by Maida Malby
At this time of the morning traffic flowed easily, and the streets were devoid of pedestrians. A quick check on the weather app on her phone told her it was sixteen degrees Fahrenheit. Minus-nine degrees Celsius. Brrrr. No wonder even the homeless kept out of the harsh elements. The city sleeps after all.
Blake broke into her thoughts. “Are you nervous?”
“About meeting your family in person?” A smile broke over her face when she remembered how nervous Blake had been upon meeting her parents and siblings. Correction: anxious. Blake confessed to having been anxious. “A little bit.” She had “met” the older Ryans online when Blake told them via a video call that he was bringing her to New York. The only ones she hadn’t met yet were Craig and Darcy. The Ryans would all be present in New York City for their annual family reunion.
“Don’t be. You’ve met Aidan. He’s the worst of the lot,” he joked.
“I like Aidan.” The oldest Ryan son had the same birthday as Krista: November 2nd. They’d celebrated it together in Boracay when he came to visit from Singapore. “I’m scared of him, but I like him.”
“There you go! No worries then.” Blake idly played with the ends of her ponytailed hair. “My parents already love you because I do. Craig is a goofy teddy bear. And Darcy is a nerd, like you.” He snickered.
She playfully punched him in the arm. It was the truth. She couldn’t dispute that.
“Tell me more about your Uncle Jack.”
What she knew so far about the couple was that Blake’s Uncle Jack and Tita Belen had been together for nearly thirty years. The Irish-American and Filipina couple intrigued her. In her mind, they were the model of how a marriage could work between such a mixed pairing: those couples she knew in the Philippines were all divorced. She hoped most fervently that she and Blake would have as strong a relationship in the future. He was her first love. And in her heart, the last.
“Uncle Jack was my brother’s idol. He’s why Aidan joined the US Air Force instead of any other branch of the military. Uncle Jack got injured in Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Storm and was honorably discharged. He brought Tita Belen and their two sons when he came home to New York from the Philippines.
“My dad was looking for a partner for the bar, and it seemed the perfect solution for everyone, especially because Tita Belen was a cook by profession.”
Krista stilled. “Your Uncle Jack was assigned to the Philippines in the late eighties? He was at Clark Air Force Base? John, my biological father, was assigned there too. Maybe they knew each other.”
“I’m not entirely sure where Uncle Jack was stationed. I believe Tita Belen is from Palawan. I never had cause to ask more about their story. Uncle Jack could have been vacationing there and that’s how he and Tita Belen met.”
The taxi passed a twenty-four-hour coffee shop and glided to a stop just past the corner.
“We’re here.” Blake’s announcement startled her.
Already? It took only five minutes to get there. If it had been later in the day, they could have walked, but not during the wee hours of the morning.
No sooner had they entered the hospital than a couple rushed towards them. Blake’s parents, Krista realized. Removing her hand from Blake’s grasp, she held back, wanting to give the family their reunion time.
“Blake! I’m so happy you’re home.” Giulia Ryan’s arms opened wide to welcome her son. “I missed you so much,” she wept against his chest when he leaned down to wrap her in a tight embrace.
“Ma, don’t cry,” Blake admonished as he wiped the tears away from his mother’s face ever so tenderly. “You see me practically every week when we video chat.”
Mrs. Ryan sniffed. “That’s different. I can’t hug you there like this.”
“Giulia, my heart, let your son go and greet this lovely young lady he brought home to us.” Sean Ryan’s deep basso suited his heavy frame perfectly. Blake’s dad approached Krista as he spoke. Before she could hold out her hand, Sean had her enveloped in a hug, his warmth completely obliterating any anxieties she felt about meeting her boyfriend’s parents.
She felt a tug on one beefy arm before being squeezed by the shorter, softer Ryan. Krista returned the embrace, marveling at the strength of a woman who barely reached the height of her shoulders. At only five feet tall, plump, and smelling of chocolate, Giulia Ryan was the very definition of cuddly.
