Page 41 of Between Love and War
“OMG, Ate Kate!” Lila says.
“Are you guys on a date?” Julia asks as she props her elbows on the balcony.
Ingrid gasps. “I love this. I ship you.”
I narrow my eyes at them, my brain still a haze. Michael doesn’t miss a beat, though.
“Only one way to get teenagers off your back,” he whispers to me.
“How?”
“Play along,” he says. And then he cups his hands around his mouth. “You’re kinda ruining the moment, ladies. Don’t you have to brush your teeth or something?”
Lila squeals. “Okay, enjoy!” Lila sing-songs, and they vanish back inside—though I canfeeltheir eyes still peeking through the curtains.
“Now, where were we?” Michael asks.
“I was just leaving,” I say, backing away.
I can’t stay. Not after that very obvious meddling from our neighbors. I can’t handle attention like that. I might internally explode if someone else comes over and sees. I might melt into a puddle if Haley wakes up and judges me.
Because, around here, I’m Katherine. Kind, quiet, keeps to herself. Bakes the cookies. Quirky at times, but that’s about it.
But out here, with him, I get to be… Katie. The one who sneaks out at midnight. The one who talks back. The one who doesn’t have to hide her vices. The one who… feels different.
Michael doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t call me out on bolting. He just smiles like he knows exactly what’s going through my head.
“See you tomorrow, Miss Noodles.”
I tell myself it’s justtomorrow, like always. But my chest doesn’t seem to believe me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Michael
Sundays are usually spent with family. Naturally, I don’t have that here. So I’m supposed to just stay home and catch up on TV shows.
But then when I look at my fridge, I have nothing but my pre-packed meals. I can’t eat sad beige food while watching a comfort show. So I decide to stroll down the local market again.
Maybe I’ll get another puto bumbong.
Before I walk out of my house, I glance at my shelf, which was empty before, but now filled with all the things I got from the market, in my attempt to copy Kate—mugs, scented candles, even scarves I’ll never use. I chuckle.
This place is growing on me.
The market is buzzing when I get there—vendors shouting prices over each other, kids weaving between stalls with sticky hands, Christmas lanterns still strung up. The air smells like roasted corn and coconut sugar.
Someone falls into step beside me. “Hey, man.” I glance sideways and see Richard grinning. He gives me a fist bump like we’re old friends.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, sidestepping a kid selling balloons.
“My dad really likes the homemade tea Freida’s selling here. Just grabbing a couple sachets before I meet with a client later.”
“Client? On a Sunday?”
“The law doesn’t rest.” He takes his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt.
“You’re a lawyer?” I blurt. Somehow I always pegged Richard as a stand-up comedian. Or an adventure vlogger. Definitely not someone who passed the bar exam.
