“But—”
“No buts,” Mara insisted, standing back up and holding out her free hand to grip her sister’s. Reassuring Marina that things were okay was territory she knew well, and one she could guide her little sister through. Comfort zones were Mara’s favorite place to be.
They made their way to the sinks to wash their hands. “No buts. Just like you.”
“Gaga!” Marina exclaimed, giggling as she flicked water in her sister’s direction. Mara squealed in surprise.
“Hala!” Mara exclaimed back, retaliating after she washed her own hands.
“Hoy, hoy, hoy, what’s happening here?” Mabel asked as Marina opened the door with a flourish. Mara spotted David at the counter retrieving their orders. She was very much looking forward to her peppermint mocha. “Having a moment without me?”
“Married women are so scary,” Mara announced, moving out of the way for Mabel to wash her hands. “Mabel, take your Ate to the car. You can chismis with her while you wait for me.”
“Why, what are you doing?”
“I need to pee, too.”
She didn’t really. Mara just wanted a second to catch her breath. It wasn’t easy, running around in heels and a dress cinched to her waist. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was intact, as was her dress and her lipstick. Nothing out of place, everything as she preferred. The hair was a little too stiff for her liking, but her makeup made her look like a blushing, happy maid of honor. She looked pretty, she thought. Gorgeous, even.
She didn’tlooklike someone who was passed over. But the feeling was there, like a loose thread she had yet to cut off of a crochet project.
Mara took a deep breath, taking in Marina’s worries, her fears, her guilt, and breathed them out. She refused to hold on to any of that right now. And with a smile on her face, she headed back to the car. David had graciously decided to put all of Marina’s skirts on his lap and let Mara take the front seat.
“Sipsip,” Mara teased him as he handed her iced coffee over. One pump mocha, three shots peppermint, just as she liked. David was a sweet guy that way.
“You’re welcome, bestie.” He winked back at her before letting Marina rest her head on his shoulder. They really were sweet together. “LOL, your face showed up on my feed again.”
“Are you scrolling social media on your wedding day?” Mara asked tersely, as Mabel started laughing in the back seat.
“Oh my god, it never gets old.” She chortled, as David presumably sent the goddamn meme to their group chat (“Lady Whistledown Chika Room”). Mara didn’t even need to know what the meme looked like—she’d seen it on her feed, in her inbox, had it printed out and taped to her office door.
It was just a photo. A photo one of David’s friends (ugh) randomly took of her and posted on his stories. They had been drinking when he said something idiotic, and Mara glared at him like he was gum under her shoe while he had his camera pointed at her.
But the way the internet worked, Mara’s scowl had been terrifying enough to turn into a universal photo that stood in for threatening bodily harm and/or emotional damage to anyone who saw it. It became an eldest Asian daughter meme. An “Oh you think you have it hard? Try being the eldest daughter in an Asian household” kind of thing.
On the bright side, she noticed people were a little more hesitant to mess with her after that. But on the not-so-bright side, she didn’t know what people were doing with a photo of her face.
One of her many, many goals for tonight’s festivities was to hunt down the member of the groom’s wedding party (he had been in charge of the wedding cord, how appropriate to wring his neck with) who had managed to evade her thus far and shove something up one of his orifices. She had not decided which one yet.
Jay Montinola, Secondary Sponsor for the Wedding Cord. Oooh, just the sound of his name made her blood boil like the fires of Tartarus.
“Ate, do you think we can stop by McDo or something?” Marina asked as their car pulled away from the coffee shop. “I’m starving.”
* * *
They finally made it to Luisa’s, one brief fast-food stop later. The bride and groom were promptly whisked away for touch-ups and more photos, and the bridesmaid and maid of honor were left to their own devices.
Luisa’s was the premiere garden venue in Tagaytay. Best for laid back, but still formal weddings, which meant most weddings. Of all of Mara’s clients, one out of three chose this place as their reception venue, for good reason. It was always worth it to attend, being such a gorgeous venue, and (mostly) because the food wasdivine.
“Anak ng kabayo,” Mabel hissed as she somehow managed to clamber out of the Honda. “Ang lamig. I need the strong arms of a man to provide help. Sexy help.”
“Raise your standards.” Mara laughed as she wrapped her arms around her sister’s bare shoulders. It did little to ward off the cold, but it was better than the six yards of organza they were wearing between them. Tagaytay in January meant piercingly cold winds or still, misty fog, and there was no happy middle. Neither were ideal formal attire conditions. “Don’t worry, Mabel. All we have to do is go to the venue, find Des to change our shoes, then we will enjoy ice cream and beer until we have to have dinner. Good plan?”
“Good plan,” Mabel agreed. “Ate, your skin is colder than mine,” she complained as the sisters shuffled toward the casita pavilion, the holding area for the guests until the reception later that evening. “And my feet hurt.”
“What are feet?” Mara deadpanned to her sister. “Also of course my skin is cold, I’m a cold-blooded—”
“H-oh!” The cheerful voice of the wedding coordinator cut Mara off as they arrived at the registration area. Desiree had come highly recommended by her clients and, in fairness, was doing a great job. Mostly because Des very quickly understood that the person who knew what the bride truly wanted was the maid of honor. “Ladies, I have your sandals. Um, ma’am.”
