.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will full-ass it. Whole-ass.”
“ ‘Whole-ass’?” Dalisay almost laughs again, and Evan feels a touch of accomplishment.
“So when do we start?”
“Right now. The second we’re done here, it’s no contact.”
“No contact?”
“In the Philippines it’s all about modesty. You can’t show your affection outright. Doing so would be disrespectful.”
“But what about work?”
Dalisay considers it for a moment. “Fine. We can talk at work. Overnight is a neutral zone. Sound good? You still have a chance to back out.”
Evan lets out a huff of a laugh. “You underestimate me, Ms. Ramos. You really think the Five Stages are that hard?”
“Don’t get cocky. Not everyone has what it takes.” She looks him over, as if gauging whether he’s worthy or not, and meets him in the eye again, smirking as if she’s seen everything she needs to.
“Believe it or not, I’m no quitter,” he says. “When I commit to something, I go all-in.”
“I’d like to see that for myself.”
Evan’s heart jackhammers in his rib cage. Seeing this competitive glint in her eye is making him feel like he’s touching a live wire. It’s no secret he’s been eyeing that trip. It would be a dream come true, and here she is, offering it up on a silver platter. How can he turn it down? He’ll take whatever she throws his way. How hard can it be? JM said it was like the twelve steps but way harder, but Evan highly doubts that. It’s a courtship ritual, not the Hunger Games.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” he says, and holds out his hand. She shakes it, her grip firm and sure. “I’ll send you tons of photos from my trip.”
Dalisay’s smile is sweet, but her eyes are sharp. She doesn’t let go of his hand. “Whole-ass, Mr. Saatchi.” His words tossed back at him bring a slight blush to his cheeks.
When he leaves, he can feel her eyes on him as goes back to his desk. And when he sits down, the ghost of their first touch still lingers on his skin.
Evan’s at the dog park with Tallulah after work when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s Pinky.
The second he hits the green button to answer, he has to hold the phone at arm’s length, Pinky’s scream is so loud. “EVAAAAN! You’re doing the Five Stages!”
Some of the other dog-parents glance his way, no doubt hearing Pinky’s voice carrying from the phone. Once Pinky’s done screaming, he puts the phone back to his ear. “Let me guess … Riggs.”
“He told me everything!”
After Evan shook hands with Dalisay, of course he told Riggs, who of course told JM and Pinky. Nothing stays secret for long in their friendship circle. “Yeah, well, don’t get your hopes up. It’s to prove a point. Dalisay and I have an agreement.”
“It doesn’t matter! I can’t believe she’s giving you another chance! This is going to be so much fun.”
Evan smiles. He’s not sure this counts as a second chance, especially when that’s not what this is about at all, but Pinky’s excitement is a little infectious. “Sure, fun. So, what, are you calling just to scream in my ear just because or—?”
“I’m going to help you, dummy. Teasing of Friends, remember?”
“Right,” he says. “Figures that ‘friends’ would be involved in the ‘teasing’ part.” While he’s on the phone, Tallulah comes over, tail wagging, to check on him and he bends down to give her a scratch on the head before she bounds off again to chase a chihuahua, yapping happily. Easily, he has the cutest dog in the park. He’ll be taking no questions. “What’s the plan then?”
“Turns out my mom does know Dalisay’s family, which is great, because she’s going to invite them to my cousin’s birthday party this weekend. It’ll be the perfect chance for all of us to hang out and talk you two up.”
“When? Where?”
“Saturday, Fil-Am Community Center, two o’clock.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.” Pinky cheers, making him hold the phone away from his ear again. “Just remember,” he adds, “it’s not real. Don’t get your hopes up about this turning into anything.”
“I don’t care! I love doing the first stage! It’s one of my favorite things.”
Pinky has several favorite things: cosplay, board games, donuts with jelly on the inside, and—of course—JM, but Evan has no doubt that setting her friends up on dates is high up on that list too. He can’t help but smile.
“When you said it was a birthday, I assumed there would be …,” Evan says, trailing off.
“Fewer clowns?” JM offers.
Pinky and JM stand on either side of Evan like bodyguards, as chaos reigns around them.
Pinky’s nephew, Angel, just turned five. It’s an educated guess, what with all the number fives decorating the room in sparkly banners and shaped balloons and the tiered cake with a number five–shaped candle. But for a kid named Angel, perhaps he really is the devil. What child actually wants to be around a bunch of Bozos of their own free will?
