Taming Romeo (10 page)

“Me? You’re the one calling me slimeball. Since when have I judged you?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair, looking up at me.

“I’m sure you’re thinking it. I’m a failure, a dropout, probably slutty, and hysterical. Chubby, out of shape, and crazy, lots of crazy, incompetent waitress and I suck at being a sister and I’m a horrible daughter. Now I’m ridiculous.”

He looks at me as if I’ve grown three heads and five pairs of tits.

I can’t face him so I tear for the exit.

A large hand clamps my shoulder. “Whoa, there, cookie. You can’t sling all that mud and run off.”

“I’ve ruined our friendship too. You won’t ever forgive me for jumping to conclusions and blaming you when all you did was take your mother to the hospital.”

“I forgive you, okay? Come here and give me a hug.” He opens his arms.

How can I resist? He’s too good to be true. I fall into his arms and kiss him on the cheek. He smells like fried pork and his shirt is greasy, but I don’t mind at all. It’s comforting, reminds me of home.

“You know none of those things you said about yourself are true, don’t you?” He sweeps the back of his hand down the side of my face. “Someone has beaten you down. Made you feel bad about yourself. Was it that boyfriend you had back east?”

It would be too easy to say it was Eric.

“No, I can’t blame him. It’s me. When I arrived at Harvard freshman year, I found out I was no longer the smartest girl around. I wasn’t even in the top half of the class. I struggled for every test, every grade point.”

“You’re still the smartest girl I know.” Romeo grins. “And the most beautiful. Sexiest too. Hot, really hot, I mean, no one can tell by looking at you because you’re so reserved most of the time.”

“You make it seem like I have no faults.”

“Of course you have faults. You’re stubborn, bullheaded, jump to conclusions, impulsive, very impulsive, and crazy fun. And you’re slutty too, with me,” he whispers, tickling my left ear. “I bet I’m the only guy who brings out your inner slut.”

“You are so arrogant.”

“I know.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I didn’t ditch you yesterday morning, but I should have texted. Why didn’t you call?”

“I thought you were done with me and you were feeding me lines from your soap operas, so I kind of shut down. How’s your mom?”

“Better. I didn’t say anything yesterday because I didn’t want to burden you with worry, not until I knew she was going to be okay.”

“I’m really sorry, Romeo. I’m sorry I kicked you and said those mean things. I didn’t believe you wanted to see me again. I mean, did you come here to see me or eat lechón?”

“See you, of course. After my mom woke up I talked to her about it and she said it was obvious. You thought I only wanted you for a one-night stand.”

Shock waves arc over me like a third rail up my spine. “You talked to Tita Elena about us?”

“Yes, I mean, she’s my mother.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “We have a very open relationship.”

“Oh my…” I slap the side of my face. “What if she’s telling my mother right now. Did you tell her about my birth control slip up?”

His face widens with a huge grin. “Of course not. There are some things even I wouldn’t share with my mom.”

“I hope she’s not saying anything to my mom. Did you know they were setting you up with Genie? That’s why you’re taking her to Julia’s wedding this weekend.”

“Wait. I’m only escorting her to a wedding, not getting set up with her. Who told you this?”

Bingo! Either he doesn’t know or he’s again, a great actor.

“Maybe you should ask your mother.”

“I’m only here for three weeks. What does she hope to accomplish?” Romeo swipes a hand through his hair.

Far be it from me to spill secrets between mother and son. “Have you heard of the expansion plans to San Marcos? Colocation of Tita’s bakery and our restaurant?”

“No wonder she has me bringing cakes every time I visit and including a rose for your sister. Gurg!”

“What about the dates? Has she told you?”

“She told me it’s a favor for your mom.” He counts his fingers. “First one, wedding. Second, prom, as if any self-respecting twenty-four-year-old wants to go to a prom. But then again, since you ditched me, I’ve never been to one. Final one, benefit concert.”

“Oh, no! The three-date rule Filipino style.” I clap my hands over my mouth. “By the end of three dates, you’re practically engaged. The fourth date is your wedding.”

“You’re kidding me.”

We break apart laughing. I’m joking, of course. But I wouldn’t put it past the grownups to make up a three-date rule to serve their own purposes.

