Not only that, but Marlon’s family speak full Tagalog to me, which I don’t blame them for, since they haven’t fully met me before, and don’t realise that my understanding is scarce.
My relatives have gotten used to speaking Taglish (Tagalogmixed with English) to me, but hearing the pure tongue spoken to my face is daunting.
Marlon translates it all for me though, and vice versa, when it’s my own words to his relatives.
After lunch, Marlon and I tuck ourselves away in the theatre lounge, giving us both a breather from socialisation.
I’m grateful for the quiet space here.
He’s gushing excitedly about how Mamoru is soon going to discover Usagi’s true identity, based on the Sailor Moon episode we watched last night.
“I thought you didn’t like Mamoru much,” I say.
“I didn’t say that, I just think he’s a bit of a loser, but he’s kind of cool now.”
I laugh.
Then Marlon asks me how Rafayel is. I hesitate, Ria’s words flooding back to me.
Do I tell him the truth? Is he going to tell me the exact same thing?
“It’s - uh - I think it’s going well. I don’t know,” I confess quietly.
“Remember what I said about worrying too much, Garcia. Has he asked you out yet?”
The question confirms all my insecurities.
“Not yet,” I say, “I mean, we’ve only been talking for a couple weeks. Isn’t that too fast for him to ask me on a date?”
Marlon tilts his head back on the couch, glancing at me.
“I’m sorry, Garcia, but - well I’ve always thought that if a guy wants it to happen it’ll happen…”
His voice begins to dip, growing a little softer to salvage my dignity.
“But maybe he’s trying to slow burn it out,” I attempt, but the reasoning sounds pathetic even to my ears. Still, I keep going, my delusion steering my words, “Like in the movieHe’s Just Not That Into You. Maybe I’m not the rule, but I’ll be the exception.”
Marlon lifts a brow in question and confusion. That’s when he raises his hand, palm extended toward me.
“What?” I ask.
“Can I see how he’s been messaging you? So I can analyse his vibes.”
I eye him reluctantly, and Marlon quickly adds, “If you’re comfortable of course.”
Hesitantly, I hand over my phone to Marlon, open to the last text from Rafayel. I still hadn’t replied to his most recent text, which comments on my appearance for the current occasion.
Marlon scrolls up a bit, his eyes skimming the texts. I watch his face for any form of judgement. A scrunch of his nose, or twitch of his eye. I shouldn’t be worried or conscious about it, but I am.
“I don’t know,” Marlon sighs, handing me back the phone. His expression is clouded in a way that’s similar to Ria’s, when she reads through the texts. “Something about him irks me. He’s very … I don’t know. Just notthere.”
Is this Marlon’s way of telling me Rafayel just isn’t interested in me? My stomach falls.
“I’m scared he’s playing you. As your designated wingman, you should drop him right now.”
The thought of Rafayel playing me for a fool, for acting the part of this perfect man, sets my blood cold. If that were the case, all of this would have been for nothing. The meet cute, the flirting, the build up, the anticipation. This ruse.
Thankfully, we are interrupted by Tita Regina.
