My Fate According to the Butterfly

by Gail Villanueva

  “Mom’s good,” my sister continues. “Dad? Uhmm … I don’t know. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. Today? Like, now? Sure! Are you still staying at the same house? Okay. I can walk there.”

  My friend and I exchange excited looks. Whoever this godfather is, he’s here now. And Ate Nadine is off to meet him somewhere in our neighborhood to discuss Dad. This is the lead Pepper and I have been waiting for!

  “I’ll be there in five.”

  As Ate Nadine hangs up, Pepper and I scramble back to the sofa. Its springs groan as we jump on it, startling the duck.

  “Quack. Quack. Quack!” Lawin pecks at the harness straps but can’t get them off. Pepper’s design works, making sure the diaper’s secure.

  “Not bad,” Ate Nadine says as she comes out. She cocks her head at Lawin. “He can stay inside, then.”

  “QUACK!” The duck lets out another loud, frustrated call.

  “If you hadn’t pooped on my notes, I’d feel sorry for you,” Ate Nadine tells Lawin, chuckling. She gives the duck a pat and heads for the door. “I’m going out. Stay here. Tito Ed will be home soon.”

  I bounce off the sofa. “Can we go with you?”

  “No.” Ate Nadine shuts the front door behind her before I can protest.

  Well, if my sister is doing something that involves Dad (and I know it does—I heard her say it), I need to be in on it. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.

  I grab Lawin off the floor, helping him remove the duck diaper. Thankfully, he hasn’t pooped yet.

  “Hey!” Pepper protests. “What are you doing? I spent the whole morning making that!”

  I ignore Pepper and carry Lawin to the kitchen, where we keep the dog kennel he stays in when he’s home alone. “He might hurt himself if we leave him with that thing on,” I explain. “He’s not used to it yet.”

  “Did you say leave?” Pepper helps me put Lawin in the cage, a smile forming on her lips. “You’re not planning on following Ate Nadine and spying on her, are you?”

  I feel a twinge of guilt. Ate Nadine hates being spied on. She’s a very private person. Which is odd, considering her chosen profession. Journalists don’t always respect other people’s privacy.

  My eyes flicker to the butterfly tattoo on my right hand.

  Well, I’m going to be a journalist for today. After all, I might never have another chance to be one.

  I jerk my head to the direction of the front door. “You ready?”

  “Ohhhhh!” Pepper rubs her hands together, grinning. “This is going to be so fun!”

  “I TAKE IT BACK. THIS isn’t fun. No fun at all,” Pepper complains, huffing and puffing as she pedals. “You should have told me to bring my bike.”

  “You’re doing great.” I give my friend’s shoulder a squeeze. We’ve been following Ate Nadine on my bicycle. Pepper’s the one in control, while I’m standing behind her. It’s hard not to fall off a short metal bar protruding from the back wheel. Still, I’m sure it’s way harder to pedal the bike with an extra passenger while going up a steep incline. If I attempted to do that, I’d be dead even before my week’s up.

  Pepper and I don’t often frequent this part of the subdivision. The houses are modest and have simple, modern designs. The old narra trees lining the road form a roof of intertwined branches and leaves. It’s pretty much like our street, save for the hilly terrain.

  I close my eyes for a moment as a cool breeze touches my face. I’m glad to be able to call this subdivision my home. The neighbors are nice, and accidents are practically nonexistent. It seems so boring compared to the alley near Ate’s school, where angry vendors can pelt you with insults and bottles of skin whitener. Still, I love how peaceful it is. I doubt I would last long in that chaotic alley without my sister’s protection.

  “Thank goodness, she’s finally stopping.” Pepper pants, pedaling harder.

  “I see her.” I point to a small space on the sidewalk, between a parked SUV and two huge blue drums full of trash. “We can hide there.”

  Pepper slows the bike, and I jump off before it gets to a full stop.

  “If Ate Nadine enters the house, my pain will be for nothing,” Pepper grumbles as she follows me to my spot. The drums of trash have covers, but they still reek of rotten eggs and sour milk. “Ugh. So gross! This better be worth it, Sab.”

  “It is. Look!”