Krista was hesitant to let go of the older woman but her awkward stance of bent knees and hunched shoulders got so uncomfortable, she might have toppled at any moment. Thankfully, Blake came to her side and held her as she gently extricated herself from his mom’s embrace.
“Oh, Krista, how pretty you are. The video camera didn’t do you justice.” Mrs. Ryan beamed at her.
Krista blushed at the effusive praise. She wasn’t used to being complimented for her looks. Before Blake, she had played them down, had covered her curves. She had wanted to be recognized for her intelligence, not for her beauty. He’d seen through her mask and still pursued her.
“How was your flight? Blake didn’t tell us anything when he called. He only said you’ve arrived.”
“Ma, before you grill Krista, can we first find somewhere to sit? We’re still a little jet-lagged. Also, how’s Uncle Jack, and where is Tita Belen?” His arm casually slung over her shoulder, Blake drew Krista away from his mother.
Sean answered. “Before we came out to meet you, Jack was still in surgery. Belen is waiting for word from his doctor. We’ll take you to the ER waiting room; that’s where we told her we’d meet her once she’s had news.”
CHAPTER THREE - Central Park
Blake steered Krista around the harried medical staff and the loudly complaining injured in the waiting area of the emergency room. After escorting her to a chair, he sat on the adjoining hard plastic seat and pulled her close.
Krista gazed over his shoulder to his parents, who he knew were ambling away to get some coffee. “Your Ma and Da are wonderful. What should I call them?”
Blake was stumped for an answer. He knew Filipinos could not bring themselves to address people who were older than them by their given name. They always had to use an honorific to show respect. He was invited to call Krista’s parents Tito Arsen and Tita Marissa, and though he had used the Filipino words for uncle and aunt occasionally, he was more comfortable addressing them as Sir and Ma’am.
Scratching his head, he met his girlfriend’s enquiring gaze, then the answer came to him. Of course. “You can call them Ma and Da, like I do.”
Krista’s eyes shone. “Oh, Blake. Truly?”
“Yes. I want you to treat them like they’re your parents, too.”
“Blake, you’re home!” Beneath his hand, Krista’s spine straightened at the overfamiliarity in the female voice. He rubbed her back in reassurance before rising to greet the most important Filipina in his life prior to meeting Krista.
“Tita Belen.” He stepped forward to give his honorary aunt a hug. “How are you holding up?” he asked when they parted.
His aunt seemed thinner than the last time he saw her, a year ago. For a cook, she was unusually skinny. Today she appeared gaunt, brittle. And older, too. Lines stretched over her forehead; they bracketed both sides of her eyes and mouth. He held both of her hands in his. Her eyes were watery. Panic seized him. “Is Uncle Jack—”
“Oh, Blake! John is in a coma.” Tears fell, seemingly unnoticed, down her face. “The doctor said he ... lost a lot of blood, not just from the ... stabbing, but also from the head injury he got when he ... fell.” The last word came out in a hiccup. He caught her in his arms as she collapsed.
He sent a helpless glance to Krista. She stood and inclined her head towards the chair, suggesting he set his aunt down.
“Tita Belen, why don’t we—” He’d kept his tone low and gentle. Maybe a bit too gentle. She clung to him tighter, as if by getting closer she could absorb some of his strength. He awkwardly patted her back.
“Mrs. O’Connor.” Kris
ta spoke softly, one hand resting lightly on Belen’s shoulder. She held a pack of tissues in the other hand.
His aunt’s head came up sharply from its place on his chest, and a mask of astonishment wreathed her features when she caught sight of the speaker. Krista spoke perfect English, if slightly accented. The way she pronounced the short “i” as the long “e” sound and kept the “o”s instead of making it sound like “er” betrayed her Filipino roots.
“Maire?” Tita Belen staggered backward and plopped down with a thud, her eyes never leaving Krista’s face. She shook her head as if to deny the vision in front of her. Brows knotted, eyes narrowed, she asked, “You’re not— Who are you?”
Bothered by the sharp tone in his aunt’s voice, Blake draped his arm across Krista’s waist. “Tita Belen, I would like you to meet Krista, my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? How come you never told me about her?”
