Stealing a fruit basket from God doesn’t bode well for our mission to bargain for Pa’s soul.
I try handing Pa a banana and ask Kayla if she sees Pa this time.
“She’s not going to see anything,” Pa answers on Kayla’s behalf.
Oblivious to Pa, Kayla rummages around her fruit basket. “Do you think a mango would work better?”
Then Pa asks, “Superstar, why do you want her to see me so badly?”
I dig through the basket with Kayla, sorting out the fruit, and ignore the rising feeling in my throat. My eyes are already welling up when I think about answering Pa’s question. Because if others can see him, then that means Pa is here for real. Then maybe the universe would agree with me that he doesn’t have to go away.
Pa floats to the space in front of me so he meets my eye. “I’m here. Only thing that’s changed is that I have more blush on my cheeks,” he points out. “And that I can say that I’m more good-looking than the other spirits now…”
He continues to joke and not take any of this seriously. He can downplay this and do all the yoga poses he wants, but I’m sure that incident at Buns by Beth meant something. My gut tells me that it’s the way he can stay past his forty days.
“I’ll get more siopaos,” I say, and tell Kayla to keep watching in case she suddenly sees Pa. My mind starts to calm down a bit once I leave the bedroom. Maybe if I get a break from Pa’s yoga poses and Kayla’s fruit basket, I can think more clearly.
Then I hear a voice that wakes my brain right up again.
“Annika!” Auntie Baby startles when she sees me. “Were you hiding out in your bedroom by yourself? Didn’t your mom tell you about Auntie Grace’s second cousin’s ex-boyfriend’s niece who got robbed because she was listening to music in her bedroom?”
My head’s already throbbing from trying to follow Auntie Grace’s family tree. When Ma and Achi are busy at work, Masometimes asks Auntie Baby to come over and check in on me. I then usually have to spend hours listening to the drama happening in the alumni association.
I force a smile and make a fuss over checking the time on my watch. “Kayla actually came over and we’re doing homework—”
“Wehave a lot of work to do!” She doesn’t take no for an answer and tells me to sit with her at the dining table. “I have a million questions about the soiree we’re hosting. How many of your classmates are coming? How many pizzas should we order?”
“I’m pretty sure Dani—”
Auntie Baby cuts me off and takes out a thick book from her bag. She holds a finger to her lips when she flips open her Saint Agnes yearbook. “Don’t tell your mom that I picked up her copy. She keeps saying that high school is so long ago, but our past is our greatest teacher. The key to being a great event planner is to analyze the mistakes of past events.”
She turns the pages to the soiree photo spread. “You see how the boys and girls were so separated in our soiree before?” She points to a picture where the guys crowded the left side of the room and the girls were on the right. “You and Seph should figure out how to make people mingle this weekend.”
Out of all the things that I can possibly worry about, making my classmates “mingle” at a soiree comes in dead last.
“Did you and Seph discuss the soiree? Your mom made kwento that he went out of his way to give you a gift pa.”
All the adults in my life are making his siopao giftwaytoo big of a deal.
She bumps my shoulder then. “Giving baked goods to each other, planning a soiree,” she says with a smile. “It’s like you’re re-creating your parents’ love story.”
I’m about to refute every word of Auntie Baby’s statement when the photo of my parents at the soiree catches my eye. Then I remember how right before Pa’s skin color changed, Ma commented how Pa used to buy her siopaos back in high school.
Ma usually stiffens or goes scarily quiet whenever I reminisce about Pa. Achi told me to stop bringing up stories long ago when I mentioned one of Pa’s Christmas parties and Ma ended up pulling an all-nighter at the bakery. It’s why I started keeping memories of Pa to myself. If my family didn’t want to talk about him, I’d go through old photos of Pa on my own. I’d stare at the snowflakes on my bedroom ceiling, shut my eyes, and try to remember what Pa’s voice sounded like. Think about all the times his eyes smiled at me when he called me “Superstar.”
… Is that why I’m the only one who can see him?
I’m the only one in my family who makes the effort to keep memories of Pa alive. Does that give me the power to see his ghost?
Maybe it’s not that seeing is believing… Maybe it’s thatrememberingis seeing.
That’s when everything comes together. The answer isn’t in the siopaos, it’s in the memories!
“Auntie,” I interrupt her while she’s dropping hints about what color suits me best for a prom dress. “Can you tell me more about my parents’ love story?”
19
Why did my parentshaveto meet at a soiree?