  A tall, bald man joins Ate Nadine outside the red gate. He has a fair complexion and a pair of really small eyes. He’s probably about the same age as Dad. “I’m sorry I can’t stay with you long, Nadine. Do you want to come in? My mother can entertain you when I leave.”

  “It’s okay, Ninong Greg.” Ate Nadine leans her back on the gate. “No need to trouble her.”

  Ah. Godfather Greg. Dad told me about him. He said this man lives in Canada but occasionally visits his mother here in Manila.

  “It’s good to be back.” The man smiles. “How’s your dad?”

  As expected, a frown creases my sister’s forehead. I can sense her discomfort even from afar. “I haven’t really talked to him.”

  “I figured you wouldn’t. Your mom emailed me,” he explains. “How long has it been since the funeral?”

  “Almost a year.” Ate Nadine avoids her godfather’s gaze. “I had my suspicions. It’s not so hard to get info on the internet, you know. But no one really confirmed it with me. Like, they expected me to just accept it. Then I saw those pictures and … stuff. How long has he been like that?”

  Not just a year. She hasn’t spoken to him in 375 days. One year and ten days since Lola Cordia’s death. I’ve been counting. We have just celebrated her babang-luksa last week. Mom wanted us to have the prayers and celebration at Dad’s resort, but of course Ate Nadine refused. So we just said the prayers with Daddy and Wendell on video call and had dinner at some fancy restaurant.

  But wait. What pictures? What “stuff”?

  “You need to talk to your father, anak,” Ninong Greg says, referring to my sister as “my child.” “Christopher’s a good man. He was young when he had you. He didn’t know what he was doing—”

  “He and Mom were twenty-seven when they had me. He should have known better.” Ate Nadine takes a deep breath. “It ruined our family. And he didn’t even have the guts to tell me. He owed me an explanation, but he still couldn’t tell me even when I confronted him with the pictures. I just want the truth, Ninong Greg. Is that too much to ask?”

  Truth? What truth? Ate Nadine can’t mean Dad being sick. Mom said it was the reason why they couldn’t see eye to eye. Then Dad got well, but it was too late for them. Is it possible that’s not true? Mom wouldn’t have lied to me, would she?

  I meet Pepper’s gaze. She shrugs, as clueless as I am.

  Ninong Greg puts a hand on my sister’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should have helped your mother more. I should have been there for you more.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Ate Nadine assures him with a smile. Even from where I’m squatting, I can see how forced it is. “It’s nobody’s fault but Dad’s.”

  What is Dad’s fault? Ate Nadine can’t be talking about the time Dad had to recover from his medical condition. Depression. I searched about it online. Dad had a mental illness. But the websites also said it isn’t anyone’s fault. Surely, Ate Nadine knows that?

  “Anak, I know it’s hard to forgive him, but he’s still your father. He had a condition. Does Romeo Gamelon still live here? He used to play basketball with us in the inter-subdivision tournament. Rom and your dad were tight way back. They were already in the partying scene when I met them. Maybe he can help you better with the answers you seek. I haven’t been … I should have been in touch with you and your dad more. I’m so sorry.”

  “Your dad played basketball?” Pepper mouths at me, her eyes wide.

  I shrug. It’s no big deal. Mom said basketball in the Philippines is a thing dads and titos do to bond. I’m more interested in this Romeo Gamelon.

  “Don’t
worry about it, Ninong. Really,” says Ate Nadine. “When are you leaving? Mom would love to catch up with you. She’ll be back next week.”

  My face falls. I was hoping Mom would change her mind, cut her Singapore trip short, and fly here in time for my birthday. I guess my turning eleven isn’t that important to her.

  “I’ll be here for a month.” Ninong Greg smiles. “How’s your little sister?”

  “She’s okay. The usual.” Ate Nadine shrugs. “Honestly, I think she needs to use the internet less. Sab asks questions way too often.”

  Ninong Greg laughs. “Sounds exactly like you when you were eleven.”

  My eyes narrow. I’m liking this Ninong Greg less and less. I am so not like Ate.

  A snort escapes Pepper’s nose, and she covers her mouth to hide her laughter. I shoot her a warning look. She holds her hands high in surrender, bumping a dirty cup off the drum’s cover.

