Hearing her voice after days is like a balm to my bleeding wound.
“Hey, it’s May. Sorry I can’t come tothe phone right now. Leave me a message after thebeep.”
Can’t say I’m surprised she didn’t pick up. She’s still hurt and it’s valid. She needs time, and I want to give her time…But not too much.
“Hey, Bel.” My heart pounds fast. “It’s Liam. I…I was hoping we could talk and you’d give me the opportunity to explain some things. I miss you and would love to hear from you soon, babe.”
The wordsI love youare on the tip of my tongue.
But I want to see Mabel’s face the first time I say them.
And I pray to God that my girl feels the same way about me.
Mabel
It’s been a hundred and sixty-eight hours since I spoke to Liam.
But who’s keeping count, right?
The hurt I felt has now turned into a dull ache that pulsates every now and then as I go about my day-to-day life. School and social media have taken up a big chunk of my time.
I’ve kept myself busy to remain distracted.
That way I don’t have to think about Liam.
Which is a difficult task considering every night when I lie in bed and close my eyes, the first thing I see is his blue gaze reminiscent of an ocean. My traitorous mind paints his shy smile, nestled into his brown beard. My fingers itch to run through it to see if it feels as soft as it looks. And my hands yearn to run over that tall, hefty body, just to see how his muscles bunch and shift under my touch.
God, I’m hopeless.
Even my mom and dad know something isn’t status quo when I enter our home on the seventh day of Liam’s and my separation—ifyou can even call it that.
I hear their low murmurs and follow the sound until I reach the threshold of the dining room. They’re sitting at the table, playing checkers with the new set I gifted them last week.
I love my parents and I love providing for them. My dad is an electrician and my mom is a dental assistant and both have worked extremely hard their whole lives for my sake. One day when I’ve made good money from either my degree or modelling, I’m going to retire them early. So they can enjoy quiet moments like this one: playing board games at night with oldies tunes droning in the background.
My dad’s face breaks into a wide smile when he spots me. The corners of his brown eyes—the ones I inherited—crinkle endearingly and he greets me. “Kumusta anak ko?”
My parents raised me to speak both my mother tongues—Tagalog and English—fluently.
“Mabuti po,” I tell him I’m doing good and ask how he is, “Kayo ho?” Then I glance at my mother, who’s watching us warmly. “Hi, Mom. How’s it going?”
“Hi, sweetie.” She places her hot cocoa on a coaster. My dad quickly makes his next move. “Good. How was your quiz today?”
I sigh, bone-deep. “Not so great. I’m just hoping I passed.”
Unfortunately, I really screwed up on the last set of multiple-choice questions because I didn’t study hard enough for one module.
“Oh, no.” Her face falls and both my parents bestow me with matching frowns. “Sorry to hear that, May.”
I shrug my purse off my shoulder and onto the crook of my elbow. “It’s okay. I’ve been doing well in this class anyway and this quiz isn’t worth a lot.”
It’s a mere three percent. I’ll easily bounce back.
My dad adjusts his glasses and regards me with renewed encouragement. “Don’t worry. You’ll do better next time.”
“Thank you.” I go to give them each a forehead kiss. Something I’ve been doing since I was a little girl.
My mom grabs me before I can pull away and searches my face. “Is something else bothering you, Mabel? You’ve been very…quiet lately.”
