by Maida Malby
Tears falling from her eyes, she turned to Blake. “He’s my father. He’s John. I’ve found him.”
Blake stepped closer and enfolded her in his arms. Krista clung to him, sobbing for reasons she couldn’t identify. Relief, joy, uncertainty, and vindication all warred in her head and in her heart.
“It looks like you’re making a claim on Dad after all.” Ronan said gently.
“Yes, I am.” Krista lifted her head from Blake’s chest to face her father’s—her father’s! — two sons again. “My mother told me my father’s name is John. He served in the US Air Force and was assigned to Clark in the late eighties. I also now know that we have the same blood type: B negative.”
“Did you donate?” Ronan asked.
His voice raised, Patrick demanded, “Are you planning to tell my mom? I won’t have you upsetting her more than you already did. Wait until Dad’s better.” He’d stepped closer to Krista.
Blake tightened his hold on her. “Be careful how you address Krista, Patrick. We all understand your love for your mother, but you’re this close to disrespecting my girlfriend, and I won’t allow that to happen. Do you understand me?”
Krista extended her hand wearily. “Guys, please. Don’t fight.”
The younger man backed away, muttering, “Sorry.”
Krista dropped her hand. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. I’m really tired. I want to rest now.” Not waiting for a response, she turned her back on the others and leaned on her boyfriend.
Lifting her in his arms, Blake carried her to a chair and sat with her on his lap. Krista didn’t stir when she heard the door close behind the other men. She slumped against his neck, and the rhythmic beat of his heart against her hand soothed her. This was fast becoming her favorite crying place. In Boracay, when she had told Blake about her mother and John, he’d held her like this.
John. She’d found her father. Her blood jumped when she saw his face for the first time. Just photos. She could only imagine how she’d feel if she met him in person. Lukso ng dugo.
“Do you think your Tita Belen will let me see him?”
“I don’t know, baby. It depends on what the boys decide. If they tell her or wait until their dad wakes up. They might want to do a paternity test.”
All of a sudden, fear gripped Krista. She straightened. “What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he lost too much blood from his wounds? What if his body rejects my blood and he dies?”
“Baby, there’s no use thinking about that. Let’s hope for the best.”
Krista’s chest ached as she put into words her worst fears. “If he dies, I’ll never know who my real father was. I’ll never know where I came from.” She’d lived in the Philippines all her life and had known the part of herself that was Filipino. But there was another part of her that had gone unexplored for thirty years. Until now.
He lifted a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “You have a mother and a father who molded you, who love you. Why rely on someone who’s a stranger to you to validate your identity?”
“You’ve always been secure in the knowledge of who you are from the time of your birth. With parents and siblings who resemble you. I didn’t have that. I was the odd one most of my life. Half-Filipino, half-nothing. I didn’t belong.” Tears fell down her cheeks again. She let them flow. “I’m not asking them to love me. John, Belen, Patrick, and Ronan. They don’t have to accept me. Meeting the man who helped create me will be enough. I won’t be half-nothing anymore. I will be whole.”
Blake brushed her tears away. “You don’t have to demand love from anyone for them to give it to you. We may not be your blood, baby, but my family already loves you. With the Ryans, you already belong.”
Krista sank back against his chest. Blake’s statement invited no response. It was fact. She’d felt it all day long.
Deep inside, she felt shame. She’d lied. She did want at least one O’Connor to love her. The one who mattered most. Her father.
The door burst open. Ronan rushed in, his skin ashen. “Ate Krista, Blake, Mom just called. Dad convulsed and tore open his stitches. He’s bleeding again. They took him back to surgery.”
Krista sprang up and placed her hand on Ronan’s arm. “What can we do?” Even as she asked, she knew there was only one thing she could do.
“Pray.” Ronan took her hand in his. “Please pray for our dad, Ate.” He withdrew his hand and nodded to Blake. “I’ll call you as soon as we have an update on his condition.”
