I reach the part ofWuthering Heightswhere Catherine proclaims she and Heathcliff share the same soul, when my family simultaneously clamour into the study room area.
Upon seeing me, Dad exclaims, “Lene, why are you just sitting there and reading! Heat up the car for me, please?”
I catch the keys he swiftly tosses toward me, and manoeuvre myself through my maze of a family, dodging as Mum stumbles a little trying to put on sneakers. Even after I turn the car on and settle in the backseat, they still take another five minutes to actually leave the house, and lock up.
By the time we arrive at Holy Spirit Church, the Mass is well up to the first reading, which is a good quarter into the service. All the congregation are seated, making it all the more obvious when my Dad pushes through the Church doors and scans the space for free spots.
Most of them are taken.
Then, against my ear, Mum whispers, “Oh, there’s your Tita Regina.”
OhGod(literally), please no.
And yet, there they were. I spot Marlon’s brown hair first. He stands out, because he’s taller than his parents, and the people around him. Like a great dane sitting with jack russells.
There’s a sizable gap beside Tito Daniel, one that Mum wouldn’t mind sliding into. Just as expected, she begins to move toward their seat.
Quietly, she greets Tita Reg, and they both smile widely at each other, like teenagers who haven’t seen each other in forever. Then, we weave ourselves through their legs awkwardly as we make our way to the space beside them. I smile politely at Tita Regina and Tito Daniel in greeting, avoiding Marlon’s eyes as I reach him.
That’s when my foot hits something and I stumble forward onto Ria, my fingers clawing into her back for support.Thankfully, she stays standing, but she turns to glare at me over her shoulder. The small movement is enough to get the attention of those seated near us. I smile sheepishly at the elderly couple seated behind us shooting me unimpressed looks, and look down.
Marlon’s foot is extended, unnaturally. I glare at him, but his eyes are focused on the front. He’d better be praying that I don’t get my hands on him.
If Jesus weren’t watching, I think I’d murder him right there and then.
Unlike this morning, my family is actually on time when we arrive at Tita Bea and Jonathan’s place, later after Church.
About a year ago, the two of them decided to move in together just three suburbs away from us. Since the streets are still barren and full of developmental lands, it’s mostly quiet for now, and empty. Their quaint house is just one of three on the street.
Tita Bea and Jonathan both greet us at the doorway, brandishing matching lavender outfits.
“SalamatAte,” Tita Bea expresses toward Mum, as she grabs the box of pandesal from her. The pandesal order was still fresh when we picked it up, just after Church, and I had to endure a whole car ride with its sweet scent in my nostrils. It was torture when Mum said I couldn’t take even a small bite.
Leaving our shoes at the entrance, my family takes in the new house, which had already been adorned with rustic style furniture that gives the space a country, cottage feel. Pictures of Tita Bea and Jonathan decorate the walls as we head further into the house. In each photo, that look of love is never absent.
In just a year, they’ve managed to make it look like they’ve lived here all their lives.
Once we’ve greeted everyone, and a few more guests trickle in, we say grace over the food at the dining area and finally dig in. My mouth practically floods at the sight of pork sisig, kare-kare, pancit and of course, my favourite,palabok.
Sweet,sweetpalabok.
I linger toward the back of the line, my eyes scrutinising Marlon’s figure, who’s toward the front already.Whydid Tita Regina have to be so lovely, so friendly, to have become best friends with not only my Mum but all her sisters too?
I get lost in wondering what life would be like, if I wasn’t always jumpscared by Marlon at gatherings, when he passes me.
“I took the last of the palabok, by the way,” he states.
My eyes widen, blood running cold.
“What?” I screech.
Slowly his mouth curls into that unbearable smirk of his, and I nearly knock the plate from his hands.
“Relax Garcia, I’m kidding,” he scoffs, pleased with his pathetic prank.
I can’t help it. I stomp on his foot. Lightly of course.
One thing I pride myself on is my ability to still remain somewhat calm in family gatherings, regardless of how infuriating Marlon can be. Though, the action doesn’t deter Marlon. It only amuses him.
