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Authors: Marla Miniano
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his thirteenth birthday party, which Nico dragged me to, and I
admit it is not a very pleasant memory because of the grape juice, which he may
or may not have spilled on my new white sneakers on purpose (okay seriously, I have to let that go). Maybe he’s just really, really friendly? Guys who
are very good-looking tend to either be super aloof, or super feeling-close, and
maybe he’s leaning towards the latter.
At the crowded arrival
area, waiting for Nico’s driver to pick us up and bring us to his place for
breakfast, I wonder if the three of us look like we’re all related, or if we
look like a small barkada , or if I look like the girlfriend of one of them. I wonder
whether or not I’ll pass for twenty-one, and whether or not I’ll pass for
Enzo’s girlfriend. Of course, in my glamorous attire of jeans, flip-flops, and
oversized faded sweatshirt, I think I already know the answer. And then Nico
spots his car and grabs my hand as we weave our way through the throng of balikbayans , and I think I feel
better.
They load Enzo’s
luggage into the trunk, and I stand there unsure whether to get into the
backseat or ride shotgun. This is the problem with being part of a trio and not
knowing exactly who the third wheel is. On one hand, Nico and I are sort of an
item. On the other hand, Nico and Enzo are cousins, and I am just tagging
along. I do not want to assume that Enzo is the odd one out, but I’m iffy about
volunteering myself as well. So I stand there and wait for directions. Finally,
to my relief, Enzo declares, “I’ll stay in front,” and opens the back door for
me. Thank
you, Enzo. I guess I forgive you for the grape juice now.
Over breakfast, Enzo
tells us about college in New York, being an exchange student in France, and
his modeling stint in LA. I am impressed with how he rattles off his
achievements but manages to come off sounding so humble and down-to-earth. His
parents separated when he was twelve, and since then, to assuage the guilt of a
failed marriage and to distract their son from the abandonment, they’ve
provided permission and finances for his shuttling back and forth among
different relatives in various parts of the globe. “The trade-off hasn’t been
easy,” he says. “If you ask me now, I’d still choose a happy family over all
these experiences any day. I miss seeing my parents together. But I don’t know,
maybe it was a blessing in disguise.”
“Well,”
Nico says. “You’ve still got family right here.”
“I know, man,” Enzo
grins. “So, what’s the game plan for today?”
“We’re on the VIP list
for a party at the Rockwell tent tonight,” Nico replies. “Mama’s designer
friend is launching a new collection, and she needs, quote-unquote, young
people to attend the event. I promised we’d show up, but we can always leave if
it gets boring. And since the folks are both out of town for the long weekend,
we can stay out as late as we want to.” I yawn, and Nico continues, “But for now, I think Chrissy needs to go home
and sleep. You should get some rest too. Your stuff’s in the guest room
upstairs. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
“Yeah, that sounds
good,” Enzo says, standing up and stretching. “I’ll see you later, Chrissy.”
I’ve never been a party
person, and if this were a regular weekend, I would have rather stayed at home
catching up on my reading, or spending time with Justin, or watching classic FRIENDS episodes on DVD and swooning
over the timeless love story of Rachel and Ross. But hanging out with Enzo
basically ups the potential coolness factor of a night out, and I am actually
looking forward to getting dressed up and wearing heels and having a few drinks
and maybe even dancing. “Later,” I say, more excited than I would care to admit.
I hop around my room on one foot, howling in pain. Mom
calls out from the kitchen, where she and Dad are preparing lasagna for a
potluck party at her office, “Honey, are you
admit it is not a very pleasant memory because of the grape juice, which he may
or may not have spilled on my new white sneakers on purpose (okay seriously, I have to let that go). Maybe he’s just really, really friendly? Guys who
are very good-looking tend to either be super aloof, or super feeling-close, and
maybe he’s leaning towards the latter.
At the crowded arrival
area, waiting for Nico’s driver to pick us up and bring us to his place for
breakfast, I wonder if the three of us look like we’re all related, or if we
look like a small barkada , or if I look like the girlfriend of one of them. I wonder
whether or not I’ll pass for twenty-one, and whether or not I’ll pass for
Enzo’s girlfriend. Of course, in my glamorous attire of jeans, flip-flops, and
oversized faded sweatshirt, I think I already know the answer. And then Nico
spots his car and grabs my hand as we weave our way through the throng of balikbayans , and I think I feel
better.
They load Enzo’s
luggage into the trunk, and I stand there unsure whether to get into the
backseat or ride shotgun. This is the problem with being part of a trio and not
knowing exactly who the third wheel is. On one hand, Nico and I are sort of an
item. On the other hand, Nico and Enzo are cousins, and I am just tagging
along. I do not want to assume that Enzo is the odd one out, but I’m iffy about
volunteering myself as well. So I stand there and wait for directions. Finally,
to my relief, Enzo declares, “I’ll stay in front,” and opens the back door for
me. Thank
you, Enzo. I guess I forgive you for the grape juice now.
Over breakfast, Enzo
tells us about college in New York, being an exchange student in France, and
his modeling stint in LA. I am impressed with how he rattles off his
achievements but manages to come off sounding so humble and down-to-earth. His
parents separated when he was twelve, and since then, to assuage the guilt of a
failed marriage and to distract their son from the abandonment, they’ve
provided permission and finances for his shuttling back and forth among
different relatives in various parts of the globe. “The trade-off hasn’t been
easy,” he says. “If you ask me now, I’d still choose a happy family over all
these experiences any day. I miss seeing my parents together. But I don’t know,
maybe it was a blessing in disguise.”
“Well,”
Nico says. “You’ve still got family right here.”
“I know, man,” Enzo
grins. “So, what’s the game plan for today?”
“We’re on the VIP list
for a party at the Rockwell tent tonight,” Nico replies. “Mama’s designer
friend is launching a new collection, and she needs, quote-unquote, young
people to attend the event. I promised we’d show up, but we can always leave if
it gets boring. And since the folks are both out of town for the long weekend,
we can stay out as late as we want to.” I yawn, and Nico continues, “But for now, I think Chrissy needs to go home
and sleep. You should get some rest too. Your stuff’s in the guest room
upstairs. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
“Yeah, that sounds
good,” Enzo says, standing up and stretching. “I’ll see you later, Chrissy.”
I’ve never been a party
person, and if this were a regular weekend, I would have rather stayed at home
catching up on my reading, or spending time with Justin, or watching classic FRIENDS episodes on DVD and swooning
over the timeless love story of Rachel and Ross. But hanging out with Enzo
basically ups the potential coolness factor of a night out, and I am actually
looking forward to getting dressed up and wearing heels and having a few drinks
and maybe even dancing. “Later,” I say, more excited than I would care to admit.
I hop around my room on one foot, howling in pain. Mom
calls out from the kitchen, where she and Dad are preparing lasagna for a
potluck party at her office, “Honey, are you
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