CHAPTER TWELVE - St. Patrick’s Cathedral
A single snowflake drifted away from the flurry that fell steadily from the sky. Shaped like a star, it fluttered close to the outer glass of the hotel’s window before dancing back in the air, an invisible gust of wind controlling its graceful movement. Krista followed its descent until it disappeared from view.
How she envied the snowflake its lightness right now. To float without care, without the weight pressing down on her.
Two days before Christmas. Supposedly, the happiest season of all. It was usually her most favorite holiday. Especially this year because of Blake’s birthday; the first time they’d spend it together. Jack O’Connor’s condition had postponed the celebration until he could attend.
Krista rubbed her eyes. They were gritty from her disturbed sleep. She’d tossed and turned all night. She’d prayed. She’d been tempted to ask her barkada—M’amie, her group of friends in the Philippines—to pray for him, too. But she didn’t have confirmation of their relationship.
Yet.
In her heart, Krista knew. The man who fathered her, the man her mother only knew as “John,” was Jack O’Connor. She wanted to tell her Nanay, but it was too soon. She had to see him first. He had to call her his daughter first. For that to happen, he had to wake up.
If he ever awakened. Ronan had called at two in the morning to say his father had pulled through the surgery but remained unconscious. Even after that, her sleep remained fitful.
“What do you want to do today?” Blake asked from the bed.
They’d come back to their room after breakfast at the Food Hall, this time sampling sumptuous offerings from Épicerie Boulud and Lady M Cake Boutique. Replete from coffee, croissants, and slices of mille crêpes, they’d decided to take it easy before making their plans for the rest of the day. There was no rush to go to the hospital as long as Jack was still in a coma.
Krista turned from her spot at the window. “I want to stay close by,” she replied, the “just in case” unspoken. “Let’s keep to Midtown, if that’s all right with you.” She crossed the room and perched on the chaise at the foot of the bed.
“Central Park, The Met, Rockefeller Plaza, Broadway, that sort of thing?”
“Yes; can we go to St. Patrick’s Cathedral also? I want to say a prayer for ... uhm, your Uncle Jack.”
Krista still didn’t know what to call him. Not Mr. O’Connor, especially if they did DNA testing and it proved he was her biological father. Dad? Patrick and Ronan called him that. Maybe. If he asked.
Shaking her head, she returned her attention to Blake. “Is it reachable on foot? I’ve never seen snow in real life before coming here. I want to walk.”
“Did we get you appropriate shoes? Your Nikes or your Jimmy Choos won’t do.”
“You’re not buying me anymore shoes,” Krista said in exasperation. She swore, this man had a fetish for footwear. Hers, in particular. “Maddie lent me a pair of snow boots: they’ll do.” She glared at Blake, daring him to disagree with her.
“Okay, okay. You’re not Imelda.” He rose from the bed, holding up both his hands in mock surrender. “Jeez, one would think you’re with me for love and not for my money and good looks.” He sat beside her and nuzzled her neck.
“One would think,” she gasped, her breath catching in her throat.
Here was lightness. Here, in Blake’s arms, she could float. Be weightless. Be loved.
His right hand nudged aside the V-neck of her sweater, a
long with the strap of her bra. Every inch of her skin he bared received a kiss, a bite, a lick. The other hand crept beneath the soft material of the cashmere and swept across her back to unhook her bra, leaving heat in its wake. In a wink, her top came off.
“Blake, honey, what about sightseeing?” Her voice came out breathy, needy. She lay back on the bed; her spine couldn’t hold her up. In that moment she knew what it meant to be boneless.
“I’m seeing some great sights down here.” He’d pulled off her jeans and took her panties along with them. “I’m looking at a garden with the most beautiful flower in full bloom, dew droplets clinging to its petals.” He described the most feminine part of her as he spread her legs to kneel between them.