Huh? They were close, but he and his aunt didn’t have the kind of relationship that would have him seek her out to update her about his life. He left those kinds of catching-up activities for when they met in person, usually during their annual reunion at Christmas. “I figured Ma would tell you.”
“Oh, my dear Belen!” Speaking of the devil, his parents had returned from their coffee run. “What did the doctor say?”
His father waved him to a seat adjacent to where Tita Belen and Ma sat. He led Krista there and accepted the coffee from his dad. The tail-end of his aunt’s update to his mother about Uncle Jack’s condition caught his attention.
“... blood donors.”
“Does Uncle Jack need a transfusion? I can donate. I’m O negative, the universal donor.”
“Thank you, Blake. I’m sure the hospital can use that, but the doctor said he needs B negative. The boys and I are all O negative. John is the only one with a different blood type.”
Krista gasped. Her hand, which rested on Blake’s leg, gripped his jeans, and her nails dug into the denim cloth. With voice just above a whisper, as if talking more to herself, she said, “I’m B negative.” Uttered low, only he heard it.
Krista and Uncle Jack had the same blood type? What an odd coincidence. But could she even donate?
Leaning close to her so that nobody else could hear, he said, “But, baby, you just got a tattoo.”
“So?”
“They might not accept your blood because you got your ink overseas. That tattoo parlor is not licensed according to US standards.”
“I want to try. You saw how sterile the artist kept her equipment, how clean the studio was. She used new needles and fresh ink. I’m certain my blood will pass the test.”
Facing her, he caressed her cheek. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She glanced at Tita Belen for a few seconds before nodding. “Yes, I want to help. Please don’t tell your aunt.”
It disappointed Blake that Tita Belen hadn’t taken to Krista as well as he’d thought she would. He’d expected their shared Filipino heritage would make them bond. Instead, his aunt was cold, bordering on hostile. He didn’t know what caused it, but now wasn't the time to find out. Perhaps Krista was right to keep her donation a secret until they knew that the gift would be appreciated.
He brushed a kiss on Krista’s forehead and said, “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see what I can do. Will you wait here? I’ll check what the process is.” At her nod, he moved to tell his father where he was going and to ask him to watch over Krista. He didn’t want to leave her by herself, but they couldn’t afford to waste time.
If Uncle Jack urgently needed Krista’s blood as his wife had said, Blake would make sure he’d receive it.
CHAPTER FOUR - Midtown
“Bl—” Krista whispered, her hand reaching out to his departing form. Come back. He didn’t hear her. She hadn’t expected him to.
Bereft of Blake’s comforting presence, Krista wrapped her arms about herself. It wasn’t cold in the waiting room; the heater blasted, but she shivered nonetheless. The coffee wouldn’t have helped, either. She wasn’t allowed to drink it, not if she was going to give blood later. When she’d donated before, Krista was told that caffeine was a diuretic and could cause dehydration.
She snuck a peek at Blake’s parents, their heads close together, talking to their friend. They looked like a unit, a family.
It’s good I’m donating blood, otherwise I might as well have just stayed at the hotel. A wave of homesickness crashed into her. She took out her phone to check the current time in the Philippines. Five in the afternoon. Her parents would still be at their café, busy serving travelers who were on their way to the province of Quezon for the Christmas holidays.
“Nope, not the best timing,” she muttered to herself.
What would she tell them anyway? That she had the same blood type as an American? A US Air Force veteran who had spent time in the Philippines during the late eighties, but not necessarily at Clark? There were probably hundreds, even thousands, who could answer to the same description.
What did he even look like? He could be a redhead, or he could be black. Easy enough to check. Krista pressed her index finger to the home button on her phone. It lit up with a text message telling her she had connected to a US network.
Of its own volition it seemed, her finger tapped the search engine. Over the tab “Images,” she typed “Jack O’Connor, Ryan O’Connor Pub and Restaurant.” She shut her eyes before the photos flashed on-screen.
