Page 32 of Between Then and Now
“That’s not how this works,” I say, but Ryan shoots me a glance. So, I continue, “But fine. I have lots of those. What timeline of my life do you want to hear about? I probably have at least three embarrassing moments for each year.”
“Definitely a more recent one. I don’t want to hear about the times from your youth. I was probably there laughing at you in real time anyway,” he chuckles.
“Fair point.” I contemplate, thinking of something recent that happened to me that he may not have witnessed. “Ah!” I say, remembering something. “Alright, here's one from last month. I’m at the gym, trying out a new yoga class for the first time.”
Ryan leans in, curious to hear more. “Aerial yoga?”
“Huh?” I say, and then I realize that I used it as an example earlier, so I quickly follow up with, “Oh, no. I was actually really good at aerial yoga. This was just a regular yoga class.”
“Okay, and what happens?”
“Well, during a particularly tricky pose, I lose my balance and end up falling flat on my back. Can you visualize that? Me, in a cute yoga outfit with my hair up—it’s still long then—falling splat on my back. Loudly. In a room full of other yoga-goers,” I admit, laughing at the memory. “To make matters worse, my yoga mat slips out from under me, and I practically slide across the floor like a penguin on ice.”
Ryan accidentally spits out his water. “Sorry!” he says, handing me a napkin, but he doesn’t really spray anything on me. “Did you finish the class?”
“You’d think I wouldn’t have. I mean, if I were in my right senses, I would’ve grabbed my mat and headed out. Or I would’ve left my mat and run outside. That would’ve been more sensible,” I say. “But of course, I can’t do that. I just had to finish the class, because, well, I paid for it.” I smile sheepishly.
“So, toward the end of the class, I think to myself, wow, I’m never doing yoga again. That was the most difficult two hours of my life. But I thought I did pretty well for a first-timer, you know? I thought I redeemed all the dignity I lost through that penguin fall.” I say, flailing my hands in an attempt to subtly reenact the fall.
“Oh no… but?” Ryan asks with eyebrows raised, sensing that my story isn’t finished. Before I answer, he offers me his vegetables since he doesn’t like to eat them. I take all of it from his plate and exchange it for some meat from mine.
“But…” I continue, pausing for dramatic effect. “I discovered that I was in the wrong class. That’s their seventh session. And nobody bothered to show me out.” I shake my head, remembering the horror.
Ryan bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Well, at least you gave everyone else a show.”
At that moment, the elderly couple at the next table shushes us, their disapproving glares making it clear we’re being too loud. We apologize with kind smiles and then chuckle softly at each other.
“Yeah, I’m sure they’ll remember the girl who tried to do advanced yoga on her first day,” I say in an exaggerated whisper,rolling my eyes. “Lesson learned: always check the class schedule.”
“Or just stop doing yoga,” he shrugs.
“Yes, that’s a better takeaway,” I say, pointing my fork at him to validate his point.
We continue eating in comfortable silence until we finish the meal and dessert arrives.
“Okay, my clothes are snug. I ate more tonight than I ever did since we arrived in Batanes,” I say. “I’m full, and I’m happy. What’s next on your schedule?”
I look at Ryan, but he seems distracted. He has his phone in front of him, probably checking on something important, so I finish my dessert instead.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ryan
Bon is devouring the last drops of her halo-halo when I decide to take a photo. She looks so happy scraping the bottom for the final bits of shaved ice. It’s only after I take about five photos of her that I put my phone down and answer her question.
“I’m thinking of some tea while walking down the beach,” I say.
“Ooh, setting up the romantic evening. Good job,” she replies as she stands up. “As long as you don’t misname an artist again.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nope, I promise to avoid all art history debates and maybe stick to… surgery stories? I don’t know, Bon.”
“I thought we’ve gone through this.” She pats my arm as we walk out of the restaurant. “Just remember my tips,” she says, going through the tips she gave me earlier: One, go where the conversation takes you. Two, think of recent events. Three, ask about her.
“Easy for you to say, you have no problem with conversing. Or talking, in general.” She scowls at me, which makes me chuckle. Even when she’s scowling, Bon looks cheerful.
We walk out of the restaurant, the warm glow fading behind us as we step into the cool night air. The sky is a deep navy, dotted with stars that twinkle like diamonds against the darkness. We head to the café and order our tea.
“Let me guess,” Bon says as I claim the cups from the counter. “Plain and unsweetened black tea?”