Romeo hooks me in for a kiss, a real wet, tongue-sucking kiss. Mmm… with essence of
lechón kawali
, liquid smoke, and a squirt of lime. Yummy.

The door thumps open. Ooops.

“Papa!” I yelp, jumping back.

He shakes a finger at me. “You’re still grounded. Get back to work.”

By the time my shift ends, my eyes are ready to pop out of their sockets. Genie’s skater friend posted the “Romeo gets Decked by Doris” video online and it went viral. Hordes of sightseers descended on our restaurant. Choco even retrieved the broken plate and scattered pieces of pork from the trash and set up a display table near the front entrance.

I keep telling Papa, no publicity is bad publicity. In fact, Romeo’s studio must have agreed. They sent a publicist who handed out tickets to their next location shoot at the Coronado Beach Resort, famous for old time ghost movies.

My arms and legs are barely functional when I fall onto my bed.

“Go away.” I fend off Genie, who’s so excited her hashtag #GenieDishes is trending in the Philippines.

“It’s mid-afternoon in Manila and everyone’s talking about Romeo and the plate of
lechón
in his face. All because I served tofu. Ha, ha. Oh, someone’s tweeting me. They want to have a twitter party,” she jabbers on, and on.

“Enough already.” My head throbs at the base of my skull, probably due to the stress on my trapezius muscles from hoisting trays all night.

“Genie, off to bed you go.” Choco takes charge and grabs my younger sister by the shoulders, shoving her into her room.

I pull off my clothes and stuff them into the hamper, then grab a towel and run for the shower before my sisters get to it.

I return to my room to find my mother sitting on my bed. My eyes quickly go to the nightstand where the morning-after pill’s sitting, still wrapped and displayed in its original packaging. Casually, I drape my towel over it.

“Mama, aren’t you tired?” I yawn and tug my nightgown over my shoulders.

“
Anak
, pick up that towel. Since when have you become such a slob?” She juts her chin at my nightstand.

I fold the pill package inside the towel and throw it in the hamper.

“Uyuh, you don’t throw damp towels into the hamper.” She rises to take it out.

“Mama, I’ve got it, okay?” I quickly swipe the towel from the hamper, letting the pill package fall in deeper. “So, how’s Tita Elena?”

Mama takes the towel and hangs it over my desk chair. “She’s fine, but tells me you and Romeo?”

She makes a pointy motion with her hand up.

“We’re friends.” I pull my covers back. “Is she okay?”

“Yes, thank God Romeo got there when he did. She’d been calling him all night Monday and he wasn’t answering his phone. She wasn’t feeling well. Thought she had indigestion, so she went to bed, but she couldn’t sleep because Romeo hadn’t called her back. She even asked us to call you, and you weren’t answering. She was really upset, but we reassured her that maybe his battery was dead or he was out of range.”

A chilly fog rolls over my shoulders and the dull ache in my head expands. Now it’s my fault she had the heart attack. If I hadn’t been with Romeo, he would have gotten to her earlier.

“Anyway, she called him in the morning and he answered. He thought she should go to the hospital because by now she was complaining of chest pains.”

“Stop. Please.” I throw myself under the bed sheets. “I know what you’re getting at.”

“He told her everything.” Mama pats my shoulder.

And she told Mama in turn. I’m doomed.

“I’m sorry, okay? Maybe everything’s telling me to go back to Boston.” Well, everything except the fact Eric ignores my texts and pretends I don’t exist.

“Maybe, but Tita wants to meet you. She has a message for you.”

“What kind of message?”
Like stay away from my son or I’ll kill you?

“She didn’t say, but we’re letting you out of work tomorrow so you can visit. Romeo’s bringing her home from the hospital and you can go with him.” Mama peels the bed sheets back and beams, as if her job of ruining what little sleep I can get tonight is done.

“Is she truly okay? I don’t want to upset her further.”

“She’s fine.”

“I don’t know what she wants with me.”

“You won’t get any clue from me.” Mama points with her chin to the door. “I gotta go.”

I palm my forehead. What the heck just happened?

The door clicks and she’s gone. I wait for her to pop back in with another thing, but when five minutes pass and she hasn’t returned, I extract the pill from the hamper, remove the packaging and package insert, and tiptoe to the kitchen. I wrap the pill in a napkin, and tuck the colorful package with the prominent words ‘emergency contraceptive’ inside a used cereal box and smash it in the trash compactor.

