Chapter 50
Fifty
ISABEL
Several months later
It’s my birthday. Mama has booked us a reservation at a fancy restaurant near her new condominium in Rockwell so she can be closer to her store, and all my best friends are coming: Kieran, Rocío, Joaqs, and even Inigo, who had again taken time out of his busy schedule to show face.
The gift Alvaro sent me—no doubt a dress, considering the size of the box—sits unopened on my bed.
I don’t have the heart to accept anything more from him.
I took one look at his name on the envelope and set it aside.
Eventually, maybe, I’ll open it. But not today. Not yet.
Kieran is waiting for us in the lobby when we head downstairs. His last few exhibits were complete successes, and he’s perpetually glowing from this fact. He’s carrying two bouquets: pink for me, white for Mama. He greets me with a kiss, and Mama another on the cheek.
“Before we go,” he says, lifting a finger and then reaching for the bag I hadn’t noticed on the front desk.
He takes out a Tiffany blue box; inside it rests a necklace with a thin silver chain and a four-leaf flower with a diamond on each petal.
It’s the daintiest thing, so subtly beautiful.
Mama and I can’t begin to sweep our jaws off the floor.
“Kieran!” I cry out. It looks like it costs six digits at the minimum.
He’s unabashed, holding up either end of the chain and gesturing for me to turn around. “Can I put it on?”
Mama gestures for me to oblige. I sweep my hair off to one side and shudder when the cool metal touches my skin.
Kieran sneaks a kiss on the back of my neck. I whip around to smack his arm. “Not in front of Mama,” I whisper-yell.
He holds his hands up in surrender but maintains that sneaky grin. Mama pretends not to have noticed.
At the restaurant, Mama is more than happy to order for us without looking at the prices.
Her store, newly opened, has become an instant hit among women in their mid-twenties upwards.
Magazines are calling to feature her, and stylists are constantly requesting pull-outs for their photoshoots.
She’s all aglow with her newfound success, startled each time by every compliment paid to her, but none of it surprises me.
I always knew Mama was a star; she just needed the opportunity to realize it herself.
“Aba, Inigo,” Mama says when the Madrigal twins arrive at the restaurant. “You’re here!”
“Hi, Tita,” he greets sheepishly, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“May girlfriend ka na?”
“Wala pa, Tita.”
“He’s married to his work,” Rocío says as she gives Mama a beso on the opposite cheek. Joaqs greets me and Mama similarly.
“This is for you,” Rocío says, handing me a rectangular box tied with a ribbon. I unwrap it and pull the lid up to reveal the most gorgeous fountain pen with a white cap and rose gold accents. I’ve never had anything like it.
“I got you the ink,” Inigo says, handing me another gift-wrapped box.
“You’re not supposed to spoil the surprise,” Rocío chastises.
“Sorry.”
I stand to hug both of them. “Thank you,” I say. “So much. I love it.”
Inigo, who has never been too good with shows of affection, says, “It’s purple. You like purple, right? Rocío says you like purple. If you hate it, blame her.”
Joaqs didn’t bring a gift, which is good, because I don’t want anything from the guy who makes my best friend miserable (and in denial about it, too).
The wine flows freely. Mama’s cheeks go pink and she’s clearly buzzed when she goes rat-a-tat-a-tat with her stories about work.
We’re all happy to listen, of course; for once, Mama is not bemoaning the stresses that come with being employed.
She’s her own boss now, and damn if she’s not killing it.
Mama slings her arm around my shoulder, humming into the night air as we walk back home, our heels clicking on the sidewalk. Kieran walks a step behind us, keeping us safe.
On our way to the elevator, the concierge calls out to me. “Ma’am, may package po kayo.”
I furrow my brows. I leave Mama leaning against Kieran to fetch my package. It’s a burgundy box, weighty, tied with an off-white ribbon made of silk. Patience was never my strongest suit, so I unfurl the ribbon and lift open the lid.
Inside is the most beautiful wine-colored leather trifold folio, held in place by a brown cord strung through a gold star. I unstrap it and laugh. Under the cover, on the second fold, is one word, engraved in gold foil: Sugar.
A notecard falls out of one of the three notebooks held in place by more cords.
I thought you might like this. Happy birthday. – N.
Tears spring from my eyes. It’s as close to an apology as I’ll ever get.
I’m taking it.