Chapter 6 Tristan
TRISTAN
“Bad decisions,” I repeat.
“Yes. That’s the Halloween party theme,” Toby confirms. “Something that represents your bad decisions. Clever, right?”
“He can’t admit to ever being wrong, so he doesn’t get it,” Ligaya says. “Besides, we can’t change the guest list now.”
“It is my house,” Toby declares.
“But I’m making all the food,” Ligaya states. She clasps her hands in front of her in a pose of fake contrition. “So sorry, Tristan, but we didn’t account for extra invites. Maybe next year.” She says it in the same tone as someone saying maybe when pigs fly.
“Don’t listen to her. We always make too much food. It’ll be fun. Costumes, drinks. And maybe more bad decisions, if we’re lucky,” he insinuates with wiggling brows.
“The last time we were at the same party, Ligaya was making a very convincing impersonation of a drunk sailor,” I say, recalling the summer party that launched our senior year prank war.
To be fair, my first trick was not ill-intentioned. She was into some guy whose name I can’t remember but who I knew was an asshole. He would have broken her heart. I impersonated him in a letter so she could see what a fuckboy he was.
Before I could explain myself, Ligaya had already snuck a nasty spider in my locker. OK, it was fake, but my scream wasn’t.
My point is, Ligaya is the one who turned the innocent prank into a vendetta.
In hindsight, I can see why I started it. She had moved on while I was stuck in a cycle of grief and resentment. And as weird as it sounds, obsessing over how to get back at Ligaya is what pulled me from that cycle. Honestly, it was fun at first.
Until it wasn’t.
“You have the memory of a maggot. Maybe get a doctor to check on that,” she retorts.
“My memory is impeccable, but thanks for always looking out for me,” I deadpan. “I’d love to attend your party, Toby. Just so happens there’s no hockey game that night.”
Although I already have a Halloween event to attend next Saturday, this one is more interesting. It has a theme, after all. And a woman I’d like to kiss again.
The dream of Ligaya rubbing her breasts against my chest and moaning into my mouth woke me to a raging hard-on this morning.
“Perfect!” Toby exclaims. “Since you’re already here, you should have dinner with us. Ligaya and I always grab the two-for-one special at Moretti’s on Thursday nights.”
Ligaya’s eyes flick to Toby, back to me, and then back to her friend in an eyeball tennis match as she decides who to blame for my presence at dinner.
“Or not,” she says. “It only works with an even number of people, after all.”
“I’d love to.” I address Toby.
“We’ll meet you there,” Toby announces. “Her car’s in the shop, so we carpooled today.”
Ligaya rolls her eyes in exasperation, although there’s a twinkle in them, too. “Fine. Let’s go before we miss our reservation.”
***
Moretti’s is packed, the smell of garlic and fresh bread hitting me as soon as I walk in. My eyes immediately land on Ligaya. She’s removed her sweater and is in a fitted black shirt, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder.
When she sees me, she makes two swipes across her forehead. The barely noticeable tic once again draws my attention to her smooth forehead and dainty fingers.
Toby’s sitting across from her. As I approach, he stands up.
“I’m not feeling great,” he claims, pressing a hand to his stomach like he’s a twelve-year-old faking a stomachache to skip school.
Ligaya looks up, frowning. “You were fine five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well. Life’s unpredictable.” He grabs his coat, then claps me on the shoulder as he passes.
“I guess I’ll go, too,” Ligaya says, “seeing as you’re my ride.”
“I’ll take you home.” My voice is louder than I intend.
“I’m not feeling well, and I don’t want to get you sick in case I’m contagious,” Toby says to Ligaya. “You two enjoy dinner. If you’re ordering the garlic knots, make sure you both eat it.”
He walks off, leaving behind a half-full glass of water and an awkward silence. Ligaya shakes her head.
“That was not subtle.”
“Nope.” I slide into the booth across from her.
She looks around the restaurant as a server makes his way to our table.
“Might as well eat,” she says resignedly.
We both order the dinner special and settle into the booth.
Unexpectedly, Ligaya speaks in a serious tone. “What you said at the auditorium a few days ago, it was really nice. One of my students broke his leg in a skateboarding accident so didn’t make the cut at his local hockey team. You inspired him.”
I blink a few times, surprised that something nice is voluntarily emerging from Ligaya’s mouth.
“I’m no superstar compared to my teammates, but I’m glad someone found that story useful.”
“We always hear about the superstars, don’t we?
” she states thoughtfully. “My students are bombarded with everyone’s better clothes, better house, better life.
It’s refreshing to hear about struggles.
That’s what I try to teach my drama kids.
It isn’t about being a star on the stage.
It’s about occupying a character with all their strengths and flaws.
