LIGAYA
I asked my parents to keep the pregnancy on the down-low for a few more weeks. Mytitasdo not need further reasons to gush over Tristan.
Instead of beating him inmahjong, I end up sitting beside Tristan to tutor him through the game. We play as a team and get our asses kicked. The one time he won, I could tell Tita Cecilia put the eight sticks out on purpose. Still, Tristan yelled “mahjong” like he won the lottery.
The music comes from either the piano or the Spotify playlist with a mix of Filipino holiday classics. There’s a constant flow of food and conversation. Tristan gets pulled into a diatribe about surgeries. He has the good sense to agree when Tito Roy compared his pickleball injury to one suffered by a professional hockey player.
“I’m stuffed,” Tristan groans, sitting back on his chair and patting his belly. Everyone was scooping their potluck offerings for him to try. By his fourth plate, I had to put a stop to the feeding frenzy.
I tidy up the table. Tristan follows me to the kitchen. For the first time in hours, we’re alone. The last time we were in exactly this position—in a kitchen with the detritus of a party strewn all over the counter—he kissed me like the world was ending.
But that was before we got the sex out of our system.
Body:Wanting to have sex with Tristan is not out of your system. It’s in your blood and coming out of your pores.
Brain:First of all, that’s objectively impossible. More to the point, there’s no room for the complication of a sexual relationship when we have to spend the next few decades raising socially responsible and emotionally mature twins.
Uterus:WHY DID NO ONE ASK ME?!
“My favorite was theturonyou made,” Tristan says, jolting me out of my wacky internal debate.
I’ve always had a sassy inner voice that I’ve had to keep from the world for the sake of propriety, but this full-on scripted internal drama is another level. Mind, body, and uterus have turned into bickering characters in the comedy that is my life.
“You had a ton of the fish ball soup.”
“Balls are festive, Ligaya. I didn’t make the rules.”
That makes me laugh. He’salwaysmade me laugh, I realize, even when he drove me crazy.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks.
“Yes, you can bring home leftovers. You don’t need to stuff your face in one sitting.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask, but good to know. I’m definitely bringing some of this home.”
“What do you want to know?”
He pulls me to the large pantry and closes the door. The space is suited to my parent’s Costco addiction, but still too small for both of us. Our chests are almost touching when we face each other. I’m so distracted by his scent and the pounding of my heart, his words are drowned out.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat what you said?” I ask.
“I’m buying you a car. Taking care of you starts with ensuring your safety.”
I cackle in disbelief. “Haha. For a second there, I thought you said you’re buying me a car.”
“Actually, an SUV. Like mine.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“You can’t be in that little Honda during the winter, Ligaya. The tires are old, and you’ve already had serious repairs. What if it broke down on the highway? Also, one baby seat will barely fit back there, so it would be impossible with two.”
“I have the money to buy myself a new vehicle if the kids need it. I’m not helpless, you know.”
“Accepting help is not the same as being helpless.”
“Listen to me, Tristan. You will not buy me a new car or SUV or whatever. If two baby seats don’t fit in the back, then I’ll visit a dealership to figure out my options. I don’t mind your opinion when the time comes, but I’m not taking your charity.”
He shakes his head and lowers his arms. “You won’t take a new car from me?”