  Ate Nadine and her godfather turn to our direction.

  Oh no.

  Before they catch us, Pepper and I flatten ourselves against the dirty sides of the SUV. We slide down, our backs wiping the car’s dust like a rag.

  “Nothing to worry about. It must be a cat,” Ninong Greg explains. “My mother likes feeding the strays that come here. I’m sorry, anak, but I must go. Dinner soon?”

  Pepper and I let out huge sighs of relief. They didn’t see us!

  “Yes, Ninong.” Ate Nadine smiles, nodding. “I’ll tell Mom.”

  My sister gives the bald man a peck on the cheek and leaves as he gets back to his house. Ate Nadine’s figure grows smaller and smaller as she walks farther away, eventually disappearing around the corner.

  My legs buckle, and I slide all the way down to the dirty cement sidewalk. I spread my legs out to stretch. “Ow.”

  “Don’t worry. Spies don’t always succeed in their missions.” Pepper settles on the patch of grass in front of me. “We’ll get better intel next time.”

  Ugh. Pepper’s “spy lingo” is getting on my nerves. She’s watching way too many reruns of Chuck on repeat. “It’s not a bust,” I say.

  “It’s not?”

  “We have a name.” I stand up and dust off my butt. “Ate Nadine might not think he’s important enough, but let’s find out more about this Romeo Gamelon.”

  THERE’S JUST ONE PROBLEM.

  “How are we going to find Romeo Gamelon?” I kick off my flip-flops and crawl onto my bed. The fairy lights hanging on my headboard rattle at the movement. “There could be thousands of people sharing the same name on the internet. And Dad brought his old yearbooks to Pililia with him when he left.”

  “You really need to learn how to put the harness on this feathery monster, Sab.” Pepper’s hands are flying all over Lawin as she puts on his bird diaper. The duck lets out a frustrated quack. “Learn to live with that, or you’re staying outside. Ow! Stop biting me. It was Sab’s idea to leave you. Get mad at her, not me.”

  “It’s not as if you didn’t want to go. You wanted to play CIA agent too.” I spread my arms wide and stare at the ceiling. “Do you think there’s an online version of Dad’s yearbook?”

  “There isn’t. Mama said the internet they had back in high school was so slow it took twenty bajillion years to download a single picture.” Pepper lets go of Lawin. The angry duck gives her one last nip before waddling off to his favorite spot under my desk. “We’ll search anyway. Where’s your tablet? My battery level is at two percent.”

  “It’s under my sketchpad.” I crawl to the foot of the bed as Pepper gets the gadget from my desk. She settles below me, leaning her back on the bed so I can look over her shoulder as she logs on to my account.

  Pepper pulls up the browser, and her eyes narrow. “ ‘Black butterfly’? Seriously, Sab? I told you to stop worrying about it. Reading these weird articles isn’t going to do you any good.”

  My hand shoots out from behind her, exiting the browser tabs. “This is a terrible idea. We won’t find anything about him online.”

  “Stop being so negative.” Pepper pulls the tablet away from me. She types “Romeo Gamelon,” and presses the Search button. “Old people like posting stuff on social media. I’m sure we’ll find something about him.”

  A hundred results come up. I was expecting thousands, but I guess “Romeo Gamelon” isn’t a very common name.

  Pepper taps the first result. It takes us to a website full of house pictures.

  Romeo Gamelon, real estate agent

  “Too old.” I shake my head, reaching behind Pepper to swipe the page back to the search results. “If he went to high school with Dad, they’re probably the same age. He’ll have to be like, forty, or something.”

  I tap on the next result. The link brings us to an article from the Manila Daily Journal, Ate Nadine’s paper. It’s accompanied by the picture of a guy who’s supposed to be Romeo Gamelon.

  Romeo Gamelon tops bar exams

  The Philippine Organization for Lawyers has released the results of the bar exams today …

  “Too young.” Pepper frowns, swiping the screen left. “And he looks too serious to be BFFs with your dad.”

  “True.” This particular Romeo Gamelon was probably just a baby when Dad took part in that inter-subdivision basketball tournament. “Oh, wait. Look at this—” I point at the tablet screen.

