Page 73 of Between Love and War
We’re walking together—quietly—to invite people to his home. We pass my house and run into Richard, who’s just locking up the gate. He gives us both a once-over and tilts his head, amused.
“Hey! Happy birthday!” he says, clapping Michael on the back. They bump fists.
Michael grins. “Thanks, man.”
“We’re throwing a small thing at my place,” he adds, “Like a mini get-together.” Weird how he sayswewhen it’s just his house. His birthday.
“Cool, I’ll help you round people up,” Richard says easily. He pulls out his phone and sends a text blast to the neighborhood group. I don’t even know why neither of us thought of that. Probably because we’re both too busy pretending we’re totally fine.
We head toward Lily’s to invite Manang Linda and get some drinks. The closer we get, the louder we hear ‘It Might Be You’ by Stephen Bishop playing on the store’s decades-old speakers.
“Kate!” Manang Linda beams from behind the checkout counter-slash-corner table, where she’s sipping soda from aplastic cup. “You’re finally out of the house! I heard you got food poisoning. What expired ingredient did you eat this time?”
I laugh. “It’s nothing! I’m fine now.”
Manang Linda looks at Michael, then me, and says, “More than fine, from the way I see it.” She smiles teasingly, and adds, “Happy birthday, Mike. Thirty looks good on you.”
He smiles in return. “Thank you,” he says. “We’d like to invite you over to my place. I have cakes,” he says awkwardly.
“‘We?’ Are you really a couple like the tabloids say?” she asks mischievously as she steps out from behind the counter to join us back home.
Thankfully, we don’t need to respond because Richard reemerges. “Look what I found,” he says, wheeling over a squeaky cart that’s seen better decades. It’s filled with soda bottles and just enough beer to raise eyebrows but not alarms. “Do you think this is enough?”
“Are you going to pay for that?” Manang Linda asks, half-scolding, half-amused.
“That rich athlete is,” Richard says with zero shame, jerking his thumb at Michael and pushing the cart past us.
Michael sighs like he’s already used to this kind of treatment. “Just let me know how much I owe,” he tells her, and she nods approvingly as we all start heading back to the house.
The sky has dimmed completely now. The streetlights buzz to life one by one, illuminating our way. The breeze has that Ber-month chill, but not enough to wear a jacket. Just enough to want to hug someone, though.
Not that I’m thinking about that.
On the way to Michael’s house, Manang Linda keeps talking to Richard about this new glassware she got on sale. Richard thankfully listens intently, so Manang Linda is off our case for now. Michael is pushing the cart now, and even when he can walk faster, he matches my pace. Every once in a while, our armsbrush, and I feel the echo of that kiss again—not on my mouth, but in my chest.
“You okay?” he murmurs suddenly, as if he can hear my thoughts.
I startle slightly. “Yeah. Just… trying not to combust internally.”
He smiles. “You’re doing great.”
Not everything has to be defined right now. Not every kiss has to lead to something.
When we turn the corner onto his street, the house is already glowing with light. There are shoes on the front steps, the gate’s wide open, and I can hear a medley of familiar voices. There’s laughter, greetings, a guitar strumming something, and someone singing off-key.
“Wow,” Michael mutters, half in awe, half in horror. “They really just... let themselves in, huh?”
“Welcome to small-town hospitality,” I say, grinning.
We walk in together, and immediately, Bon pounces.
“You have so much to tell me,” she says, gripping my forearm with both hands
“I really don’t,” I lie.
She gives me the kind of look that says she knows everything. “You will tell me, one of these days. I promise to ambush you.”
I chuckle as Bon pounces to another person. She’s like that. Loves parties, loves people, loves everything that resembles a confetti box.
