Page 24 of Between Love and War
“This one’s cute,” she says to the vendor, then hands over her money.
I grab a mug right after. “I’ll take one too. I’m also the world’s okayest human.”
Kate whips around. “You’re literally just copying me.”
“I’m blending in,” I say, deadpan. “Next thing you know, people will stop whispering about me being the bad influence corrupting the preschool teacher.”
Her eyes widen. “They’re saying that?”
“Lady behind the bread stall,” I say, nodding to the side. “Muttered something about ‘poor Kate, too pure for him.’”
She groans, covering her face. “I hate this town sometimes.”
“Why? I like it.” I grin. Being hated for something like that is nothing compared to the public hate I’m getting for my supposed disrespectful reputation. Here, I can almost just laugh at it.
“They see me as this sweet little girl,” she mutters. “Always saying I’m too pure or innocent for anything.”
I lean down, close enough for only her to hear. “That’s because they don’t know about your dirty books and your dirty cigarettes.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. Her foot slams down on mine.
“OW!”
“Oops,” she says sweetly, smiling at the vendor. “My bad.”
“That’s my lucky foot.”
“Not so lucky, is it?” Kate challenges
We move to the next stall. It’s Manong Jose’s barbecue. I notice him because I buy his skewers every afternoon. Today, though, instead of his usual pork skewers, there’s a handwritten sign:Samgyup Magnolia - Holiday Special.
“Samgyeopsal?” I ask. “I loved this as a child in Seoul. Still do,” I tell Kate.
“Sometimes I forget that you’re half Korean, and you share the same genes with my favorite celebrities.”
I chuckle. “They’re lucky to share genes with me.”
She rolls her eyes, then turns to Manong Jose. “Why the samgyup switch?”
Manong Jose beams. “My daughter showed me the videos! Everyone’s raving about it online. Harder to sell here though… fancy meat, expensive.”
Kate buys one skewer, smiling warmly as usual. I buy three. Then four more.
Kate blinks at me. “Hungry much?”
“Bulking season,” I say casually.
Kate takes her Samgyup skewers and proceeds to the next stall. I stay behind for a while, looking for smaller bills in my pocket. I overhear Manong Jose tell his daughter on the phone, “Anak, I hope I finish this batch today. I’m using the money for the check-up.”
Check-up. My chest tightens a little. He doesn’t say whose—his, his wife’s, his daughter’s—but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been around long enough to know what it means when you pin hopes on selling skewers. My lola used to sell all kinds of stuff when I was a child just to get us by.
He hangs up and catches me watching. “How many more, sir?”
“How much for everything?” I ask.
He blinks. “Everything?” I nod.
He hesitates, lowering his voice like it’s a secret. “Around… five thousand pesos, sir.”
