Chapter 31
May 5, 2024
I gaze around my mother’s house. It’s full of relatives chatting, eating, laughing, playing cards, and singing karaoke.
I spot Mom sitting at the dining room table with a couple of her cousins. I walk over to check on her.
“Everything good? You feeling okay? Your leg is elevated enough, right?” I reach down and adjust the pillow on the chair Mom is resting her foot on. “Did you get enough to eat? Here, let me get you a plate.”
Her cousins laugh as she leans forward and gently swats at my hand. “Ay, anak , you’ve been fussing over me ever since you got here. For the millionth time, I’m fine. And I had two plates of food. I’m full.”
She flashes a wide grin. I take in how bright and happy she looks, how she took the time to put on her nice makeup for today’s family gathering: she’s wearing her Mary Kay lipstick and mascara. She breaks them out only for special occasions. She’s definitely feeling good if she went out of her way to do that.
“Your mom’s right, anak ,” Auntie Betty chimes in. “I saw her scarf down her food in record time.”
When Mom gently smacks her cousin’s arm, they all laugh.
“We’re looking after her, anak .” Auntie Randi gently pats my hand. “You don’t have to worry.”
I soften as I look at my mom with her cousins. I give them all hugs.
Auntie Randi quirks her eyebrow at me and flashes a knowing smile as she looks past me. “Your boyfriend is so sweet. He’s getting along so well with everyone.”
I turn around and see him sitting on the living room floor cross-legged, playing Mario Kart with my cousin Elliot’s son Nathan.
“You’re too fast for me, buddy,” Milo says to Nathan, who giggles as he expertly handles the controller. “Oh man, did you just pass me? Nathan! How could you?”
Nathan giggles even harder at Milo’s exaggerated tone. Everyone watching them play laughs too. My insides go gooey at the sight of Milo charming my family.
“He said my pansit was the best he’d ever tasted!” Auntie Randi announces proudly.
“Did you know that he helped Uncle Wyatt set up the karaoke machine?” Auntie Betty adds. “Uncle Wyatt never lets anyone help him with electronics. I wish he would. Always takes him forever to set up anything, and half the time he breaks it.” She mutters an Ilocano curse word before looking over at me again and schooling her features into a smile. “That means he really likes Milo.”
Another burst of laughter and cheers comes from the living room. The four of us glance over just as Milo high-fives Nathan.
“That’s how you know a man will be a good dad,” Auntie Betty says matter-of-factly. “If he’s this good with someone else’s kids, he’ll be amazing with his own.”
Mom elbows her. “Ay, manang , don’t say that. They just started dating. Don’t put so much pressure on them.”
Auntie Betty shrugs. “It’s true, though.” Auntie Randi nods along.
The three of them chat freely as if I’m not standing right there next to them, listening to everything they say. My skin heats as the nerves in my stomach crackle.
Kids.
I’ve never been baby crazy. The thought of having kids has never even occurred to me, not even when I was with Tristan.
But as I gaze over at Milo playing with my little cousins, I can’t ignore that ache in my chest. No, it’s not some magical change-of-heart moment. I don’t suddenly want to birth five babies just because I witnessed my boyfriend doting on kids. But I’m open to it—I’m thinking about it. That’s never happened before.
Mom asks me to refill her water. When I return with a full glass for her, I notice Auntie Betty and Auntie Randi are gone. She pats the chair next to her, and I sit down.
“Milo is a hit, anak . Everyone loves him.”
She changes the subject and talks for a few minutes about something funny one of her cousins did when they were out shopping the other day. A familiar melody echoes from the living room. When I look over, I see Milo with a microphone from the karaoke machine in his hand sitting next to Nathan’s older sister, Maizie, who’s got a microphone in her hand too. She sways along with the beat of the pop song I don’t know the name of but have heard a million times. Together she and Milo sing the lyrics. When Milo jokingly attempts a high note ridiculously off key, the kids fall into uncontrollable laughs.
“I’m really glad to hear everyone likes him,” I say to Mom.
My mind flashes back to Tristan, even though I know it shouldn’t. He should be the last person on my mind right now, but I can’t help but make the comparison. I think back to the three times he traveled to the US to meet and visit with my family during our relationship. He was always polite and cordial. I could tell he was uncomfortable at how loud and touchy-feely my family was, though. The standard greeting among my relatives is a long hug and a kiss on the cheek, which was definitely not the norm for Tristan. I think I only saw him hug his own parents twice ever the entire time we were together.