“If I’d warned you, I worried you might not come,” says Pinky.
“And lose this bet?” Evan tries to sound casual, but he knows it’s a weak front.
Angel, the birthday boy wearing a golden paper crown and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt, runs screaming through the hall, leading a pack of equally hyper children as they careen around the open community center space.
Five clowns are scattered throughout the hall, entertaining groups of children with magic tricks and balloon animals and something Evan can only describe as “kazoo comedy.” Evan can’t look at any of the clowns. Perhaps if he doesn’t make eye contact, they will find easy prey somewhere else.
“Relax,” JM says. “We’ll talk you up to Dalisay, easy as pie, and be out of here in no time.”
Evan’s trying his best to act cool, but at what cost? His back is already running with sweat, and the close clown proximity is making him want to turn tail and run. He was way too young when he saw the miniseries IT starring Tim Curry. At the time, his babysitter—a sweet elderly woman who was partially blind and mostly deaf—thought the clown on the cover was kid-appropriate. He carries those mental scars with him forever.
Sure, he’s used to being around people in costume at conventions, but clowns are apex predators. An entirely different species. They can smell fear.
Before he can set a foot further into the room, JM and Pinky both grab Evan around the biceps and spin him around.
“You are not allowed to talk to Dalisay,” Pinky says.
“Don’t even look at her,” adds JM.
“I know!” says Evan, throwing up his hands in surrender. “I get it! Stage one, let you do all the talking. I’ll try not to get murdered by a person wearing a big red nose.”
“You’re learning fast,” says JM, and catches him by the elbow. “Come on, I’ll protect you.”
Evan keeps his eyes down as JM guides him to the back of the room toward a table stacked with presents. Before he came, Evan stuffed an envelope with twenty dollars, and he sets it among the towers of boxes and bows near another table packed to the brim with food.
He’s had Filipino food before made by JM’s mom when she’s had them over for dinner, so he recognizes some dishes, but others not so much. There’s some kind of white paste in banana leaves, what looks like purple mashed potatoes, and a table with food spread across the entire surface on a large banana leaf. Several people stand around it, eating pickled eggs, sausages, roast pork, pineapples, and cucumbers with their hands. JM offhandedly tells him it’s called kamayan, a kind of meal everyone enjoys without utensils. All the food looks incredible.
Standing around the table laughing and eating are a dozen or so Filipino adults, no doubt some of the parents of the children running the gauntlet around the room. The conversation is bright, the laughter rising through the hall, and Evan’s shoulders relax a little. For a moment he can forget about the looming threat of a wig-wearing nightmare lurking behind him. Still no sign of Dalisay.
JM and Pinky encourage Evan to try some food, and he gets a few cursory glances from the other adults as he grabs one of the wrapped banana leaves. He’s an unfamiliar face in what must be a close-knit community, but Pinky’s mom, a Filipino American woman in her sixties, calls up from the other end of the table surrounded by older aunties and uncles, smiling brightly.
“Evan!” she says. “Welcome, welcome! Everyone, this is Evan Saatchi. Pinky’s friend.”
He waves, smiling at the group, and does a double take when he sees a familiar face. At first, he thinks it’s Dalisay wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, but unless she just cut her hair into a straight bob with bangs, it’s not her. She has a rounder face than Dalisay, and sharp, angular eyebrows that give Evan the impression that he’s being judged. She stands with a man, a little older, wearing a graphic tee, who also watches him carefully through round, gold-rimmed glasses. Evan knows he is the only non-Filipino person in the building, but the way they’re staring at him seems to have nothing to do with that. He still smiles, unperturbed. He’s used to smoothing over uncomfortable situations.
A bright voice calls out behind him. “Kain na!”
It’s Dalisay, for real this time. She emerges from the kitchen, carrying a large stockpot with oven mitts. She passes right by Evan, doesn’t even look in his direction, and sets the pot down on the table. “Who wants more rice?” she asks as she scoops steaming mountains of fluffy white rice into a few bowls and hands them around the table.
It takes everything in his power not to be hypnotized by the sundress she’s wearing and how it curves around her hips.
“You really don’t have to do that, Dalisay,” Pinky’s mom says, taking a bowl. “You’re a guest here!”
“It’s no trouble at all,” says Dalisay. “I like to help.” She smiles and then notices Evan and her smile widens and starts to curl.
“What kind of name is Saatchi, anyway?” asks one of the older ladies. It’s not accusatory, simply curious.
