Page 89 of The Boyfriend List
“What about the rest of you?”
Perry rolls his eyes. Of course. He’s never home, he’s been avoiding it on purpose.
Troy shrugs. “Dad and I were never close. And Mom doesn’t talk to me like she talks to you.”
“Mom and I always butted heads,” Savannah says. They had no shortage of screaming matches when Savannah lived at home, over things as frivolous as the length of Savannah’s cutoff shorts.
“So it was just me,” I say. “The whole time, none of you saw this coming except Perry?”
“You don’t get it,” Brooklyn says, his tone still serene like he’s a yoga teacher trying to lull me into a false sense of peace. “The four of us… Well, except Perry, we didn’t see the things you did. We still remember when our parents danced in the kitchen, or went on dates, or held hands, or had civil conversations that didn’t devolve into contempt for each other. You were too young, London. You missed all that.”
I grab a handful of chips from the bowl without eating them, crushing them between my fingers.
Sav glares at me. “If you aren’t going to eat my snacks, don’t leave crumbs on the furniture.”
I roll my eyes. Classic Savvy. “Whatever.”
“Somature,” Brooklyn says.
“Stop fighting,” Troy says. “We’ve had enough of that.”
We fall silent. I brush the chip crumbs off my fingers and onto a napkin.
I’m tired of being the first to apologize, the first to make peace. For once, I’d like someone else to take on the peacekeeper role.
“For the longest time, I told myself I shouldn’t have my own family because if I left, no one would take care of Mom or hold our parents’ marriage together. I told myself if I had kids, they’d grow up in a home that was just like ours,” I say with a sigh. “I guess I was wrong. No matter how hard I tried to be everything for them…”
“You couldn’t.” Perry’s voice surprises me. “Stop blaming yourself, London. I know I wasn’t there as often as you were, but I saw how you tried.”
Tried to anticipate my mom’s moods and feelings so I could cheer her up. Tried to say what would make my father happy, to distract him from his rages by being the best son I could be.
“You’re never going to be enough for them, London,” Perry says. “They shouldn’t have relied on you to distract them from their failing marriage. I think we all did, because we didn’t want to face the truth.”
Sav takes a deep breath. “You never had to be the perfect son, or brother, London. I know I’ve always bossed you around and asked a lot of you, but… I guess I did it because I knew you cared about me, and it was too easy to take advantage of that. But it was never your job to make all of us happy. And you should never hold yourself back from having a family, because your heart is too big for that.”
Tears spring to my eyes and I quickly wipe them away. The familiar urge to hide how I’m feeling—to put on a cheerful face to keep everyone else from worrying—rises in my chest. But I let it go.
“Thank you, guys.”
The urge to hide is replaced with gratitude for the siblings I have. We’re not the ideal, cookie cutter family I’ve wanted for so long. No family is perfect. But the one I have does care, and that matters more.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Gloria
Today is All Saints' Day, when we visit and clean the graves of our deceased family members. It's just me, Eddie, Paulo, our parents, and our Tito James, who are going to the mausoleum today. Raina and Kostas will join us for our big family dinner later.
Bags of cleaning supplies, flowers, and candles weigh us down. Plus, the food. There’s always a quasi-picnic on All Saints’ Day after we finish cleaning the graves of their dead relatives. We kept it simple with a large batch of Filipino spaghetti, with banana ketchup and sliced hot dogs.
As we set up our cleaning supplies around the grave where my grandparents and Tita Dolores—Eddie’s mom—were cremated, I realize for the first time that I’m glad London isn’t here. Although All Saints’ Day is more joyful than All Souls’ Day tomorrow, it still feels right that only our family is here.
Mom squeezes my shoulder, like she knows what I’m thinking. We scrub the dirt off their headstones, then arrange chrysanthemums and anthuriums in the vases and add water. Candles are neatly arranged around the headstone as well and lit with matches. While it’s still bright outside, the candles add to my somber, sacred mood.
Other families are gathered around us in their family mausoleums. The streets were packed on the way here, not just with traffic but vendors selling everything from snacks to candles to children’s toys. Tents and umbrellas are set up outside the colourful buildings, parked cars crowding the streets as everyone pays their respects.
Despite the bustling of other families around us, it feels like it’s only us gathered here. The work has gone by too quickly and I’m left with my thoughts. I make the sign of the cross and whisper the traditional prayer to myself for the departed souls of my grandparents and Tita Dolores.
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
“I miss my mom every day,” Eddie says to me. I almost jump out of my skin, having not realized he was standing next to me. Tears blur my vision.