Krista liquified, hearing his words. Her blood heated as it coursed through her veins, and arousal dampened her thighs. She licked her lips. Moisture pooled beneath her tongue in anticipation of seeing his beautiful body bared, of tasting his skin, of kissing his mouth and maybe also, his cock.
He was right. They needn’t go out to see great sights. The ones in the hotel room couldn’t be beat. No Greek statue at The Met could equal Blake in male beauty. No symphony at Carnegie Hall could match the music they’d make together with their moans and words of passion. Yes, truly, there was no better place in New York City than here.
***
Blake stretched and yawned. He’d finally gotten some sleep. They both had. Making love made them forget their troubles, at least for a short while.
He rolled onto his side, to face Krista. He tucked the blanket more securely around her shoulders. Dark circles had formed under her eyes. Thin blue veins stood out against her closed eyelids. She hadn’t had enough sleep—she had cried too much.
Last night had been rough. From almost zero knowledge about her father to nearly absolute certainty within a single day; it was enough to make his head spin. No wonder she was highly emotional.
He and his siblings had been fortunate in the family he was born into. As Krista said, he’d been secure in the knowledge of who he was, where he came from. Sean and Giulia had provided that security for their children. No matter how far away he and his brothers traveled, they’d always come back home.
Blake wanted that with Krista. A home of their own. Be it here or in the Philippines, it didn’t matter, as long as they were together.
Selfishly, he wanted Uncle Jack to wake up. So Krista could meet her father. So her father could acknowledge her. So Blake could finally propose.
Maybe I should call Ronan to get an update.
Just as Blake reached for his phone, it rang.
“Baby, wake up.” He shook her shoulder with one hand as he thumbed the answer key on the phone with the other. “It’s Ronan.”
Krista bolted upright, instantly alert.
“Blake, Ate Krista, Dad’s awake,” the younger O’Connor son announced. His excited voice rang clearly through the airwaves. Blake had put him on speaker.
“Thank God,” Krista whispered reverently.
“He’s undergoing tests right now, but he should be able to accept visitors in a few hours, say around four or five. I took personal time off. Kuya Patrick and I will help at the pub tonight. We spoke with Mom—she’s expecting you.”
“We’ll be there,” Blake replied before pressing the off button. Krista was beaming beside him, her joy unmistakable.
“He’s awake. I can see him.”
“Yes, sweetheart. You can finally see him.”
***
The massive bronze door that marked the entrance to the south transept of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the largest Gothic church in New York City, opened to admit more tourists. Before it closed again, a circle of light fell over Krista’s bowed head through the stained-glass Founder’s Window, giving her a halo. She knelt in front of the Altar of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a rosary in her hand, oblivious to the heavenly blessing she’d received.
Blake sat on a pew several feet behind, smiling. Krista had managed to bring him to a church again. They’d gone in Boracay, in Makati, and now here in New York. A feat only his mother was able to accomplish for many years.
Krista made the sign of the cross and kissed the crucifix at the end of the rosary, signaling the end of her prayers.
Blake rose to his feet, stepped to the side, and genuflected. When he stood upright again, Krista was beside him, staring.
“Do I have something on my face?” He rubbed his jaw where stubble had started to grow.
“No. I love it when you come to church with me. I feel a million times blessed.”
“Only a million?” he teased. “I feel a gazillion.” He tapped her nose. “Are you ready to meet him?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m glad we came here instead of waiting at the hospital.” Krista beamed at him. “I needed to give thanks for the miracles of healing and discovery. God is good.” After another look around, she turned and led the way to the door.
They exited onto 51st Street. From there, the taxi they hailed had a straight route to Tenth Avenue. Even with the afternoon traffic, they arrived at the hospital in less than ten minutes.
“Do you know his room?” Krista asked as they entered the main lobby.
“Yes. He’s in the Deluxe Accommodations wing, but Tita Belen wants to talk to you first. She’s waiting for us in the cafeteria.”