“Persian,” he says.
“Oh, Persian!” the woman says, excitedly. The table explodes into a frenzy of questions about his family, and where they’re from, and how many live in America now. Immigrants of every kind seem to find kindred spirits with those who have come before them, a sort of camaraderie that comes from shared experiences. While conversation breaks out, Dalisay spins on her flats and leaves, and Evan can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of his mouth. He already feels accomplished just by being here.
Eventually, the conversation morphs away from the topic of Evan and transitions into talk about other families, and school, and how big the kids at the party are getting, and Evan helps himself to more food. There’s so much, he’s not sure where to start. JM has him try tocino, a kind of crispy bacon; tapa, salted and cured beef; and pickled vegetables called atchara. It’s all delicious.
Upbeat pop music plays on the karaoke machine and a handful of little girls sing a Miley Cyrus song while a clown inflates some skinny balloons to twist into crowns and flowers for eagerly waiting children.
This kind of party is way different than what he grew up with. Evan doesn’t have any cousins or siblings, and this type of get-together would be seen as over the top and ostentatious for his dad’s liking.
When he was seven, his parents divorced. His mom moved to India for work, and Evan stayed in California with his dad. His dad is far more subdued when it comes to celebration. Growing up, Evan’s birthday parties usually consisted of a handful of friends over for pizza and cake and then they all went home by five so the house could return to stasis, peace, and quiet. He’s pretty sure his dad would have a nosebleed at the idea of a karaoke machine.
Evan’s in the middle of chewing a bite of puto, one of the rice cakes wrapped in banana leaves, when the man with the glasses approaches.
“Evan Saatchi,” the man says. His voice is low, level but friendly. He holds out his hand and Evan shakes it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Daniel Ramos.”
“Nice to meet you too, Daniel.” Ramos, as in related to Dalisay? Is this her brother?
Evan’s eyes are drawn toward Dalisay, who he notices is now deep in conversation with Pinky. She smiles and laughs, and Evan drags his gaze away from her to look at Daniel. He can see the family resemblance in his face.
As if reading his mind, Daniel says, “I’m Dalisay and Nicole’s older brother.” So Nicole must be Dalisay’s twin.
“No kidding!” Evan jokes.
Daniel has an easygoing air about him when he smiles and folds his arms over his chest. “Yup, it’s not an easy job but someone has to do it. Do you have siblings?”
“Nope, just me.”
Daniel clicks his tongue. “Lucky man. Bet your house was always quiet growing up.”
“Maybe a little too quiet! You’re not a fan of chaos?”
“Not when I’ve got a thesis due, and the family decides it’s time for a spontaneous dance party in the living room. I’m getting my doctorate at Stanford.”
“Oh, whoa. That’s awesome,” Evan says, genuinely impressed.
Daniel shrugs again, like it’s no big deal. “What about you? You in school?”
Evan’s eyes flick toward Dalisay again and he can’t help but smile. He wonders if the “teasing of friends” stage that JM and Pinky talked about goes both ways. Are JM and Pinky scoping out Dalisay like Daniel seems to be scoping out Evan?
“I actually work with Dalisay,” Evan says, testing to see how much Daniel knows.
“No way! At Overnight? Small world.” The way Daniel says it, with a small twinkle in his eye and a knowing smile, gives it all away.
“Yeah,” Evan says, amused. “Crazy running into her here.”
“Not exactly ideal, having a meet-cute at a clown birthday party, right?” Evan genuinely laughs at that. “I’m really proud of her, though. She’s worked hard for that spot at Overnight. She’s always been the word nerd.”
“Yeah? Me too.”
During the twenty minutes or so that they chat, Daniel drops information about Dalisay, telling Evan that her favorite novel is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and that her favorite adaptation is the one with Kiera Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen; that she loves going to bookstores and has been known to spend hours perusing the aisles; and that she always orders a chai latte from any bookstore cafe. She’s got a big sweet tooth, and she loves anything with chocolate. They have a lot more in common than Evan thought. He feels like he should be taking notes for some reason.
“Daniel!” Nicole, Dalisay’s twin, calls over to him from the front door. “You need to move the car.”
“That’s what I get for double parking. It was good talking to you, Evan,” he says, shaking Evan’s hand again.
“Yeah, same. See you around.”
Daniel gives him a final, encouraging smile and while Evan eats some more puto, Nicole takes his place at Evan’s side.
