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“Siggi, po.” I’d eat, but glancing at my camera, I can’t help but ask myself, What’s missing?

A flock of ducks sails across the lake, quacking and flapping their wings. My dad chuckles glimpsing at them.

“Remember when you ran away while your Atè and I were feeding them?” he says, hitching a thumb at the ducks.

I almost flush until I realize what’s missing. My Atè. It’s only a love photograph if I capture my whole family.

“Speaking of Atè, we should call her,” I say.

“Siggi, let’s do that,” my mom says.

She FaceTimes Aprilette as we serve our food on paper plates. I get a good whiff of the peppercorn and soy sauce smell from the adobo, along with the smokiness of the grilled eggplants, chopped onions, and tomatoes from the inihaw na Talong. The halo-halo, an ube ice cream scoop placed on shaved ice, sits in a bowl, heaped on a mixture of sweet red beans, white beans, coconut gel, coconut string, and jackfruit chunks.

“Kumusta!” Aprilette greets. “Nasa’an?”

“Curtain Lake,” my mom says.

“Is Emi still running away from ducks?”

“Watch it, Atè!” I say, my face reddening. I’m not admitting this out loud, but I still feel a bit nervous around the ducks. I blame this on years never interacting with animals, too scared they’ll bite or pounce. Maybe because I’ve never tried interacting in the first place. “Anyway, let’s take a photo!”

“With me on the phone?”

“Yeah, it’s a family photograph.”

The funny thing is that taking my photo with Aprilette on the phone actually works. It’s an accurate image of my family, my parents and I still living in Sunlight and Aprilette living in San Francisco, our only way to contact her daily being through the phone.

“I’m pretty sure a family photograph requires everyone being in it,” Aprilette says.

“Taking it with you on the phone is perfect, Atè,” I say like it’s totally common, following it up with an explanation on how I plan to adjust my settings.

“Siggi,” everyone says.

I search for any inkling of intrigue on their faces. Nothing. When I lift my camera, narrowing my eye through the viewfinder, I continue explaining my reasons for adjusting every shot. They just nod as if to say, Okay that’s nice. Even when I show them my photos on my LCD screen, they simply say, “Siggi.” It’s wishful thinking wanting them to say more, but why can’t they? And why do I keep trying?

On my LCD screen, I examine each photo, my parents and virtual Aprilette flashing smiles at the camera. But like before, something doesn’t feel right, and I don’t know why. I’ve done everything I wanted, from backlighting to modifying my settings to working with golden hour. My whole family is even in the lens, with Filipino food, all made by my mom, laid out in front of them. What’s missing?

“Shouldn’t you be in the picture, Emi?” Aprilette asks.

“I hate being in photos,” I explain. “Besides, someone has to take it.”

I’m thankful no one but us is here, so it’s valid to say we can’t ask anyone to take our photo.

“Fair.” Aprilette leans closer to the screen, her messy-yet-stylish waves framing her face. “What are you all eating?”

An idea strikes. “Mom, you should show Atè all the food.”

My mom hovers virtual Aprilette over the food. She asks if my Atè will ever visit again while my dad says maybe we should visit her.

My dad gazes at Aprilette like he wishes we could be there with her. My mom gazes from Aprilette to the food like she wishes Aprilette were with us. Aprilette gazes at the whole table, unsure whether she wants to bring us and the food to San Francisco, or if she wants to join us here in Sunlight.

After changing my settings and finding the best angle, I narrow my eye through the viewfinder, lens locking my family’s faces in focus.

Click!

They look up and furrow their eyebrows.

“Did you just take a candid picture of us?” Aprilette says.