That dimpled smile was one of malice to me, one of scheming and childish antics, yet to everyone else, it was one of an angel. I scroll away from the post, not bothering to like it.
When we’re back home, Ria and I slump on the downstairs couch.
Once my parents head upstairs, she turns to me and says, “Good luck with Rafayel sis. That’s really going to be a tough one to go for. And I’m not talking about actually winning his heart over.”
I prop myself upward, leaning against her shoulder in resignation.
“It’s not just Rafayel. What about my future boyfriends?”
“Boyfriendsas a plural sounds a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”
I nudge Ria, but it’s playful and we both chuckle.
“No, but really. How am I ever going to be able to bring a boy home, introduce them to the family without them secretly wishing I was with Marlon instead? And this goes for Marlon, too. How on Earth are we ever going to have normal love lives?”
The question hangs in the air, followed by no answers on both mine and Ria’s part. After a moment, Ria shrugs, clearly as clueless as I was.
She gets up, patting me on the knee.
“At this point, you’re gonna have to actually date him to get it over and done with.”
I mock-vomit, heaving over with exaggerated grunting noises.
“Um, yah no,” I state.
“Or at least make them think you’ve dated him or something,” Ria says, her voice dipping into laughter, “You know, like inTo All The Boys,orBridgerton.”
I shiver at the thought. I couldn’t even imagine myself pretending to be with Marlon. Also, what would that even achieve?
“This is hopeless,” I groan, pressing my forehead against the couch’s armrest.
Ria pats the top of my head.
“Well, you are the hopeless romantic in the family,” to that I grunt. Ria adds, “Don’t worry, you’ll figure something out.”
At that, she retracts her hand and heads upstairs, but I stay sitting on the couch a moment longer. Ria’s words play over and over in my head, marinating in my self-pity.
God, the thought of ever dating Marlon. The boy who would hog the controller whenever I wanted a turn on his new playstation. How could I ever be with a boy like that?
“How stupid,” I murmur to myself.
How can I ever possibly introduce anyone, let alone Rafayel to my family, when they’ll always be rooting for someone else?
Nine
In typical Garcia family tradition: we are late.
And toChurchof all places. Apparently, not even the power of the Divine can ensure we’re on time.
This happens almost every Sunday. My family (excluding me,obviously) miscalculates how much time they need to get ready for Church, and ends up waking up with only a couple of hours to get ready. While to others, that might be more than enough, for my family, that’sbarelyenough time. Especially when outfits are still yet to be chosen, hair needing to be done.
Though, I personally pride myself on being the fastest out of my family to get ready. Not that it was a competition or anything, but if it were, I’d be number 1 every time.
“Mahal,where are myshoes?” Mum screeches from the floor above me. I swear, either the walls and floors here are thin, or our voices can penetrate through any layer.
I flick through my new read -Wuthering HeightsbyEmily Bronte,while my phone lies idly in my purse. I’m definitelynotgoing to be scrolling and seeing more budding relationships on my feed again this morning. Ria likes to call it jealousy. I call it self-preservation.
Her voice emerges from the stairs - “Mum, I’m borrowing your headband!”
