Something in Between (20 page)

“It's not that I don't want to,” he says. “But...”

I know what he means. We're not ready. We just got back together. It
feels
right, but it's way, way, too fast.

He pulls away a little and we both settle down. That's when I realize the seats in the car go all the way down.
So that's how we got in this position
, I think, and laugh to myself.

Royce pushes up on one elbow and looks down at me. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead, and I push his bangs away so I can see his eyes.

“What's so funny?” he asks, looking worried.

I smile to show him there's nothing to worry about. “The seats. I didn't realize until just now that they recline all the way down.”

“They have to,” he says, with a serious look on his face. “Otherwise how else are we going to have sex in this thing one day?”

“Oh my God,” I say, hiding my face in my hands. I almost had
sex
with him. I wanted to, so badly, but I'm glad he stopped us.

When he gently pulls my hands away from my face, I know he's telling me there's nothing to be ashamed of, and I know he's right.

I want to know all of him, and I want him to know all of me. One day we will.

Everything is beautiful in the moonlight.

23

Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.

—CLEMENTINE PADDLEFORD

IT DOESN'T TAKE
long for Mom and Dad to catch on that I don't want to be at home. At all. Since Royce and I got back together, I just want to spend as much time with him as I can to make up for all that time when we weren't together. We take it slow though, and go back to kissing a lot. He sends me love letters (okay, love emails) and writes me poetry. I take endless portraits of him with my phone. I used to be really into photography, and I am obsessed with capturing every angle of his handsome face. I want to show him how I see him, how beautiful he is to me.

But every moment we're together is an anxious one too. Who knows how long we have to be together? If my family does end up having to leave America, I don't want to lose out on any time left that I might have with him. Tonight, I'm halfway to the front door, trying to sneak out for the evening, when Dad stops me. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Out,” I say.

Dad puts his arm across the doorway. “With who? Kayla?”

“You know who, Daddy.” I inch closer toward the door. It's not that I don't want to spend
any
time with my family anymore, but come on, I've spent eighteen years with them staying home almost every single night.

“But Lola Cherry's coming over for dinner. You know she'll want to see you.”

He had to say that. He knows I love Lola Cherry.

It's probably a trick though. “I already made plans,” I say.

“Bring your white boy in for a while,” Dad says, resolute. “Lola wants to meet him.”

I recall how I wanted Royce to know more about me, about my family. But I know how Lola Cherry can get. Royce has no idea how loose-tongued older-generation Filipinos are.

I try a new tactic. “We have reservations,” I say. “And his mom is Latina, by the way. He's not a white boy.”

“Sure looks like one to me,” says Dad. “And I don't care about reservations. Un-reserve them.”

I'm not giving up yet. “We made them a week ago, Dad. Royce said they were really hard to get.” I'm stretching it a little—we're just going to the movies and grabbing burgers—but Dad doesn't have to know that.

“So?” he says. “You'll save money if you eat here.”

“I wasn't paying,” I say, trying to go around him, but he blocks me from leaving.

“
Neneng.
Don't waste that boy's money.”

“I'm not. I didn't ask him to spend it!”

I give Dad the eternal look of daughter disapproval, but he doesn't budge. It's so unfair—I've been such a good girl my whole life, and he still won't let me be a regular teenager for a few months. Not that I'm ever going to tell him about Royce taking me drag racing on Mulholland Drive, of course. Or what almost happened after. Filipinos think all brides are virgins, or should be.

Although Mom surprised me the other day. Out of the blue she said she hoped Royce and I were “being careful” and that “there are a lot of diseases out there” which I think is the code for “make sure you don't get pregnant or catch an STD.” I wanted to tell her that we weren't having sex! At least not yet. How does she know it's on my mind? But then, moms always know, right? I was too embarrassed to say anything, but I promised her I was taking care of myself. She seemed okay with that.

Dad is another matter.

“Fine,” I say after our standoff. “I'll get him. When's Lola coming?”

“Your mother's picking her up. Show some respect. She's a lonely old woman.”

“She's not lonely,” I say. “She hangs out with old Filipino women at the home every day.”

“Sounds like a hard life to me,” Dad says. “If you knew my mother, rest her soul.”

I laugh. My dad can always crack me up. I'm glad we're staying in now. I have missed hanging out with my family. I walk out to the driveway, where Royce is waiting in his Range Rover.

