For my pancit canton stash, I have to regularly switch the hiding place just so my sister doesn’t throw away my noodles. I climb on top of the stool to reach for the broken kettle stored in the highest cupboard.
Aha! Noodles secured and found.
I’ve memorized Achi’s sermon about how instant noodles have dangerous amounts of sodium and are bad for my heart, but you know what? Pancit canton is good for mysoul. After a day like today, nothing sounds better than a hot serving of spicy, savory noodles.
As I wait for the water to boil, I hear footsteps approaching the front door.
Shit shit shit.
I quickly stuff the sauce packets and noodles in my pockets.
“Nika?” Ma enters the condo, carrying two paper bags. “Kumain ka na? Ordered some food for dinner.”
She pauses when she sees me by the kitchen counter. “Why is the pot out?”
My face remains stoic, my voice calm. “Just needed hot water.”
“… From the pot?”
“Yeah, my throat was feeling weird, so I needed hot water.” I pat my neck for emphasis. “Lots of hot water.”
Ma then stares me down. “Are you making pancit canton?”
I’m about to counter when she asks, “What flavor?”
“Uh… chilimansi.”
She places her takeout on the table and tells me to help unpack the containers. “Make sure you throw the wrapper outside so Jackie doesn’t see.”
A moment passes and she adds, “And make sure you have enough for two.”
Pancit canton, rice, fish, dumplings, and bok choy. It really is a perfect dinner—fit for fine dining if you ask me.
“Nika.” Ma scolds me when I stick my chopsticks in my bowl of rice to prepare the noodles. “Leaving your chopsticks like that is bad luck. They look like incense at a funeral.”
I’m about to ask Ma how in the world she goes from looking at chopsticks to thinking about funerals, but I decide to leave it be. If Achi’s really going to Florida, having meals together would be a permanent thing—just Ma and me.
So I remove the chopsticks from the rice, leave them next to the bowl, and serve my mother noodles.
“This is sinful,” Ma mutters as she stares at the pancit canton.
I grab the plate of bok choy and place some pieces on top of Ma’s bowl of noodles. “Look, the vegetables make it healthy. God should forgive you now.”
A slight smirk crosses her face. “I’m starting to question the quality of your Saint Agnes education.”
“Unhealthy noodles plus healthy vegetables means the vegetables cancel out the noodles,” I say, laying it out for her. “That’s great math.”
Ma shakes her head, laughing. She tells me to add more vegetables to my plate while she checks her phone that’s been buzzing nonstop with her work group chats.
If every day could be like our dinner tonight, I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. Look, Ma and I are capable of bonding, having dinner alone without things exploding. Maybe the next time Ma talks to her friends about me, she’ll rave about how fun I am instead of how I’m hard to deal with.
“Are you giving any of your teachers trouble?”
I shake my head, trying to focus on my noodles instead of taking Ma’s accusation too seriously.
Then she asks, “You’re passing all your classes?”
“Think so.”
