Page 74 of Between Love and War
When we reach the backyard, I expect to find people in folding chairs or maybe in picnic mats on the floor. And I’m right. Except it’s not just a gathering of people, it’s now a full-blown party. The four giant birthday cakes are set up like a shrine on a long folding table. But beside them is something even more impressive: mismatched serving trays of everyone’sdinner offerings. There’s sinigang in a rice cooker. Adobo in a plastic container. Spaghetti, pancit, grilled bangus, and at least two kinds of lumpia.
Michael stares at it, slack-jawed. “I didn’t even invite half these people.”
“They invited themselves,” I say. “But to be fair, you’re sharing your cake. Your giant cakes. Everyone loves that.”
Before I can take a closer look, the speaker (yes, somehow there’s a speaker) turns on. The opening notes of the birthday song blare out, and everyone starts singing. I instinctively step a few paces away from Michael, trying to give him space for his moment. But then—his hand finds my arm.
I glance up, confused.
He’s looking at me, not the crowd. Not the cakes. Me.
And he doesn’t say anything. He just… holds my gaze.
And again, you guessed it, I stayed.
I’m screwed.
When the song finishes, everyone claps, and I do too. When I glance at Michael, he’s already smiling at me, and it makes my chest feel that weird sensation again. Evil little thing. My fingers twitch by my side.
So, fine. I have a crush. Big deal. I’ve had plenty of crushes before. Like… that one guy in college who wore glasses and smelled like cinnamon. It passed. Eventually. Probably.
This will too. It’ll go away.
When he goes away.
Besides, he promised to help me with my ‘charisma.’ So I can attractactualpotential boyfriends. Ones who live here permanently. Ones who don’t have sneakers named after them.
We eventually settle down to eat, a weird and wonderful potluck of cake and leftover dinner food. I sit on the edge of a lawn chair, sharing a plate with Bon, who is giving me significant eyebrow raises every time I so much asbreathenear Michael.
From a distance I see Ryan arrive, and Bon immediately barrels toward him like they’re not already married, live together, and probably brush their teeth in the same sink. She throws her arms around him like she hasn’t seen him in years instead of this morning. And he beams at her like she invented air.
And I think: wow.
I wonder what that feels like. To have someone to barrel toward. Someone who’s a permanent resident amidst your boring weekdays. A co-owner of your fridge, your Wi-Fi, yourhome.Someone who doesn’t just visit your life, but lives in it.
I mean, sure, I havepeople. I have Haley, Emily, Bon, my mom, and approximately five hundred voices in my head.
But I’ve never had that one person. The one who makes the most boring habits feel like scenes in a movie. Like the time Bon shuffled out inTom and Jerrypajamas and Ryan—without missing a beat—laughed and kissed her like it was the most romantic thing in the world. Or when Emily tried to cook sinigang and it tasted like sadness, and Joshua still went for a second helping and told her it was still the best food he’s ever had.
I don’t have that.
I don’t have someone who laughs at my lopsided pancakes or makes fun of my mismatched socks or steals my fries without asking. I don’t have inside jokes with anyone. I barely haveoutsidejokes.
But, dammit, Iwantthat.
And then Manang Linda, who’s had one too many sodas (or maybe beers, I can never tell), walks up to the center of the backyard and raises her arms like she’s about to call a town meeting.
“Everybody,” she announces, lifting a plastic cup like she’s at a gala. “Since you’re all conveniently gathered here, Kate has a few announcements about our year-end party!”
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth.I beg your pardon?
Not that I don’t have the details yet, but I was going to email people. Maybe print out flyers and stealthily slip them through gates like the mailman who delivers electric bills. Not mid-birthday cake bite at someone else’s party.
I start to stand, flustered. “I—um—”
But Michael stands before I can.
“I’ll do it,” he says, his voice clear and confident. “Katie’s still busy munching.” He looks at me and gives the tiniest smirk.