He rolls down the window. “Why aren't you getting in?”

“I can't go,” I sigh.

“Oh,” he says, flummoxed. This hasn't happened before. “Are you grounded or something? Do I have to leave?”

“No!” I say. “They want you to come in and have dinner with us. Is that okay?”

“Sure, of course. Why didn't you just say so earlier?” he says. “You know I like Filipino food.”

Just then Mom rolls up with Lola Cherry. Mom gets out and opens the door for Lola, who starts arguing with Mom about something in Tagalog.

“You think I can't open a door?” Lola barks.

“I was already here,” Mom says.

“You're treating me like a cripple.”

As they walk toward the house, Lola leans on Mom's arm. Suddenly, Lola Cherry sees Royce and me. “
Neneng!
What are you doing outside! Come in here with that handsome boyfriend of yours!”

I wave to her. My stomach has tied itself into a big knot. Oh well, Royce has to meet her sooner or later.

Inside, Lola sits down at the kitchen table with Dad, who's drinking coffee. Mom starts cooking lumpia over the stove. I notice Lola has her curved wooden cane sitting at her side.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. de los Santos,” Royce says.

Mom claps her hands. “Royce!” she says. She doesn't usually act this way. It's something she's putting on for Lola. She wants to show us off. She turns to Lola. “This is Jasmine's boyfriend, Royce. He goes to Eastlake Prep.”

I sit down. Royce continues to stand.

“Where's that?” Lola says.

“It's in Brentwood,” I tell her. “Private school.”

“Ah, one of those.”

“Lola! You went to Catholic school in Cebu City,” Mom says before Royce can say anything. We're all talking at the same time.

“St. Theresa's was a long time ago,” Lola says. “And the nuns were stupid.”

Royce and I laugh. I hand him a Coke. He smiles his thanks.

“Don't say that!” Mom says. “God in heaven will strike us all dead.”

“It's true,” says Lola. “They were dumb as bricks. They thought we were all good girls, but we were smoking, drinking, and meeting the boys after dark. We could stay out until 6:00 a.m. because those nuns were so old, dumb, and blind.” Lola takes off her trifocals. Her eyes suddenly look tiny. “I can't see through these,” she says, reaching for her purse.

“Let me get that for you.” Royce reaches down.

Lola is quicker than lightning and smacks Royce on the hand with her cane. “Don't touch that. What are you? Some hooligan?”

Royce yelps, pulling away his hand from Lola like she's some kind of poisonous snake who snapped at him with her forked tongue. I hold my breath, waiting to see how he'll react.

“Is that all you've got?” he says to Lola with a raised eyebrow.

Dad starts laughing. “Good one, Royce.”

“Lola!” Mom says. “What if he's going to become a surgeon? You can't break his hands!”

Lola opens her purse and takes out a handkerchief to wipe her lenses. “I can't help if he's slow,” she says.

Royce winks at me while he rubs his hand.

I smirk at Lola. She pretends to be so innocent, but she's always been a prankster.

“How's your knee?” I ask Lola.

“It's fine, but my dancing days are definitely over.”

“Were you a dancer?” Royce asks.

“She likes to think she was,” Dad says.

Mom rolls the last lumpia and puts it on a sheet with the others to fry.

“I was a
great
dancer,” Lola says. “I may not be a blood relative of Jasmine, but she wouldn't be cheerleading if I hadn't shown her how to shake her hips.”

Royce raises an eyebrow and looks intrigued. I try not to blush.

“Oh, come on,” Mom says.

“It's true! Tell her,
neneng.
You know the truth.”

“Lola was a traditional dance leader for the Filipino community here,” I say. “And before that, according to legend—and by legend I mean from the mouth of Lola herself—she also taught ballet at some dance school for fifty years.”

“You exaggerate,” Lola says. “I'm not even fifty years old...”

“Try more like a thousand years,” Dad says, as Danny and Isko enter the room.

“When's dinner going to be ready?” Danny asks.

Isko kicks Royce in the back of the knee. Royce almost goes tumbling to the floor. Poor Royce. He's always so abused when he comes over to my house.

“Isko!” Mom says. “
Tarantado!
Apologize to Royce!”

“Oh, that Francisco,” Lola laughs. “Maybe he should wear a black dress for the rest of the day and say Hail Marys. You have black skirts, Jasmine. Maybe you can lend him one.”

