Page 51 of Between Then and Now
Bon smiles weakly. Her hand is still on mine, and she says, very softly, “You say ‘we’ like we’re a unit.” She chuckles. “We–” she emphasizes, pointing a finger back and forth at the two of us, “only have a week left here.”
“I don’t just mean here, Bonbon.” I pause; I’m sitting cross-legged while Bon is sitting with her legs tucked to the side. She doesn’t restrain me when I pull her hand to place it on my lap. “We’ll work through your fear even when we’re back home.” I hope I don't sound too emotional. Or too cheesy. Or too breezy.
“Why?” she says in an instant.
“What do you mean why?” I retort.
“Why are you doing this for me?”
I should say it’s because she’s my friend. That would be the safe answer. But right now, Bon is looking at me like she already knows the truth. And a part of me–a deluded, selfish part of me–wants to believe that she feels the same way.
I stare at her for a while, her eyes more captivating than I’ve ever noticed before. They’re brown–rich, like the color of chocolate, with tiny flecks of gold that catch the light just right. As I look at her, really look at her, I notice all the small things I’ve always taken for granted: The way she fidgets with her bracelet when she’s nervous, the way her mouth quivers when she speaks, even the way she absentmindedly tucks her hair behind her ear as the wind blows on it and it tousles on her face.
It’s as if I’m seeing her for the first time. I know, it’s dramatic, but that’s what it feels like. The moment I allow myself to feel for her, the feelings only intensify every time I set my eyes on Bon. These little details–things that have always been there–are finally standing out, demanding my attention.
“Hello?” She waves a hand in front of me, and I’m pulled back. I should just tell her. Just blurt it out. Tell her I like her. How hard can it be?
“Because–” I start.
“I’m famished!” Bon’s dad suddenly comes up to us. I didn’t even see him approach. Well, I’m not really paying attention. Everything around Bon is a blur. And it seems it’s the same for her because we both jump at the sudden interruption, and she yanks her hand away from me like she did in the hallway this morning.
Bon opens her mouth to talk but her mom waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not what it looks like,”TitaEvie says in amocking tone as she approaches us. Bon just rolls her eyes at her parents.
“Dinner?” I offer it to everyone, and they all agree. I pull Bon up to her feet and she brushes the sand off her skin and her dress. Then, she smiles at me, her eyes bringing a promise that our conversation isn’t over yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bonita
My parents decide to stay the night at one of the better hotels near the airport. I tell Ryan to wait for me by the car, and I go in with my parents. My dad decides to stroll down the beach and my mom’s supposed to come with him, but I stop her, saying I have to talk to her instead.
“What is it, Bon?” my mom says as she hands me a glass of water.
I sigh. “How did you and Dad do it?” I start, and she looks at me with a confused expression. “Sorry to spring this on you like this.” I smile sheepishly. “But how did you go from cutting each other's throats to being in love again?”
My mom is silent for a while as she walks to the balcony, and I follow her. She obviously did not expect this. The gentle night breeze rustles the leaves and blows our hair out of our faces. Finally, she turns to me, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“We never stopped being in love, honey,” she says softly
I raise an eyebrow, clearly confused. “But you and Dad used to fight all the time. I remember thinking you’d never get past it.”
She chuckles, a sound that’s both comforting and bittersweet. “I know how it sounds, but love is not black or white. Love is about the gray areas. It’s about the complexities and nuances that come with two different people trying to build a life together,” she explains, her voice steady and calm. “I’m not saying our situation is optimal. But in those gray areas, you find compromise, patience, forgiveness, and understanding.”
She looks out at the horizon again, smiling to herself. “I love your father. I don’t always like him, but I always love him.” She chuckles. “And back then, we were so angry at each other that we couldn’t see past our own frustrations. And it remains our biggest regret that we projected that anger onto you and your brother.” At the mention ofKuyaJosh, my mom’s voice quivers a bit.
“But how do you know if it’s love? And it’s not just genuine concern? Or attraction, at the very least?” I ask.
“You won’t know unless you dive into it, Bon,” she says. “It’s a question everyone asks themselves at some point. Love isn’t just one thing; it’s a combination of many things—genuine concern, attraction, respect, trust, and a deep connection. And it’s not something I can answer for you even if I want to.” She reaches for me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
I stay silent, reflecting on what I feel about Ryan. I still don’t know what to make of it. And it doesn’t change the fact that there’s always a fear in me that expects him to flee once he finds out who I am, flaws and all. It’s always been like that when I date someone. They find something they don’t like, and I’m left all alone. What if he finds something he can’t stand? Or discovers something that repels him? Sure, he’s known me my whole life, but it doesn’t mean he’s seen me in all of it.
What if he doesn’t like the parts of me I try to hide? The insecurities, the fears, the moments of weakness? What if he wakes up one day and discovers that I’m not always the ray of sunshine I project myself to be? Will he still be here?
And then I look at my mom. All my life, I’ve tried to be our family’s sunshine. My brother took on the burden of responsibility early on—making sure I was fed, loved, and cared for, filling in the gaps left by our parents’ accidental neglect. Hetook on so much that he ended up disconnecting from them, losing hope in our family ever finding happiness again. I got my fun demeanor from him, but time transformed him into someone who uses it more as a shield to avoid any and all important conversations. Even now, when my parents try to talk to him or fix their relationship, he disengages by turning it into a joke or taking it too lightly.
But I always tried to be everyone’s beacon of light. I was always the one who projected happiness and positivity and all that. I’ve been referred to as the fun one, the one who never has a bad day, the optimistic one. I even had it tattooed on me—a reminder that I had to be the sun when there wasn’t any. I basically tried my best to put the fun in dysfunctional.
What nobody sees is that despite my efforts to be the light, I’ve faced moments when I wasn’t shining at all—when I was dim, overwhelmed, and uncertain.
