Chapter 45 The Pandesal I Left Behind
The Pandesal I Left Behind
Olivia
My parents taught me to be pragmatic with travel plans.
A car could break down on a random road in the country: Know how to change a tire.
A storm could delay a flight: Have a backup plan and never be scared to rent a car instead.
You could think you have everything accounted for, but realize that’s not true: Hope for the best but always be prepared for the worst. Before leaving me in Rhode Island when I was seventeen, my father sat me down and said, I know you love him, but be careful with attachments. Love is fickle. Always choose yourself.
His love didn’t seem fickle with my mother, but how was I to know all they’d experienced?
They’d been together longer than I’d been alive.
I just assumed he was worried I was staying in Rhode Island only because Carmello wanted me to, but at the time it wasn’t true.
I loved Celia and cooking and I loved having friends and knowing the names of my teachers at school.
And just because I was staying for now, didn’t mean it’d be forever.
I still wanted to see the world after graduation, and Carmello said he’d see it with me.
But then seventeen quickly turned to eighteen and suddenly Celia had breast cancer. Carmello found her on the floor at home one day and swore she was already gone. I could see how hard it hit him, but then she had treatments and she was “fine.”
So, when twenty seemed like it was fast approaching and our roles at Celia’s Place only became bigger, I got nervous that our previous dreams to travel were just that. But after I expressed my worries to Carmello and told him how badly I wanted to go, he hugged me and said, “So, we will.”
We bought train tickets to New York: the place we planned to start our journey as prep cooks, hitting as many kitchens as we could in the States.
We’d saved enough for three months of living, had backup funds just in case, and most importantly, we had each other and our beating hearts.
But two weeks before we were set to leave Rhode Island, I had this burning feeling in my belly.
I thought Carmello was acting strange, but he never complained.
And I take my share of the blame: I wanted to ask him if he was sad to leave his home to be with me, but I was scared he’d say yes and I’d want to go regardless.
Carmello worked earlier shifts than I did, but I went to Celia’s early that day to help Paula bake pandesal in the basement.
Filipino bread rolls were soft and airy, slightly sweet, my favorite to watch rise.
But when I went back upstairs to get something for Paula from the fridge, I heard Carmello’s voice coming from Celia’s office.
I almost made my presence known, but that feeling in my stomach was happening again and I found myself listening outside the door instead.
“Just tell her that you don’t want to go,” Celia said.
“I can’t,” Carmello said. “She’s so excited about it and…”
“You’re going to sacrifice your happiness for her?” Celia cut in, her voice sharp and stern. Unlike my mother’s when I’d tell her about one of my impulsive ideas.
“I don’t want to be without her,” Carmello said.
“But you want to be here, no?” Celia pressed. “Answer me, Carmello.”
“Yes.”
The words echoed in my ears. I leaned up against the wall, mind racing.
“You’re too young,” Celia said. “You’re supposed to graduate from business school. And relationships require hard work. Sometimes love is not enough.”
Carmello said something I couldn’t hear, then Celia answered back in Tagalog, tongue quick, tone biting. I found myself wishing I’d learned more of the language while I was around her.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” Carmello muttered. “I just wanted to talk, but…”
“Don’t talk to me if you expect my silence,” Celia said. “You’re my son and I don’t want you to be a fool and regret chasing her around the world while she’s looking for something she can get right here. Has she even asked what you want?”
Something about the formal way Celia said she stung.
The woman was rarely vocal with her emotions, but I felt like she considered me family.
Carmello said something else, but I couldn’t bring myself to listen any longer.
I could hear how heavy his voice sounded.
His mom was making sense and that would weigh on him.
She was making sense to me too, but I couldn’t let it weigh on me.
I was going to choose myself, just like I’d been taught to.
So…I quietly grabbed my jacket, left Paula and the pandesal waiting for me in the basement, and went back to their place to pack.
I knew he’d resent me for leaving, but I couldn’t pretend not to know how he truly felt, and I was sure he might resent me more in the end if I asked him not to choose himself, his mother, Celia’s Place.
The truth is, part of me did prepare for Carmello not wanting to leave, but what I did not prepare for was what it would feel like to have to live without him.