“I should go find Trisha!” I exclaim as Greg blinks up at me. “She wanted me to come, I have to say hi.”
The second time Greg and I kissed, we were on the couch in my living room, trying to study. His grades were bad, and his mom begged me to help—and textbooks open beside us, wedrifted into each other, fumbling fingers on my cheeks and fireworks between my ears.
But my mom walked in, and it wasn’t a huge surprise that she freaked out. I knew by then what she thought of him.
The next day, I overheard her having an urgent, hushed conversation with Tita Wendy on the phone, but I could pick out only every few words.
Afterward, she cornered me and said, “Look, I love Greg, but he’s not right for you. You want someone who can set you up for a nice life. Someone who’ll lift you up, earn more than you. I don’t think Greg’s that kind of person. Trust me, I know what’s best for you.”
Who’s saying anything about the rest of our lives?I wanted to scream.I’m in high school!
I was all ready to defy my mom—We’re in love! To hell with everyone else!
But then things got weird. Greg acted like nothing had happened. He was distant, avoiding me. And it crushed me, but I was desperate not to show it.
I felt so stupid.Oh. He wasn’t even that serious.I was the fool who fell harder and got bruised on the way down. Something shifted overnight and he was hanging out with all these new people—before I knew it, we didn’t even have the same friends anymore. Soon we were barely speaking at all.
In his tagged photos on Instagram, I’d see him at parties with new friends—with other girls. And when we’d see each other because of our moms, our small talk got awfully strained.
One time I tried addressing it directly, and he clammed up and said,We don’t have to overthink it, okay?So we never talked about it again, even though those two stolen kisses became my baseline, the one I’d subconsciously use to measure every first encounter with someone new.
But I’m over that now—it’s ancient history. I’m dating someone who really likes me. I should have brought him today—I will, next time! And I have the maturity and perspective to know that Greg was saying he loves me as a friend.
I swing by the food table and grab a couple skewers, biting into the blackened chicken. It’s perfectly smoky, tangy, and sweet from Tito Rob’s Jufran and Sprite marinade.
Tita Rina’s sitting at a table they’ve set up in the yard, gossiping with my other aunties in rapid Tagalog and laughing. I’ve missed that sound, even though I don’t know what they’re saying. Weird how the texture and music of a language can feel like home, even if you don’t understand a word.
She spots me and waves me over. “Ruby, it’s been so long, glad you made it! Come here, let me see you!”
She launches into a stream of updates about all the cousins who are around my age: where they’re working now, the cities they’ve moved to, all the engagements and babies on the way.
Across the lawn, Greg’s crouched down next to Tito Rob and Tita Rina’s younger kids, Gabe and Michael. Last time I checked, they were in fourth and fifth grades. Greg’s talking to them seriously, gesturing to the Switch in Gabe’s hands. Gabe hands Greg the game, and Greg sits cross-legged on the grass while both of my little cousins point and shout instructions.
Tita Rina’s updates have wound to a close, and I take the opening. “Have you seen Trisha?” I ask.
She points to the backyard play set Tito Rob built at least ten years ago. “I think she’s turned into a bat,” Tita Rina says with a laugh.
And sure enough, there’s Trisha, hanging upside down from the monkey bars, scrolling on her phone, hair almost trailing the ground.
My heart clenches as I cut across the yard toward her.Little weirdo like me.
“Hey.” I sit down on the swing and bite into the turon on my paper plate—crispy egg roll wrapper covered in honey, creamy fried banana inside.
“Hey, Ate Ruby.” If Trisha was excited to see me, she’s not showing it now. She keeps scrolling on her phone, perfectly content to be upside down.
“Doesn’t the blood go to your head like that?”
“Good for thinking,” she says.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask around another mouthful of turon. “What are you into these days?”
Trisha sighs. “That’s such an old-person question.”
I laugh. “Sure, probably.”
“Do you actually want to know, or are you just making conversation?”
“Um, yeah. I want to know!”
