Regardless, I spare a glance at him. His expression is unreadable, his gaze trained on his food. Today, his usually unruly curls are brushed back a little.
“Yours will be the next engagement party in the family, eh?” Tita Regina giggles, nudging my ribs. I laugh half-heartedly, mortified.
“Kailan ba ang engagement party mo?” Lola Evangeline questions, from the kitchen counter, having overhead us. A mischievous grin plays on her lips.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I respond, scratching at my earlobe, my neck heating, “I’m too busy with studies.”
“When will youpropose, Marlon?” Tita Bea coos, reaching across the table to poke him with her fork. The table erupts into childish giggles, and I want to melt into the ground right thereand then. Marlon mimics my unnerved laughter. Strangely, having him here, suffering this with me makes me feel less alone. In the worst of ways, I’m happy he’s here with me.
Even Mum is chuckling, and she reaches forward, pinching my arm playfully. All I can do is smile. Smile, and laugh, and not entirely agree, but not disagree either, avoid appearing rude, maintain my composure as an all-good daughter. My breathing quickens, my mind torn between being upset and embarrassed.
I catch Ria’s eyes and her expression is soft and pitiful. I know she wants to say something, and she has before, but none of them will ever listen. That’s when her words from last night suddenly rushes over me in violent waves.
Something about pretending to be with Marlon.
What-ifshurdle into my mind.
What ifMum and Tita Regina thought we dated, and believed that we just didn’t work out…
No.That’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Pretend dating? This is not a movie, or a book. This is real life. And nobody does play-pretend to band aid their problems in real life.
Yet, amongst the inner voices screaming at me, telling me this is nonsense, there’s a louder voice, one that’s reaping frustration and desperation. It’s an impossible feat, it’s childish. Foolish.
But if there’s even that 1% chance it could work, even just a miniscule 0.5% chance that Mum, Tita Regina and our families will stop…
It’s not until Tita Regina whoops, “To Marlon and Jaslene, one day!”, and the entire table laughs, that the voice begins to scream, until it overpowers all others.
Oh,fuckit.
Ten
It’s dark by the time I settle on a decision.
Marlon is sitting outside by himself on the garden chair swing, scrolling through his phone, a single bitten puto balances on his thighs.
Jaslene, if you want to back out, do it now,the intelligent voice in me says, but the one driven by insanity screams at me to keep going.
There are so many ways this could go wrong, the worst one being that Marlon could just laugh in my face and tell everyone. Even so, justonepossibility of this terrible plan going right overrides my anxiety.
I’m pushing open the sliding door before I can find one last reason to throw the idea away.
Marlon doesn’t even seem to notice as I saunter up to him, his attention rigid on his screen.
God, here goes nothing.
I exhale every possible ounce of negative energy and delude myself into a bubble of zen. Then, I dive in.
“Hey Marlon,” I begin, straining my tone to appear sweet. I want to cringe at how I sound.
He looks up, surprised.
“Oh, you,” he says, brows perking up.
I don’t ask if I can join, and just plop down right beside him. The action makes the garden chair swing a little, and we bothawkwardly stumble backwards, our hands reaching for the arm chairs to steady us.
Well, isn’t this just thegreateststart?
“Well thanks for the turbulence,” he murmurs slyly and I bite back the urge to retort. Baby steps.