“I'm not wearing a dress!” Isko says. “It's Danny's fault! He dared me to see if I could make him fall!”

“How about I make you fall?” Dad says. “You and your brother get out of here.”

The boys dart out of the room.

I turn to Royce and hug him. “Don't worry. I'll get him back for you later.”

“Or I will.” He grins. “Don't forget, I have an older brother. I can defend myself.”

Lola has her glasses back on her face. “
Neneng.
You didn't tell me your friend was white.”

Oh no
, I think. Here she goes. Lola may be wild, but she's also still more traditional than my parents in some ways.

This time Royce speaks up. “Italian-Mexican-Norwegian-German-English actually,” he says. “Oh, and some Irish.”

Lola gives Royce a bizarre look. “Running for politics like your fancy dad?”

I glance at Mom. She shrugs apologetically. She must have told Lola Cherry everything about Royce. And Congressman Blakely.

“If my dad had his way, I would be just like him,” Royce says.

“Then don't be a fool. Be like JFK. Now there was an American president! He looked good in a suit too. Charming. Handsome. He was a playboy though. Are you a playboy?”

Royce laughs. “I don't think so.”

“You don't
think
so? You sound like JFK already. Maybe you should run for president.”

“Nah, that's my dad, not me.”

“Lola,” I interrupt. “How are your friends in the home?”

“Oh, them,” she says. “They're fine. Boring. Same old stories every day. My son's family is doing this. My daughter's family is doing that. My son's family is wealthier than your son's family. My hip is going out. I can't eat pork anymore. I get tired of it all. I just want to watch movies and dance, but this knee hurts too much. I watch some of them dance and I say, ‘Hey, you got two left feet. What's wrong with you?' But it does no good unless I can show them.”

I sometimes feel bad for Lola. Old people in the Philippines never go to a home. Their families take care of them. But then I remember not to feel so sorry for her, because Lola actually seems to like being social with the other old people. She might complain about them, but they allow her to constantly be the center of attention, which is her favorite thing to be.

Lola turns her attention to Royce again. “Why are you here? Why aren't you taking Jasmine out?”

I give Dad a
told-you-so
look. Royce glances at me and smiles.

“He wanted to meet you,” Dad lies. “He heard so much about you.”

“Do you want me to hit you with my cane?” she says to Dad.

Dad chuckles. “You look like Charlie Chaplin when you walk with that.”

“You say that again,” Lola says like she's daring him.

“Tell us about the boys you snuck out to meet in Cebu City,” says Royce. “What were they like?”

“You don't even know,” Lola says. “There was this military man on leave taking classes nearby. He was in World War Two. There was a scar hole on his shoulder you could put your finger in from a Japanese bayonet. Oh, and there was a French scholar who liked my dancing. Wild days, those were. He came to the ballet to see me once. He was studying birds and politics. Can you believe that? He called me his falconet. You ever see one? Glossy. Blue black. They yell
kek-kek-kek-kek
when they're diving between the trees.”

“Stop it, Lola,” Mom says. “You're giving Jasmine ideas.”

Lola's eyes brighten. “Oh, I don't have to do that. She's young. She has her own ideas. Don't you,
neneng
? I don't need to help you come up with those.”

“Not if I can help it,” Dad says.

I try to see if Royce is squirming as badly as I am, but he doesn't seem to be. He's smiling, going with the flow.

“Why did you move to the United States, Lola Cherry?” Royce asks.

“Ah. You want to hear this story?” Lola asks. Before Royce can respond, Lola leans toward the table, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. “In the Philippines, I used to... When I was around Jasmine's age, I was quite a looker, just like her. If I do say so myself. There was one night I put on my best dress and snuck out of my family's compound to go to a dance at a bar. There was a handsome man drinking whiskey, leaning against the bar, but he didn't talk to anyone. Well, you know me, I couldn't let him go through the whole night not talking to anyone, so I went up to him and asked him to dance. He agreed, but I was soon regretting my choice because he had two left feet!”

Royce seems enthralled by her story. I guess it is kind of funny. “What did you do? Did you ditch him? Did you whack him with your cane?”

Lola laughs. “I wish I'd had my cane then. I could have taught him a thing or two about rhythm. To answer your question—no, I didn't abandon him. In fact, I discovered that he was Filipino, but he had been born in the United States. His reason for coming to the Philippines was to find a wife. And, well, how should I say this? He found me. So here I am.”