mutter,
brushing past her.
I really don't want to do
this.
I peek over the banister of the
u-shaped staircase to see what looks like all thirty-seven of my
relatives, mostly male cousins, spilling through the foyer and
further into the house.
Mom nudges me, so I start down the
stairs. The guests clap and whistle. My face feels like it's on
fire. The match earlier was nothing compared to the pain of being
the center of attention. Dressed like this.
Almost everyone hugs me. Erick and the
few cousins I'm closest to offer fist bumps, instead.
Somehow, I'm pushed and prodded all the
way through the house to a huge parquet dance floor in the
backyard. Beneath the massive trees that edge our yard—over-strung
with white twinkle lights until I'm sure you can see us from
space—are several tables topped with every kind of food you can
imagine. A massive white cake stands at the far end of the buffet
table.
I crane my neck, scanning the
dark-haired heads for Erick, but I’ve lost him in the melee. Nerves
have me jangling from head to toe. It’s much worse that the
nervousness I felt before my matches earlier.
A microphone squeals, and I jump.
People nearby laugh.
Several loud thumps mean someone is
tapping it.
"Thank you to everyone for coming." My
mom's voice comes over a speaker system I hadn’t known we
had.
Those near me move back, and I'm
suddenly in the middle of the dance floor, alone, feeling
conspicuous, like a spotlight is shining right on me.
"I want to wish my little girl—my
baby—a happy eighteenth birthday. I love you, sweetie."
My cheeks ache from the fake smile I've
got on.
A song starts playing.
"We'll do the traditional dance first,"
says my mom's slightly-disembodied voice.
My Uncle Felix appears out of the mass
of faces lining the edges of the floor. He reaches out for me.
Thank goodness my mom insisted on dance lessons.
"Happy birthday, Mahal ," he says as he
loosely clasps me in the formal hold. The Filipino endearment
reminds me of my dad, and the moment I think of him, pain thrums my
heart. I miss him so much.
Uncle F sweeps me into a slow waltz,
smiling down on me.
The sudden tears clogging my throat
surprise me.
I don't know if my dad would've made me
go through all this. I do know he would've let me Chase, no matter
what.
But it's the comfort of his hug that I
miss right now. If he were dancing with me instead of my uncle,
this wouldn't be so terrible. We'd probably laugh about our two
left feet together.
I wobble in the heels as my uncle
passes me off to my mom's brother, a skinny man ten years her
senior who we typically see once a year at Christmas
time.
Everyone is watching,
silent.
I miss a step, and my uncle doesn't
notice. My misstep jolts me out of his hold, and I've messed up the
dance that was so important to my mom.
I can't do this.
He reaches for me, but I back away,
holding up a hand in front of me. "I'm sorry."
Before I can make a desperate escape
through the crowd, there's a loud crash of tinkling
glass.
The music cuts off.
And a female voice screams.
17 - Brett
I ride my motorcycle to Emily's mom's
mansion and have to park it close between two high-dollar sedans,
because the huge circle drive is packed.
I tug on the uncomfortable black
necktie and shrug my shoulders in the suit coat. It's not my usual
style, but Emily is worth it. Especially after what she did—what I
think she did, anyway—earlier this afternoon.
I hope she's not mad that I'm
here.
I pat the square, flat box I've got in
the breast pocket of my jacket. Still there. A perfect gift for
her.
I hope.
Lastly, I adjust the rose I've tucked
in my lapel. If Erick hasn't steered me wrong, I'm going to give it
to her on the last leg of the traditional dance and prove that I'm
the guy who has her heart.
My stupid stomach flutters
like a butterfly, like I’m some kind of chick. Sheesh, get a grip, dude .
No one seems to notice me as I slip
inside the front door. Everyone is following
brushing past her.
I really don't want to do
this.
I peek over the banister of the
u-shaped staircase to see what looks like all thirty-seven of my
relatives, mostly male cousins, spilling through the foyer and
further into the house.
Mom nudges me, so I start down the
stairs. The guests clap and whistle. My face feels like it's on
fire. The match earlier was nothing compared to the pain of being
the center of attention. Dressed like this.
Almost everyone hugs me. Erick and the
few cousins I'm closest to offer fist bumps, instead.
Somehow, I'm pushed and prodded all the
way through the house to a huge parquet dance floor in the
backyard. Beneath the massive trees that edge our yard—over-strung
with white twinkle lights until I'm sure you can see us from
space—are several tables topped with every kind of food you can
imagine. A massive white cake stands at the far end of the buffet
table.
I crane my neck, scanning the
dark-haired heads for Erick, but I’ve lost him in the melee. Nerves
have me jangling from head to toe. It’s much worse that the
nervousness I felt before my matches earlier.
A microphone squeals, and I jump.
People nearby laugh.
Several loud thumps mean someone is
tapping it.
"Thank you to everyone for coming." My
mom's voice comes over a speaker system I hadn’t known we
had.
Those near me move back, and I'm
suddenly in the middle of the dance floor, alone, feeling
conspicuous, like a spotlight is shining right on me.
"I want to wish my little girl—my
baby—a happy eighteenth birthday. I love you, sweetie."
My cheeks ache from the fake smile I've
got on.
A song starts playing.
"We'll do the traditional dance first,"
says my mom's slightly-disembodied voice.
My Uncle Felix appears out of the mass
of faces lining the edges of the floor. He reaches out for me.
Thank goodness my mom insisted on dance lessons.
"Happy birthday, Mahal ," he says as he
loosely clasps me in the formal hold. The Filipino endearment
reminds me of my dad, and the moment I think of him, pain thrums my
heart. I miss him so much.
Uncle F sweeps me into a slow waltz,
smiling down on me.
The sudden tears clogging my throat
surprise me.
I don't know if my dad would've made me
go through all this. I do know he would've let me Chase, no matter
what.
But it's the comfort of his hug that I
miss right now. If he were dancing with me instead of my uncle,
this wouldn't be so terrible. We'd probably laugh about our two
left feet together.
I wobble in the heels as my uncle
passes me off to my mom's brother, a skinny man ten years her
senior who we typically see once a year at Christmas
time.
Everyone is watching,
silent.
I miss a step, and my uncle doesn't
notice. My misstep jolts me out of his hold, and I've messed up the
dance that was so important to my mom.
I can't do this.
He reaches for me, but I back away,
holding up a hand in front of me. "I'm sorry."
Before I can make a desperate escape
through the crowd, there's a loud crash of tinkling
glass.
The music cuts off.
And a female voice screams.
17 - Brett
I ride my motorcycle to Emily's mom's
mansion and have to park it close between two high-dollar sedans,
because the huge circle drive is packed.
I tug on the uncomfortable black
necktie and shrug my shoulders in the suit coat. It's not my usual
style, but Emily is worth it. Especially after what she did—what I
think she did, anyway—earlier this afternoon.
I hope she's not mad that I'm
here.
I pat the square, flat box I've got in
the breast pocket of my jacket. Still there. A perfect gift for
her.
I hope.
Lastly, I adjust the rose I've tucked
in my lapel. If Erick hasn't steered me wrong, I'm going to give it
to her on the last leg of the traditional dance and prove that I'm
the guy who has her heart.
My stupid stomach flutters
like a butterfly, like I’m some kind of chick. Sheesh, get a grip, dude .
No one seems to notice me as I slip
inside the front door. Everyone is following
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