“Taking a nap?”
Krista wasn’t sure which moved faster, her hand to throw the phone into her purse, or her eyes as they snapped open to behold the oldest Ryan. She had been so engrossed in her task, she hadn’t noticed him move to sit beside her.
“Uhm, just resting my eyes,” she said. Truth be told, she’d welcome the chance to close her eyes for ten more hours.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” Sean shifted in his seat, his bulk nearly occupying two of the plastic chairs. “Even though it’s been four years since we traveled to the Philippines, I still remember the jetlag that hit me afterwards. Giulia told me my snores rivaled the sirens on the streets. How she heard that, I’ll never know. She was as deeply asleep as I was.”
His grin was so contagious, Krista couldn’t help but return it with a wide smile of her own. “Where did Blake take you when you went? How long did you stay? Was that your first time there?”
The feeling of desolation left her, replaced by a burst of love for Blake’s parents. So deep was her gratitude, she had to hide her hands in her coat pockets to stop herself from throwing her arms around Blake’s father and declaring her everlasting love.
Sean threw back his head and boomed out a guffaw. Krista wanted to shush him, but a quick look around the room told her no one was paying attention or taking offense.
“Young lady, you’re delightful. We went to Makati and toured the walled city in Manila—Intramuros, I think is what you call it?” At her nod, he continued. “Then, we went to Boracay. Blake didn’t have his resort yet, but we saw the potential. White Beach was fine for the young ones, but for old coots like me, nope.” He thumped his chest with a meaty fist, so heavily that it would have felled a smaller person; it barely moved him at all.
“Who are you calling old? Not me, I hope.” From her perch beside Belen, Giulia teased her husband.
“Not you, mo chroi. You’re forever young.” Sean blew his wife a kiss, making her giggle, shedding years off her face.
My heart. Krista smiled at the Irish endearment. One of her favorite romance authors came from Ireland and often used such terms in her books.
“We also went to Zambales and Pampanga. To Mount Pinatubo and the former US bases there: Subic and Clark. Jack talked often about his assignment there; we had to see for ourselves.”
Krista’s eyes rounded. Her heart thumped in her throat. “Mr. O’Connor was based in Clark? When?” she croaked out.
“Mid-to-late eighties, until it closed in ninety-one. He was assigned briefly to Saudi A
rabia during the first Gulf War, but Belen and the boys stayed in the Philippines. Why do you ask?” Sean inquired gently.
“Uhm. I was born in Pampanga. My parents used to live in Angeles City, a few miles outside the base.” She could barely get the words out. Her mouth was dry.
“Ah. It never ceases to amaze me how small the world is. We’re fortunate to have the opportunities we’ve had to travel and explore places we’ve never been before. With the boys choosing to live in Southeast Asia, I think we’ll have more chances to see your beautiful region.”
Krista nodded, relieved that Sean hadn’t pursued the opening she provided to probe more into her family history. Her mind and heart warred over what to do with all the coincidences that kept popping up.
She snuck a glance towards Belen O’Connor. She’d called her husband “John.” Wasn’t that the convention here in the US? Like President Kennedy. Wasn’t his real name John, but everybody called him Jack? As if sensing Krista’s scrutiny, the older woman threw a resentful glare at her before turning her face away.
She hates me. How disappointing. She had held the older woman in high regard, even before they’d met. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be between them. She and Belen should have been great friends. Instead, they weren’t even talking. Blake’s honorary aunt couldn’t even bring herself to look Krista in the eye.
If Krista wanted to confirm her ever-increasing suspicions regarding Jack O’Connor, no support would be forthcoming from that corner. She had to do it alone. Not totally, of course. Blake would help. In fact, he had already started.
Even if Jack turned out to be a total stranger, Krista felt justified in giving her blood to him. She would have done it for any one of her friends’ loved ones. She would do it for Blake and those he considered family.
“Krista, sweetie, it’s kind of you to come and offer support. Isn’t that right, Belen?” Giulia’s not-so-subtle inquiry held mild rebuke.