But to his credit, he handled my family well, always hugging them back. Every time we went out to eat as a family or ordered takeout, he swooped in to take care of the check. But I could sense his discomfort. It was obvious in the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes when he’d chat with my family, how he’d often slip out during dinners and family gatherings like this one, always on the phone for some work-related matter.
Or maybe he was talking to Carly. Or another woman.
My stomach churns at the thought. I glance back over at Milo, how this whole day he’s been able to comfortably fit into the fun-loving chaos of my family’s dynamic.
“You’re thinking about Tristan, aren’t you?”
I’m caught off guard by Mom’s knowing tone and the inquisitive look in her eyes. Like she’s studying me.
I shake my head. “Of course not.”
“Oh, anak . No need to hide the truth.”
I stammer, but she stops me with her hand on mine. “You’re my baby girl. My only daughter. My firstborn. I carried you for almost ten months.” She pats her tummy and chuckles. “I know you. I know that look you get on your face when you’re hiding what you feel.”
“What look? I don’t do that,” I say, my arms crossed over my chest.
Mom tilts her head at me. “Yes, you do. You’ve done it ever since you were little. It’s pretty cute, actually.”
She reaches over and cups my cheek in her hand, and I start to soften. Her expression turns tender when she pulls her arm away.
“It’s okay that you’re thinking of your ex, anak . It’s completely natural.”
I exhale. “Mom, we really don’t have to talk about this.”
She holds up a hand. “We do.”
“This is supposed to be a happy, fun day with the family. We don’t need to bring it all down by bringing up Tristan.” I’m careful to keep my voice low. I don’t want my family hearing what my mom and I are talking about.
Mom sighs. “We’re not bringing anything down. It’s okay to talk about your feelings, anak . It’s healthy. And it’s natural to think about your ex when you’re only months out of a relationship—a marriage.”
There’s a blast of music as the song changes on the karaoke machine, drowning out our conversation.
“I thought about your dad a lot, too, when we broke up,” she says when things quiet down.
I’m thrown by her mentioning Dad. They’ve been divorced for almost two decades. None of us have seen him in years.
“It’s not like I wanted to,” she says. “It’s just that when you spend so much of your life with someone, you can’t help thinking about them, even when they’re gone. Even when you don’t want to think about them.” She taps her fingernails on her glass. “You know you’re not supposed to, but it’s like a reflex. And even though you shouldn’t, you compare them to the people that you date afterward. For a little while, at least.”
I’m quiet as I soak in what she’s said, stunned that my mother is practically reading my mind.
She shrugs. “I’m sure not everyone does it. But we’re all human. I promise you a lot of people do. And that’s okay, as long as you don’t do it forever—and as long as you don’t let it consume you. If you spend the rest of your life comparing your new boyfriends to your exes, that’s a recipe for disaster.”
We’re quiet for a while. And then I finally speak. “Okay, you’re right. I was thinking about Tristan.”
“That’s okay,” Mom says with a tender smile. “I like Milo. I know I don’t know him well, but he seems like a sweet young man who makes you happy. And that’s all that matters to me—your happiness.”
“Really?”
She nods. “It doesn’t hurt that he seems to fit into our family well. And what he’s done to help you through your split with Tristan ...” She goes quiet and turns her gaze off to the side. “I still can’t believe it. He’s got my respect, that’s for sure.”
Her gaze pivots to across the room. When I follow it, I see Jordan standing off to the side in the living room, next to a group of cousins who are chatting. Except Jordan isn’t chatting. He’s staring daggers at Milo. Milo is oblivious as he continues playing with our little cousins, smiling and laughing with them.
“It seems like your brother’s gonna need some convincing, though,” Mom says.
As I take in my brother’s cold stare, I silently tell myself it’s all going to be okay. Jordan and Milo eventually get on good terms. I think of when Jordan visits us in London, how he and Milo defend each other against Tristan, how they fist-bump in the taxi ride home, how they share that look of camaraderie—how they look at each other like they share a kinship, a brotherhood.
How the next time they meet, they treat each other as family.
That thought sticks with me, offering the slightest of comfort. But it evaporates the moment Jordan marches up to Milo and says, “Let’s step outside.”