“Good,” she answers, eyes still glued to the screen. “She wasthinking about going back to the bakery to sign off on some things, but I talked her out of it. The lights were off when I checked her room.”
I don’t know how my sister does it. Whenever I try talking to Ma, it’s like I’m incapable of finding the right words.
“And about Florida…”
Achi only mumbles a very vague, “Mm-hmm?”
My mind starts spiraling again at the thought of Achi being so far away.
“Did you know that Florida has lots of alligators?” I mention. “I saw this video where an alligator was running after a golf cart. If they can chase after a golf cart, you’d never make it. You’re so slow.”
My sister lets out a snort and meets my eye. “You’re going to miss me, ‘no?”
“No,” I quickly retort.
She chuckles and pokes me. “I’myoursoft spot. Admit it. You’resogoing to miss me.”
“This is me protecting you from getting eaten by an alligator.”
I’m about to give her statistics about alligator chases when Achi says, “I’m not leaving.”
“Oh.”
“I applied to those programs as a joke,” she explains. “I was never going to actually go.”
My body’s working overtime to stop my face from smiling.If you don’t act cool, Achi might change her mind and leave you for the alligators!
Then she starts poking my ticklish side again.
“Achi!” I squirm and hold in my laugh.
She continues tickling me until I grab her hands to stop. “I thought you moving out meant I could have my own bedroom,” I tell her when I catch my breath.
“But then you’d miss me too much,” she teases, and loops her arm through mine.
“Whatever.” I sigh and rest my head on hers.
The other thing I’m too stubborn to admit—the only time I get a good night’s sleep is when my sister is sleeping beside me.
6
My sister and I have another unspoken rule during my dad’s death anniversary.
I’ve been waiting outside the bathroom for almost half an hour, but I don’t knock on the door.
When Achi eventually comes out, I don’t ask her if everything is okay. I’ve learned a long time ago to pretend.
When we lost Pa, Achi helped Ma sort out the hospital bills, plan the funeral, thank everyone for their condolences. That whole time, my sister’s pleasant hosting demeanor didn’t breakonce. I’m pretty sure she’s the one least affected by grief.
But I give her space when today comes. I know that our bathroom is one of the rare places where Achi allows herself to be sad.
Once my sister steps out and we make our way to the car, I don’t point out that her eyes are puffy. I also hold in all my comments when she wears her oversize Kardashian-esque sunglasses even though the shades are bigger than her face. We get in the car and the whole ride is silent except for Ma’s monologue about today’s itinerary.
Her red notebook is laid out open on the dashboard, but Ma has already memorized our routine by heart. I try not to get nervous when I notice her knee bouncing each time we reach a stoplight. “Nika leads the novena prayer, Jackie takes care of the incense, I handle the altar, rice, and the ang paos…”
There are superstitions that are supposed to be for funerals or wakes that Ma insists we still practice every time we visit the cemetery. The one that she’s extra, extra careful about is—
“Pagpag. Already checked,” Ma mumbles to herself. “Called Gloria Maris and made sure we could get the big table.”