Tita Belen sat at a table in a corner of the room. Blake kissed the cheek she proffered. “Please sit beside me, Krista. I want to thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but what did I do that you’re grateful for?” Krista asked, sitting beside Belen as directed. Blake chose the seat to his girlfriend’s left.
“I was there when they transfused John after his second surgery. The bag had a different label on it than the previous ones. Beside the computerized donor code somebody wrote KL by hand. His condition rapidly improved after that. You saved his life.” Tita Belen clasped Krista’s hands in hers. “Before that, I was told they were running low on B negative, even after they’d already asked the Red Cross for more supply. My boys confirmed that you donated for Jack. Salamat, Anak.”
The words “thank you, my child” brought tears to Krista’s eyes. Blake had to blink away the moisture in his.
“You’re welcome po ... uhm, Mrs. O’Connor.”
“Please, call me Tita Belen.”
“Tita Belen,” Krista dutifully repeated.
“I also asked Dr. Vasquez to run a paternity test using your blood. She was telling me John was not excluded as your father at the exact moment he woke up. He knows he has a daughter. He wants to meet you.”
Tears filled Krista’s eyes. “I want to meet him too. When?”
“We can go now.” Tita Belen stood. “They just moved him to his own room. I wanted to talk to you before you meet. I’d like to apologize for my rudeness yesterday. Seeing you brought back bad memories and made me doubt John all over again, like I did before we got married.”
“No apologies necessary. I understand. Tita Belen, may Blake go with us? I want him there with me when I meet my father for the first time.”
“Of course he may,” Tita Belen said graciously. She leaned closer to Krista and stage-whispered, “Don’t tell the others, but Blake is my favorite of the Ryan kids. We have the same birthday.” The wink she gave Krista made all of them laugh.
Blake smiled broadly. He’d wanted this lighthearted teasing and the instant rapport for Tita Belen and Krista’s first meeting. The opposite had happened; it made him happy to see it now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Manhattan
Krista gripped Blake’s hand so tight, she was afraid she’d break his bones. The nearer they got to the room where she’d meet her father, the faster her heartbeat galloped against her ribcage. She hadn’t thought she would be this nervous.
“Relax, sweetheart. Uncle Jack’s a great guy. He’s going to love you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise, pinky swear, cross my heart,” he teased.
Tita Bel
en opened the door and poked her head in before turning back to Krista and Blake. “He’s up.” She opened the door wide. “Come in.”
“Go on, I’m behind you.” Blake pressed his lips to her head and gave her a small push forward.
John was sitting up in bed. Even with his skin pale, his eyes cloudy with pain, and numerous IVs all over his arms, he still attempted to smile. “Come, child. I was told you saved my life. Blake, it’s great to see you, son.”
Krista positioned herself beside the bed and laid her hand on top of his right arm, in between two IV lines. “I’m glad I was able to help.” Though she smiled at him, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his scar. It was faint now, not as angry as it was in that photo, but still there.
“Krista; a lovely name. Tell me about yourself, your family.” He spoke slowly, pausing after every other word.
“I was born in Pampanga, in a small town called Santa Rita. My mother and her husband, my adoptive father, moved there from Angeles City when she was pregnant with me. I have two siblings, a sister and a brother.” Krista had tried to prepare for this meeting, but she found herself babbling now that the moment had finally arrived.
“Forgive me if my memory fails me: what did your mother say about how we met?” A look passed between husband and wife after he asked the question. Apologetic on his side, understanding on hers.
“She said you rescued her from three men outside the restaurant where she worked. They were drunk and ...” Krista couldn’t continue. The horror of what could have happened to her mother if John hadn’t come along was too unthinkable.
“Oh, John,” Tita Belen cried out. “She must have been terrified. What’s your mother’s name, Anak?
“Marissa po. She’s about your height. Mestiza. She always kept her hair long, past her waist.” Krista hoped that description would jog John’s memory.