The real story is always in the struggle. ”
She stops abruptly and gives me a side glance, waiting for my reaction.
That’s something else I forgot about her. She’s whip-smart and passionate. Ligaya was known in high school as the classic goody two-shoes who never swore, never skipped class, never missed a cue. The way she treated me was the exception. With me, she was sharp tongued and suspicious.
Is it messed up that I liked it?
Maybe the reason I provoked her was because I wanted a peek beyond her armor of conventionality. I couldn’t get enough of the clever, unexpected, naughty part of her that no one else saw. Getting under her skin was also about getting to something truer, something private, something only for me.
“You’re great with them,” I say.
The lasagna arrives and we dig in, neither of us knowing how to continue the uncharacteristic niceties yet unwilling to resume our typical barbs.
“My parents say hi,” she states, breaking the silence.
“I’ll get them Mavericks tickets if they want.”
“Popping into the laundromat to say hello would be enough.”
“I should have come by sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Honestly? I’ve been back to do the obligatory visit to my parents but leave as soon as I can. They don’t exactly inspire the best memories.”
“I’m sorry, Tristan.”
Talking about my family is making the food bitter. I scramble to change the subject.
“You know what I’ve always wondered?” I begin. “How the hell did you shrink my boxers?”
She’s mid-drink and has to cough before speaking. “I didn’t shrink them. I swapped them out for smaller ones.”
“God, you’re sneaky.”
We both chuckle at the memory.
She spent a lot of time and energy on her revenge tactics.
The more elaborate the prank, the better.
She drove me up the wall. Yet there was admiration for her cleverness, too.
Now that I’m older, I can admit that Ligaya’s attentions—at a time when my parents couldn’t be bothered to look at me—made me feel chosen.
“How’d you sneak in?” I ask.
“My mom kept your house keys with Olive’s keychain as a memento.”
My mouth falls open. Knowing why Cathy had those keys makes my eyes prickle.
She took care of my sister during those difficult months.
Even when she wasn’t scheduled for housekeeping, she’d drop by to tempt Olive to eat a little something.
Sometimes, while I was stuck at school and our parents were working, Cathy would come over to sit and watch television with Olive.
“I know it’s terrible,” Ligaya exclaims. “My mother is so sentimental about Olive. I should apologize.”
There’s a strange warmth in my chest at the sound of my sister’s name on Ligaya’s lips.
“Go ahead.”
“Go ahead with what?”
“Your apology.”
She cackles. “I’m not going to apologize to you! I mean I should apologize to my mom for taking Olive’s keychain.”
“We really were idiots,” I concede with a chuckle.
“Decision-making is not a high schooler’s strongest attribute.” She shrugs. “I would know.”
“Why’d you choose to teach at Centerstone? I thought you went to Chicago for college.”
She looks astonished that I knew where she went to college.
“My parents aren’t getting younger. And since Amihan isn’t stationed here, it made sense for me to live close by.”
“Do you like it? Teaching, I mean.”
“Not every day. But yeah, I love teaching. Seeing my students shine on the stage is a high for me, too.”
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
“Nothing’s stopping you.”
“It wasn’t till that Shakespeare play that things went . . . too far.”
“I know.”
We had been going back and forth with the pranks for months. But when I messed up her costume—I only trashed her wings, it’s not like she had nothing to wear—she refused to get on stage as the fairy queen of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
She had a total breakdown and quit theater altogether.
I felt terrible.
Then, she got back at me.
A week later, Ligaya stole my phone again. She also managed to change every single clock in my house, including my alarm clock.
I had missed the single most important hockey game of my high school career.
“Ami helped me make that costume before she left for the military. We worked all night glamming up the wings. I was stressed about her being deployed. In my twisted brain, the broken wings represented our bond being broken. Ugh, I was such a drama queen.”
For a moment, I’m unable to get air past the stone in my throat.
“I had no idea.” I wince at the inadequacy of my words. “Please believe me. I had no idea it meant that much.”
“I solved nothing by walking away from the performance. That’s not on you.
Dropping theater hurt me the most. Especially since my character was played by Claudia Cox who messed up all the lines.
To add insult to injury, the costume never made it on stage.
Claudia had nicer tits than me, so my dress wouldn’t fit.
She wore a nearly sheer prom dress which”—she shudders—“well, you know.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Regret sits heavy on my chest. “I’m sorry, Ligaya.”
“Even when I was mad at you, I knew taking the wings wasn’t that different from our previous pranks,” she admits. “But fuck, I swore I would make you pay. Unfortunately, I knew exactly how. I’m sorry about that, too, Tristan.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“Accepted. And for the record, Claudia never had nicer tits than you.”
She scoffs. “How would you know?”