His forehead creases. “There’s a difference between friends and buddies?”
Yes, apparently some people attach the word MOMOL to buddies. And to be clear, Seph and I are definitely notthat.
After the host has to cut off the Bruno Mars soloist from extending his set, the program segues to thank all the sponsors for Battle of the Bands once again. This time, the host says he wants to switch things up. “Sound booth, can you give me a beat?” he yells out, and proceeds to… rap about all the event sponsors.
“BDO, BDO, we find ways with BDO. Even those with BO wanna bank with B-D-O!”
The whole first row looks perplexed as the host raps some more bars, continuing to try to rhyme the name of a bank and body odor. They should’ve given more air time to the Bruno Mars songs instead.
My ears are cringing from listening to more rapping about bodily smells when I hear Pa’s question. “How does he handle it?” Pa asks. “Not having his dad around?”
“Moseph?” I confirm, and he nods.
“He has a dad. Uncle Francis.”
Pa considers this, then says, “Maybe things are better now.”
After all that buildup, he proceeds to drop the subject and focuses back on the host’s sponsor rapping. Uncle Francis isn’t always around, but that’s because his job requires him to go on work trips abroad. And even if he’s stationed in Amsterdam, Auntie Baby always talks about him.
So I ask, “What were things like before?”
“It’s not my story to tell, Nika. And spreading chismis isn’t healthy for people your age.”
Doesn’t Pa know that peoplethriveon chismis? It’s why Ma and her friends have such healthy skin.
I still nudge Pa about it again.
“I thought you and Moseph aren’t friends?” he teases.
“Yes, but my father taught me that I should be concerned about all people, even my acquaintances.”
There’s a hint of a smile in Pa’s eyes when he says, “You must have a good dad then.”
“He’s all right. Not the mostlivelyone,” I joke, and Pa lets out a small chuckle.
After there’s a commotion backstage with committee members signaling to cut out the rapping, the host spits out one last bar about Nestlé being “the corporate world’s Beyoncé” before getting back on track and announcing that it’s time for the final soloist contestant. “Are you all ready for our reigning Saint Francis soloist champion?” Most of the cheers that erupt are from Auntie Baby and the blow horn she brought with her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, to the stage… Seph King!”
Pa keeps shooting me looks while I clap for Seph’s entrance. “Pa,” I remind him. “Neighborly acquaintances.”
“All right.” He crosses his arms over his chest, still glancing at me.
“Also, why are you encouraging this? If people my age shouldn’t chismis, then we shouldn’t be dealing with dating and those feelings too.”
Pa’s smiling when he shakes his head. “Superstar, you feel themostat your age.”
I scoff under my breath. Pa should notice how much progress I’ve made with controlling my feelings. I basically have none at this point!
The applause gets louder when Seph speaks into the mic. “Good evening, Saint Francis!” he yells, and I hear Auntie Baby’s screams from where we are. “It’s an honor to play for you once again. My name is Seph King, and I’ll be performing Moira Dela Torre’s cover of ‘Torete.’”
My body goes still when I hear the song title.
Seph starts plucking his guitar and Pa asks me, “Did you tell him?”
“Years ago…” But Seph couldn’t have remembered. We were just kids at our first theater workshop when I told Seph that Pa played this song during one of my very first piano lessons. That hearing Pa play “Torete” is what made me first fall in love with the instrument.
While Seph strums the opening notes, I can feel my fingers following along, tracing the notes as if I were playing the piano along with him. Then the guitar quiets, and Seph holds on to the mic. “Sandali na lang…,” he sings softly.