“Liking everything?” she asks with a smile, eyebrows lifted high enough to disappear behind her bangs.
“Yeah,” Evan says through a mouthful. The puto is sticky, practically gluing his jaw shut, and he covers his mouth so as not to be rude. “Really good.”
“Hi,” she says, extending her hand. “I’m Nicole. That one’s twin.” She tips her chin toward Dalisay.
“Which one of you is the evil one?” It’s a bad joke, and Nicole definitely isn’t laughing but she does grin a little wickedly. He has a habit of making jokes in awkward situations. “Sorry. I’m Evan,” he says, holding out his hand.
“Yeah, yeah, I know who you are, Evan Saatchi,” she says. “I know all about you.” Her voice is husky, casual, but betrays the sharpness in her eyes.
Evan swallows the rice cake with some difficulty. “So, uh, what do you do?”
“Ha, typical American. First question is always what I do for a living.”
Evan isn’t sure how to respond to that. It is a stereotypical American thing, one Evan learned while traveling. Most people in other countries don’t ask what a stranger does for work. Americans have a habit of making a job an identity, a habit Evan tries to break. Now he’s being called out on it.
“Since you care so much,” Nicole says, glancing at him sideways, “I’m in med school. Following in my family’s footsteps, as it were.”
“Oh, wow.” So not only is Dalisay supersmart, she also comes from a family of brainiacs. “That’s cool.”
She doesn’t ask him what he does for work in return. Instead, she says, “Are you single, Evan?”
The puto nearly comes back up. “Uh, yeah,” he chokes. “Yeah.”
Nicole laughs. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No, I wasn’t—”
“Glad we cleared that up.” She slaps him on the back, and it helps dislodge the puto.
“You have nothing to worry about,” she says. “I’m glad she’s giving you another chance.” Nicole’s gaze blazes like a fire, and she leans in, making her voice barely above a whisper. “But I love my sister more than anything in this world. She deserves nothing but the best. And I’ll protect her, no matter what.”
Now she’s speaking Evan’s language, saying exactly what’s on her mind. He smiles, matching her tone. “Then you have nothing to worry about, because she made her intentions quite clear.”
“I know she did.”
“Then you’ll remember I’m here because my friends Pinky and JM”—he gestures to the two of them in conversation with Dalisay—“invited me.”
Nicole looks at him, a sharp smile of her own spreading across her face, and she tips her head. “I like you, Evan.”
Evan grins back, coy, and eats another puto as innocent as can be. While he knows this isn’t a game, it is becoming kind of fun. And because his guard is down, he doesn’t hear the clown coming up behind him.
Evan actually showed up. She can’t believe it. And yet here he is, eating puto and chatting with her siblings.
She had her suspicions after her mom had mentioned the family had been invited to Angel’s party, but she didn’t actually think Evan would follow through with the first step. He’s lucky her mom couldn’t make it today or else she would have been hounding him for hours. Dalisay can’t stop herself from glancing his way, and every time she does, she scolds herself for checking him out. These Five Stages aren’t real, she has to remember that.
His friends, meanwhile, have taken it upon themselves to see the first stage through to completion. Pinky wasted almost no time introducing herself. Even though this is the first time they’ve met, Dalisay feels like she’s known the short, chatty Filipina American girl for years. Pinky has that kind of extroverted energy that wraps introverts like Dalisay into a spiderweb of friendship so quickly that the introvert doesn’t know it’s happening until it’s too late.
Pinky’s shorter than Dalisay, with a round face and her hair in a high ponytail that bounces when she talks, she’s so animated. “I was telling your sister earlier, too. You should come to my store,” Pinky says. “We have tons of board games, and anyone can play for free. I have a feeling you’re into games.”
“What makes you say that?” Dalisay asks, amused. She likes Pinky already.
“You’re smart, you like strategy, and you have a competitive glint in your eye.”
That makes Dalisay grin. “Am I that obvious?”
“It’s only a theory.”
Pinky’s not wrong. Dalisay is a big fan of games, especially anything that has a booklet of rules and takes hours to learn. She used to play a game called Ticket to Ride with her father when he was in the hospital. She’d sit, pretzeled at his feet, and they’d play well past visiting hours. It didn’t matter if it was cards, or a board game, or chess, she and he were always the ones who enjoyed some friendly competition. They’d sit and talk for hours while playing. Papa was the one she went to first when she needed advice; he was a good listener.
