If you check the Buns by Beth menu, Ma’s siopaos come in different flavors, from the classic asado and bola-bola to her salted egg twists.
Buns by Beth would be even bigger if Ma wasn’t so paranoid about social media. The country’s biggest supermarket chain approached her about a partnership, but Ma freaked out when she saw their proposed marketing plan. She said being featured that much “around the internet” is a huge security risk.
Once the line finally dwindles down, Dr. Derrick makes another attempt at small talk.
“Your mom and sister are in a meeting, but they’ll be here soon.”
Aside from her job as a counselor at Saint Agnes, my sister also somehow finds time to help Ma manage Buns by Beth. She was already gone to check on today’s kitchen prep when I woke up this morning.
Dr. Derrick then offers me a Flat White. “Your favorite, right?” It even has the most symmetrical-looking heart at the center. This must have taken him hours to make.
I accept the mug and place it on the side, still avoiding eye contact with Dr. Derrick. Maybe he can buy Ma and Achi with his fake selfless barista volunteering, but I know better. My willpower is stronger than simply being tempted by coffee.
Although…
It’s so tempting.
Dr. Derrick goes to refill some of the pastry displays and hashis back turned. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if there’s slightly, very minuscule, less drink in the mug.
I pour a little in a separate cup and take a sip.
Shit, it’s good.
The smooth feel of the drink and its perfect amount of sweetness makes me close my eyes so I can savor every taste. My self-respect goes down a notch with each sip.
But the Flat White suddenly turns sour in my mouth when I see Ma walk in and greet Dr. Derrick. He pecks her on the cheek, rubbing their relationship further in my face.
“Thanks for taking over this afternoon,” Ma says.
“You should thank Nika.” Dr. Derrick gestures in my direction and smooths his striped purple tie that hurts my eyes. “She saved the day.”
Ugh. Suck-up.
Ma’s eyes widen. “You and Nika worked together?”
“He should get barista training before you leave him alone.”
Before they inflict me with more of their PDA, I excuse myself and tell Ma that I left something in the kitchen.
With the pork asado and chopped egg slices laid out on the counter, I can tell Ma is preparing puto pao again. The soft and fluffy rice cake filled with savory pork filling was my dad’s favorite snack. Ma always makes puto pao leading up to Pa’s anniversary, insisting on some superstition that preparing food for my dad would help sustain him in life after death. As if death doesn’t cancel out the whole being alive thing.
Ma’s superstitiousness went to a whole other level when Pa died. She keeps a little red notebook where she jots down superstitions, pamahiins, and some other practices that originate from who knows where. Our condominium used to have a small staircase with four steps leading from our living room to the bedrooms. Since the number four in Mandarin also soundslike the word for death, Ma chopped off a step. When she heard a Filipino superstition that having staircases divisible by three also meant attracting death, she shaved off another one. These days, I have to risk a pulled hamstring every time I have to leap through our botched staircase.
Seeing that my mom is prepping way more puto paos this year gets me thinking. If Ma is readying this whole feast, could Achi be preparing something too? Shedidgo to Auntie Baby… Does Pa’s fifth anniversary mean our family is going totalkabout Pa for once?
I sneak into Ma’s office, glancing behind my shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one’s watching me. My eyes roll to the back of my head when I open a drawer and see Ma’s collection of Dr. Derrick greeting cards. Every Valentine’s Day, birthday, monthsary (what grown man celebrates monthsaries?!), Ma always gets a card from Dr. Derrick.
Happy birthday! Yours, Derrick
Happy Valentine’s Day! Yours, Derrick
Happy monthsary! Yours, Derrick
No pickup line, no joke, no cute designs. He also chooses the world’s most boring sign-off:yours. Considering there’s a wide selection of greeting cards with template greetings, Dr. Derrick always sends cards with dedications that can put me to sleep.
I’m looking through the corner where Achi usually stores her things (I previously found advanced copies of our report cards here) when I see the key hanging from the bottom filing cabinet. I once tried opening that drawer, but my sister said it’s always been broken.
When I turn the key, I find a folder of bank documents andinvestment fund applications. I go through the other envelopes filled with recommendation letters for Jackie Ilagan, copies of her résumé and transcripts, flyers from college fairs.
