Page 88 of Between Love and War
“If you think corny lines are iconic, wait ‘til you hear last year’s,” she says, and when I look at her, she adds, “Cruz Family: Full House and Fuller Hearts.”
I chuckle and start putting the shirt over the one I’m wearing. “How do I look?” I ask. It’s a little snug, but it’ll do.
“Like a tourist who hasn't done laundry in weeks and had to borrow a shirt from the locals.”
Before I can respond, someone yells, “Picture time!” and suddenly, the patio is a flurry of aunts reapplying lipstick, uncles standing in their default dad poses, and cousins arguing over who gets to hold the baby.
Apparently, it’s tradition. They always take a final photo before leaving for their annual trips, and now, somehow, I’m in it.
We squeeze into the frame. I stand beside Kate, and her shoulder brushes mine. I glance down. She’s smiling at her little cousin who’s trying to make bunny ears behind her. Her eyes sparkle in a way that has nothing to do with sunlight and everything to do with who she is when she’s with the people she loves.
The shutter clicks, and then comes the rapid-fire follow-ups. There’s a photo with ‘just the siblings,’ then a photo with ‘cousins only,’ then a photo of everyone with Lolo and Lola.
None of my professional photos are as fun as this one. I smile as everyone pushes each other to get in the frame.
After the photos, the goodbyes start. Hugs are thrown around like confetti. Another tita hands me a bag of leftover kakanin and tells me I need to “fatten up.”
A sleepy uncle claps me on the back. “Next time, you play basketball with us, okay? We'll see if you’re really good.”
“Definitely,” I say with a grin.
Eventually, we pile into the van for the ride back to Magnolia Heights. I expected chatter and energy. But after all the movement and sun and laughter, the family hits a collective wall. Within ten minutes, most of the van is asleep.
Outside, the world is a blur of tree-lined roads and rolling hills, dipped in late afternoon gold.
Kate’s curled up on the seat behind me. I see her from the side mirror. Her legs are tucked under her. She’s asleep, her head tilted against the glass, the too-large Cruz Family shirt bunched up awkwardly at her waist. Her fingers twitch every few minutes. I wonder what she’s dreaming about.
I lean my head back, let the rhythm of the road rock me into that half-awake place.
For a second, I just listen. To the van. To the wind. To the quiet in my head that only seems to exist when she’s nearby.
I think about the almost-kiss again. The way we’d both leaned in. The pause. The breath. The rollercoaster interrupting at exactly the wrong time (or the right time, depending on how you look at it).
Would I have kissed her?
Yes.
Should I have?
I still don’t know.
But I do know this: I like being with her. Not just in that moment, but all day. As often as I can. And when I think about the looming deadline of this little life I’ve built here, my stomach sinks.
But I push it away for now and lean my head back, letting the calmness wash over me as I take a much-needed nap.
When we reach Magnolia Heights, it’s almost night.
I step out of the van, stretching my arms overhead, trying to shake off the stiffness. The air smells like pavement, the smell of pine and cool air long gone.
Kate hops out a second later—but before I can say anything, Haley comes barreling down the driveway toward her, yelling, “Em’s here!”
They squeal, link arms, and vanish up the path like it’s a race.
I’m left blinking after them, still half-asleep, clutching a half-squished bag of kakanin. There’s a small, stupid part of me that feels… left behind. Which is ridiculous. I’m not even part of their friend group.
I start to turn toward my own house when someone grabs my arm.
I whirl around.