Maybe it was naive of her, but she thought he would get better, and they could play together for years to come, but it was only after he died that she realized she always won against him, because maybe for him it was never losing. The memory pricks deep in Dalisay’s nose and she rubs it to clear the feeling away.
“I have been looking for something to do after work,” she says. “I need someplace to decompress after dealing with my American coworkers all day.”
Pinky’s lips curl knowingly as Dalisay’s eyes flick toward Evan.
Idly, she knows that Daniel is taking shots at Evan, probing him for information, and she’s surprised how well he seems to be holding his own, though she can tell Evan’s a bit on edge. He’s jumpy and keeps glancing over his shoulder for some reason.
“Speaking of, you two have so much in common,” Pinky says. “Evan and you.”
Of course. The oh-so-natural segue. “Really?”
“Really! He’s not at all what he seems. And I’m not saying this because of the first stage.”
Dalisay raises a dubious eyebrow. “His first impression was not ideal. Are all American men so bold?”
“Evan was just having an off day. Wasn’t he, JM?”
JM appears, handing Pinky a red Solo cup to drink. “Wasn’t he what?”
“I was just telling Dalisay about how good of a guy Evan is even though he was so bold as to ask her out on a date?” she says, prompting him with an elbow nudge. “How he’s not a slob, and dresses well, and showers daily. And that he loves games.”
“Oh!” JM jumps. “Yeah! Definitely. He’s one of my best friends. You two would be a good match.”
That makes Dalisay laugh. Her gaze goes back to Evan as Nicole trades places with Daniel after her brother leaves.
Nicole’s whole face brightens when she laughs with Evan. They seem to be getting along.
It’s been days since Dalisay saw Nicole at the hospital. Who was that woman she was with? Dalisay can’t stop thinking about it. All this time, she thought her sister just didn’t like anyone … She’d hoped that Nicole would tell her in her own time, but so far Nicole has been silent on the matter.
It is satisfying to see Evan squirm a little while Nicole talks with him, Dalisay has to admit. Perhaps Nicole’s powers of intimidation can knock some sense into him. She takes a deep, steadying breath. “You really think Evan can do all five stages?”
“When he wants something, he’ll go for it.”
Dalisay laughs, doubtful. “I have high expectations.”
Pinky touches Dalisay lightly on the arm and leans in, talking low. “From what I heard, you can really hold your own against him. You threw him for a loop with that Manila line. You’re both quick-witted, I’ll give you that.”
“He’s definitely something! I didn’t know what to make of him. Like, when he first agreed to do the stages, he said he would ‘whole-ass’ it.”
Pinky laughs, eyes crinkling. “He said that? ‘Whole-ass’?”
“Yes! I didn’t know what he was talking about at first! I thought that he meant ‘asshole’!” Dalisay snorts, covering her hand with her mouth as she laughs.
Pinky bends over laughing too. “Oh my God, what a dweeb. That’s so Evan. I love the shit out of him.” She looks at him across the hall wistfully, and Dalisay can tell she means it. Pinky reaches out and touches a hand to Dalisay’s shoulder. “No, but for real, Evan’s probably the furthest thing from an asshole, trust me. But he does have a tendency to be stupid when he sees pretty things. Now that I’ve met you, I can see why he’d get all dumb, so don’t hold that against him.”
Dalisay wants to ask more, but just before she can—HONK!—a party horn goes off.
And Evan screams: “FUCK!”
Dalisay looks toward the sound. From the looks of things, a clown sneaked up behind him and blasted a party horn near his ear.
The whole room drops into a shocked silence, staring at Evan. The clown mimes laughter, throwing his hands up in celebration, and skips away on squeaky shoes, off to find his next victim.
JM gapes, Dalisay slaps her hand over her mouth, and Pinky nearly spits out her drink, also struggling to contain an outburst of giggles.
While Evan apologizes profusely, Dalisay spins around so no one can see her smile. He’s afraid of clowns! Somehow learning that about him is akin to picking up a rock and discovering it’s a geode—there’s more to Evan Saatchi beneath the surface than she thought.
While it’s admirable he’s made it through the first stage—she’s getting teased by his friends, isn’t she?—he’s got a lot of work ahead of him. She’s not sure he’s ready for what comes next, and no matter what Pinky or JM says, she’s determined not to let him win. She is competitive, and two can play at this game.
As if on cue, one of the children asks their parents, “What does ‘fuck’ mean?”