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“Well, before, I was directing families to the rooms they wanted to visit,” I say, feeling defensive, my cheeks heating even more. Before I know it, I tell her everything that happened on both days. I was hoping she’d nod and understand, say a few words of encouragement or comfort. Instead, she stares and blinks the whole time. There’s only silence once I finish.

“Emi,” Aprilette finally says, a sigh in her voice, “remember that everyone has limited visitation hours. And they want to see their family.”

These are the kind of answers she’s been giving since college. She has a point, I know. Still, I can feel tears about to rise, and I only swallow them down. “Siggi, Atè.”

I can’t even relate to my own sister. Guess I was thinking a little too hopefully when I thought she’d understand. That our experiences would share some similarities, and that she’d tell me things get better along the way. Looks like I’m alone in this, after all.

“Well, what’s new with you?” I ask. At this point, it’s better to change the subject.

“Nothing new, exactly,” Aprilette answers. I feel disappointed hearing this, and I don’t know why. “Just worked and rock-climbed with Piolo.”

Aprilette and her boyfriend Piolo have been together for four years. I get along with him pretty well. My parents absolutely love Piolo, even telling me they hope I find someone just like him. It feels like an obligation that I find a guy who’s smart, successful, and athletic. Sometimes I wonder how they’d react if I fell for a guy who possesses none of these qualities, but has a kind heart and a great sense of humor. “That’s it? No funny stories about anyone’s jackets? Or any juicy gossip?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Nope. We work in a pharmacy, Emi. We all have to wear scrubs. There’s nothing juicy about preparing medications. I get up and eat egg and rice with tuyo, go to work, hang out with Piolo, then sleep.” Aprilette says all of this like she’s in an interview, detailing everything about herself like they’re skills necessary for the job.

It's wrong of me to feel empty hearing Aprilette’s answers. But the whole time she’s talking, I only wonder if all well-paying jobs are like this—work every day, the routine never changing. A frown almost hangs across my face, but I pin it back into a grin.

“Anything else?” I ask with a little too much hope.

“That’s about it.”

I smile only to stifle a sigh.

There’s a sudden knock on my door. Judging by the lightness of each rap, it must be my mom.

“Come in, po,” I say.

The door flaps open, and my mom steps inside, flashing a smile. She always has this kind of smile when she sees both of us together, especially after Aprilette moved to San Francisco.

“Kumusta, neneng.” My mom always calls Aprilette “neneng” while she calls me “anak.” Sometimes I wish she and my dad would alternate the terms for both of us, call me “neneng” and Aprilette “anak” every now and then. It’s like they could only give the valued Tagalog term “my daughter” to Aprilette because she was born before me. And they only refer to me as “my child” because I’m just another kid. “How was work today?”

They have their own conversation in Tagalog, me just being an audience of one, listening to a story I’ve already heard but in a different language.

“That’s great, neneng!” my mom says to Aprilette, switching back to English, her hand still on my shoulder. “If you ever need a vacation, you can always come back here in your new Mercedes Benz!”

My Atè moves her lips to the side, an I-don’t-know look on her face. “I love San Francisco.”

“You’d just be visiting.”

“And making a four-hour-plus drive with unpredictable traffic. Do you know much money I’d have to spend for gas?”

I almost want to tell Aprilette it’s not like she visits every day, and one car ride isn’t as costly as she thinks. Besides, judging by the grin carved across my mom’s face, all she wants is for my Atè to visit, see us together as four again, even if it’s just for a day. But I stitch my mouth shut.

“Just once neneng, please?”

“Hindi ko po alam, Mom.” Aprilette shrugs. “I’m really busy, anyway. It takes too much time to figure out a day to visit and then drive back to San Francisco.”

“Well, if you ever want to visit, just remember that four hours isn’t that long!”

Despite how chipper her voice sounds, there’s no way my mom could convince anyone that this is true.

Aprilette snorts. “Siggi, po.”

We wave goodbye and exchange mahal kitas. Just as our Zoom cams wink away, my mom sighs.

“Maybe she’ll visit one day,” I assure her, my tone more hopeful than certain.

“Hindi ko alam, anak.” My mom runs her hand through her hair. “You know how your Atè is. Once she’s decided on something, that’s it.”