Page 2 of Between Love and War
“Exactly. We’re running late.”
I sigh. Of course we are.
Manang Linda doesn’t only run the gossip mills. She also runs the neighborhood committee like she has nothing better to do, and maybe she really doesn’t. She’s the mastermind behind all fundraisers and town events. And the year-end festivities are her icing on top.
Last year, our biggest event was Bon and Ryan’s wedding.
Bon, one of my best friends, got married right here in town, and the whole village turned it into the event of the year. I baked the cake and pastries, Haley sang (because, as a musical theater actress, she’s effortlessly amazing at it), and Emily somehow organized everything from across the world. She lives in New York now with her boyfriend—Bon’s brother, Joshua. They weren’t together during that time, though. It was a complicated story with lots of white lies involved. Still, even while navigating her emotional circus, Emily managed to micromanage seating arrangements and table centerpieces.
And now, it’s time for another big event.
I unfold the paper, already resigned. There it is, written in Manang Linda’s neat script, my official induction (again) into the party committee.
I look up at her. She smiles sweetly.
I sigh again. “I don’t even get a choice, do I?”
“Nope, hija,” she says cheerfully.
I groan dramatically for effect, but it’s useless. Everyone knows I can’t say no. Haley has dubbed me a ‘doormat’ more times than I could count. It’s a chronic condition at this point. I could be drowning, and if someone asked me for a favor, I’d probably gasp out a “Sure!” before sinking. I could be getting robbed, and I’d offer my robber a glass of water and a snack. It’s not that I don’t want to help. I do! I love it, actually. I love the planning, the baking, the tiny details that make everything come together. But there’s a fine line between genuinely enjoyingit and being knee-deep in responsibilities I never technically, whole-heartedly agreed to.
Last time, it was Bon and Ryan’s wedding. Before that, it was the talent show, the summer fair, the community clean-up, and the very unfortunate mascot incident of 2019, which wedo nottalk about.
I mean, what’s the worst that could happen if I just…said no? Would the universe explode? Would Manang Linda’s stare bore a hole through my soul? Would my ancestors rise from the grave to scold me for my lack of team spirit?
Probably.
So, naturally, I just smile and accept my fate.
Manang Linda pats my cheek like I’m a good little soldier, then bustles off to tend to customers. I stand there for a second, staring at the list in my hands, eyeing the items I need to do in the next days. Then I fold it neatly and shove it into my tote bag, because Future Kate can deal with it. Future Kate is a strong, capable woman. Hopefully.
Right now, Present Kate needs to get to work before a pack of five-year-olds stage a coup.
I step back out into the humid morning, already mentally preparing for my day. Across the street, Manong Jose is hosing down the sidewalk in front of his barbecue stall. The smell of fresh pandesal from the street stall is filling the air, and I can hear the comforting sounds of tricycles, morning chatter, and the occasional rooster.
I take a deep breath, shake off the impending doom of committee duties, and head for my car.
It’s just another normal day.
For now.
CHAPTER TWO
Michael
The van rattles over a pothole, jostling me out of the half-asleep state I’ve been clinging to for the past hour. I was supposed to drive by myself, but it’s not good for my present image to drive around in a sports car when the country already thinks I’m an entitled asshole. So, here I am, cramped in an old van with my knees unable to move. I’m pretty sure this isn’t good for my physical health.
“Almost there,” the driver says, like that’s supposed to be comforting.
Outside, Magnolia Heights looms closer. This is probably the kind of place that’s always sunny, where neighbors know each other’s life stories, and where I—Michael Lee, public enemy number one—am about to spend the next three months doing forced community service.
Fantastic.
I scrub a hand down my face, already dreading whatever awaits me. The only reason I agreed to this was to salvage my reputation after the incident. One stupid video of me shoving a ref, and suddenly I’m the villain of Philippine basketball. Someof my sponsorships are reconsidering renewals. Coach and the team head said I can’t play while I’m in this public situation, so they suspended me for five months. The season’s ending anyway, but the SEA games are next year, so I have to fix my rep immediately. And the PR team’s suggestion is to do community service so I can lay low and keep my head down.
“Okay,” Heather, my agent, says from the front seat. “When we get there, you have to benice, Mike.”
“Iamnice,” I grumble.