 The noise of the compactor grinds like a chainsaw on speed. I slide the tissue with the pill into my robe pocket, grab a bottle of water, and scramble back to my room before anyone comes out to complain.

Time to read the package insert.

My phone lights with a text message from Romeo:
Heard your mom spoke to you.

The banana express works fast these days with instant messaging and cell phones.

I text back:
Yes, she told me. What does your mom want?

Romeo:
She wants to give you some advice
.

Me:
Do you know what it’s about?

Romeo:
No.

Me:
Does she blame me?

My phone rings. Romeo calling.

“She doesn’t blame you,” he says. “Nobody does. But I had to tell her everything, going back to kindergarten when I gave you that dandelion.”

“Ohh. Emm. Gee. Everything?”

“Well, abbreviated,” he says. “I didn’t tell her we were planning to elope on prom night.”

“Good. How, uhm, much did you tell her about… about Monday night?”

“That you stripped for me, almost gave me a blow job, and creamed all over me.” He chuckles in the background.

“I still owe you that blow job.” I clamp my mouth and bite my tongue. Too late.

He’s laughing so hard I bet he has tears in his eyes.

“I didn’t just say that, did I? Blah, blah, blah,” I mumble. “I’m so tired I can sleep through a Justin Bieber fan girl stampede.”

“Ha, ha, you’re still the crazy Evie I love. See you tomorrow.”

“So Romeo,” I ask as casually as I can en route to picking up Tita Elena. “Does your mother go all crazy every time you have a girl over?”

He glances over from the driver’s seat of his mother’s Mercedes. I can’t believe he’s wearing driving gloves, but he told me Mama Elena doesn’t want oils ruining the wood on the steering wheel. Humpf. I better watch what I touch in this highly appointed car.

Oops, better pay attention to his reply, including body language, gestures, and voice inflection.

“Does she?” I repeat.

He cocks a one-sided smile. “I know what you’re getting at. You want to know if I have girls over and how often. In fact, you’re dying to know if someone else has been to my place before or after your visit.”

I roll my eyes and smear my fingers over the wood grain panel on the dashboard. So there.

He doesn’t answer me. Instead he gets off the freeway, hangs a u-turn and zooms the opposite direction.

“What happened? Did you forget something?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. You left your helmet at my place.”

“We don’t have to get it now.” I glance at the dashboard clock. “Isn’t your mom waiting?”

“I want you to observe where your helmet is sitting when we enter the apartment.”

“Romeo, this is ridiculous. Okay, I don’t have a right to invade your privacy, and I don’t see what all the fuss about the helmet is.”

He doesn’t answer. I can see the determined set of his jaw, his lowered eyebrows and his to-die-for profile. No more baby face. This guy is pure testosterone. It sets my heart skittering and my juices running.

He maneuvers the large Benz into a tiny parking space in the garage. Before I have a chance to step out, he hurries around to my side.

“Come on.” He tugs my arm roughly. The long floral skirt I’m wearing gets tangled with my heels as I stumble out.

“Romeo, you’re overreacting. Okay? Forget it. You have tons of girls over, night and day and I’m okay with it. Let’s go get your mother.”

He maneuvers me into the elevator and as soon as the door closes, he lowers his head and presses his lips over mine.

Oh, hot, hot. I utterly and completely surrender to his assault. Greedily, I sweep my tongue into his mouth, my hands busy loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

We barely make it out of the elevator clothed. My legs already wobbling, I race him to his door.

He throws it open, grabs my head and points it at the helmet. It’s sitting on the low wall that separates the entry from the living room. Right next to it is a picture of us, taken at the pre-prom photo session. I was holding him, smiling in the innocence of young love. An hour later, I would stand him up by stealing the tickets and showing up with
Kuya
Carlos.

He closes the front door. “No one has ever taken your place.”

“I didn’t ask.” My heart’s thumping, I’m perspiring, and my hormones are confused. Are we supposed to be angry, fight or fly, or bop like bunnies?

“Yes, I’ve had many women friends. I’ve even slept with a few of them. But no one is in here,” he thumps his chest, panting, “except you.”