Page 47 of Between Then and Now
“You’ve seen this show a hundred times,” I say, pointing to her screen which is playing theFriendsshow.
“And it gets funnier every time,” she says. As she turns her attention back to the screen, her laughter fills the room again. It’s genuine, unfiltered, and it’s as though each chuckle is pulling me deeper into my own thoughts. Bon is still wearing my shirt—she’s claimed it as her own because it’s more comfortable than anything else she has. The sight of her wrapped in something that belongs to me is oddly intimate, and my gaze lingers on her. I take in her beautiful hair, adorned with the ponytail I grew to love.
Without thinking, I lean in, inhale the scent of her hair, and before I can stop myself, press my lips gently to the top of her head.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking up at me with a surprised (and is that flustered?) look on her face.
Honestly, I’m not sure. But I manage to say, “Just making sure you took a shower today.”
She elbows me playfully then returns to watching the show. Her face, illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop screen,seems to radiate warmth and light. And her laugh—oh, her laugh. It’s like music to my ears, effortless and melodious.
And then, as if a plug has been pulled, I finally let myself acknowledge the feelings that have been lurking since I can’t remember. I finally allow myself to give up control, let my guard down, and be honest about what I feel for once.
As I hear her laugh one more time, I accept a dangerous truth: I’m falling for Bonbon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Bonita
What they don’t tell you about almost drowning is that it's not just a struggle against the water. It’s not just a struggle to stay afloat or to breathe, no. It’s a fight against your own mind, a silent battle with the panic that grips you when you realize you’re losing control. And you lose control really fast.
They don’t tell you that in those desperate moments, your life doesn’t flash before your eyes. Instead, time seems to stretch, and every second feels like a drawn-out eternity. The only time I felt the seconds drag out was when I ran errands for Natasha.
They don’t tell you about the silence that comes with it. A silence that’s not really silent because it’s deafening. The world above fades away, and you’re left with the muffled thud of your own heartbeat and the eerie calm of the world underwater.
And they don’t tell you about the insensible thoughts that race through your mind—the regrets (and not just the I-shouldn’t-have-brought-my-camera-out-there regret, but more of the I-should’ve-hugged-my-brother-more regret), the unfinished conversations, the faces of loved ones. You think about the promises you haven’t kept and the dreams you haven’t fulfilled. You think about the feelings you kept bottled up.
In the aftermath, I still have residual thoughts. Like how life is fragile and how every breath is a gift. Thoughts about how I really want my life to play out. Thoughts about how much I appreciate the people around me. And thoughts about Ryan.
Before I was swallowed by the waves, I saw him running toward me. And at the time, all I could think about was that I needed to get back to safety. Not just because I didn’t want todrown, but because I had to tell him how I felt. But who am I kidding? Even I don’t know what I feel right now.
Who’s to say it wasn’t just good ol’ adrenaline giving my mind a false beacon of hope to hold onto? When you’re that close to losing everything, it’s natural to cling to something—or someone—that makes you feel grounded. But how do I know if these feelings are genuine, or just a product of a near-death experience? If I hadn’t seen him running in my direction, would I still have had those thoughts?
I splash my face with water one more time before I step out of the shower. I think I slept for two or three days. I don’t even remember. All I know is this is the first time I’m putting on an outfit that isn’t pajamas. I have to admit, though, Ryan’s pajamas were comfier than mine. In fact, I wore them for two consecutive days. Not only were they comfortable, but they also smelled like what I imagined Henry Cavill would smell like.
I’m dreading facing reality because: One, I lost my camera, and I don’t know how to finish my documentary. Two, I don’t know how to interact with Ryan because of what happened between us and the fact that he’s been like a caregiver to me lately. And three, my date with John is tomorrow, and I don’t know what to feel about it. It’s not that I don’t want to go, it’s just that I have all these confused feelings about everything in my life right now. But I’ve already said yes, and I always follow through.
I put on a yellow sundress that reminds me of somethingManangLinda would wear. Not because I dress like an old lady, but because she dresses like she’s perpetually a twenty-year-old in the sixties. And we all love her for it. I sigh deeply. I miss home. I miss the familiar comfort of my room, the easy laughter of my friends, and even my nosy neighbors. I never imaginedI’d get homesick in just three weeks. To be honest, a lot has happened in the past three weeks that I never imagined before. And I’ve already gone too far down that road at seven in the morning.
I slip on my sandals, ready to face the world outside. At least breakfast will be something to look forward to. I’ve been eating soup and bland food for a while. Because, according to Dr. Miller, my body is still in a state of recovery, and I should take it easy with food because it might give me an upset stomach. To me, that just translates toboring food now, good food later.
I’m about to go out the door to grab my much neededtapsilogwhen Ryan breaks in, panting.
“They’re here,” he says in between breaths.
“Who?” I ask, “Breathe, Ry,” I add, seeing him struggle as if he just ran a marathon.
“Your…” he gasps for air, “parents.”
“Mywhat?” Before Ryan can answer, two figures hover at our door. True enough, my parents are here. In Batanes. A whole plane ride away from home. This isn’t what I mean when I say I’m homesick, Universe. I just wanted a quiet moment of reflection, not a checkpoint from my parents. Because the only thing worse than nosy parents is parents overcompensating for past neglect. And mine are both.
It also doesn’t help that my parents are retired and currently living off a fortune. My mom looks like she’s going on a luxurious vacation in the Bahamas, complete with the oversized sunglasses and an overly printed floor-length dress. My father looks like Charlie fromCharlie’s Angels–you know, the red tropical shirt with the buttons open. Both of them look like they’re lost on their way to a five-star hotel, completely out of place in the modesty of the inn.
“Oh, Bonita!” My mom pulls me into a tight hug. My dad follows suit and hugs me tighter.
“Heyyy, guys…” I manage to say, trying to hide the confusion in my voice. “Whatcha doing here?”
My mom looks at me as if I’ve just asked the most absurd question. “Honey, we were alerted by your smartwatch that your heart struggled.” Oh. For the first time in forever, technology is on my parents’ side. If only my camera were as resilient as my smartwatch.