  The Struggle:

  A Photo Series on Recovery by New York–based Filipino American photographer Romeo Gamelon. The Makati Museum for Creative Arts, Makati City.

  The art blog features an interview with Romeo Gamelon, where he talks about being Filipino American. He shares his experiences growing up in the Philippines, the hardships he endured on his journey of recovery, and going on adventures taking pictures for international magazines. The article also includes a photograph of him.

  Romeo Gamelon has small eyes and a goatee, kind of like Dad’s, but it’s thinner and sleeker. His skin is black and has a nice sheen—it reminds me of an obsidian stone. His hair is very short, so much shorter than my pixie cut. It’s more like the hairstyle military men are required to have.

  But, best of all, this Romeo Gamelon looks like he’s about the same age as Dad. “This is him,” I say.

  “I agree. Tomorrow’s the last day of his exhibit, and he’s going to be there for an open forum with reporters and guests.” Pepper tilts her head to face me. “Are you sure about this, Sab? You might be digging up things that are better left alone.”

  I roll over on the bed, closing my eyes. The springs of the mattress groan as Pepper joins me. I feel her shoulder next to mine.

  “If the Butterfly’s appearance really is a warning,” she continues, “wouldn’t you rather have good thoughts about your papa? Like, remember him the way you’ve always known him? You’re worrying about bad stuff that might not even exist. We can just do something fun, you know. Go on food trips. Visit an amusement park. Have a picnic. Go to the beach.”

  Pepper is right, of course. It would be easy to just let this go and leave it be. But this is my dad we’re talking about. My family. It’s just not that easy.

  I want to know if I’m doing the right thing. Is it worth spending my last days trying to get my sister to make peace with Dad? Ate Nadine sounded really hurt about something. Having my birthday at Dad’s resort seems too shallow a reason for them to make peace.

  “I need this, Pepper.” I lean my head on my best friend’s shoulder. “I know it seems impossible, but I can’t die not even trying to help them work things out. I just can’t leave this hanging. I can’t let this be my unfinished business.”

  “Okay. I’ll be with you no matter what you decide.” Pepper takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “We do have to overcome one major obstacle.”

  “What?”

  Pepper sighs loudly. “Your sister. She is so not going to like it when she learns about the person we want to meet.”

  THURSDAY

  IT WAS SURPRISINGLY EASY TO convince Ate Nadine to go to Makati, Metro Manila�
��s business district. Pepper and I didn’t even have to lie. We told her we wanted to visit the Makati Museum for Creative Arts, and she agreed without any protests. Maybe she had something to do there for her assignment, like that time when I got a haircut. Or maybe she just wanted to take a break. Of course, we didn’t mention we wanted to see Romeo Gamelon and his exhibit.

  I feel like we’re lying by not telling the whole truth. But it’s a white lie that needed to be done. It doesn’t make me feel better, but I’m dying anyway. What do I have to lose with one little white lie?

  What I didn’t count on, though, is the fact that Ate Nadine can’t use her car. I totally forgot that every Thursday, cars with plate numbers ending seven and eight aren’t allowed on the major roads of Metro Manila, particularly in Makati City. Mom, who’s an urban planner, explained that keeping some cars off the streets certain days from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. is a way to help relieve traffic congestion. So, unless Ate Nadine was willing to risk a ticket (she isn’t, obviously), we have to commute by train.

  Tito Ed dropped us off at the station on his way to work at the police headquarters. It didn’t take long for us to reach the Santolan-Annapolis station of the MRT—the Metro Manila Rail Transit. Getting on the train is a different story.

  The place is like a wet market. It’s noisy, and it’s crowded. It reeks of body odor, pollution, and random food smells. The morning sun doesn’t make things easier, turning the station into a giant pizza oven. The humidity is so bad, my skin is as sticky as a Post-it. The station’s ceiling fans do nothing to ease the heat. Waiting passengers must use whatever they have on hand to cool themselves.

  “This is such a bad idea,” I grumble, craning my neck in search of Ate Nadine. It’s no use. My sister is somewhere in the thick crowd of people, battling her way to the ticket booth. The line, I’m horrified to see, snakes all the way down the station entrance—a feat I only thought possible at a Taylor Swift concert. “I take it back. We should just take a taxi.”