by Tif Marcelo
Temptation has me wanting to encase her in my arms, but no, not here or now. I keep my hands in my pockets. “Catching up.”
“Huh.” She searches my face, then looks down. “Our conversation in the car . . . I didn’t mean to be such an ass. I’m sorry. I’m glad you stepped in for me—call me jelly, is all.”
I let the seconds pass. She doesn’t touch on us. Us having sex and continuing to have sex, so I don’t push it. “It was a one-time thing, an emergency contingent.”
She scrunches her mouth into a half smile. It’s so damn adorable and sweet. “They were going to show the segment in there, but I asked my sister not to. I didn’t want to have to explain right there and then, you know?”
I nod. “But they’d understand. They’re proud of you, you know, for everything.”
“It comes with some pressure. When people think you do everything well, it’s hard to make mistakes. And when you do make mistakes, it’s hard to get away from the reminder. Starting over is tough. But these days, I remember that I can start over at any time.” She raises her eyes to me. “Sound familiar?”
I scour my brain. “From a movie?”
“No, silly. From you. When you walked me home from the tattoo shop.”
The wind’s knocked out of me. “You remember that?” Fuck it. I take her hand into mine. Our palms flatten into one.
“We keep getting interrupted, but . . . can I ask you something?” she asks.
“Course.”
“Who’s—”
“Vic, Joel, damn, that’s where you two are. Will you both come in already? We’re about to fall over hungry in here.” Bryn flies out of the door, laughing, snapping our serious conversation in half. We both let go like our hands are on fire.
“Argh.” Victoria’s gaze falls to the ground. “Coming, geez.” She hesitates before walking away, with a final glance at me. “Later, okay?”
I nod, and following her back into the restaurant, I’m hit by a sight that I’ve only seen in pictures: a table full of food. Without exaggeration.
The tables that were wrapped in plastic wrap? They’re now covered with flat green leaves. Each setting is marked with a napkin, nothing more. Down the middle is steamed, white rice, shaped into one long rectangle, and around it are meat, veggies, and seafood.
“We thought that since everyone has started to go their opposite directions, we’d make a celebration of tonight’s dinner.” Mr. Aquino claps his hand on my back, leading me to take a seat. He sits next to me, passes me a tub of wipes for our fingers. Most everyone is wiping their hands, so I follow suit. This feels like a crab boil hopped up on steroids.
Victoria’s uncle, Chef Ritchie, stands. “Welcome everyone to a kamayan. Kamay, meaning hands. Which means you will be eating with your fingers. It’s the way ancient Filipinos ate, and as many still do today. It’s also called a boodle fight, which dates back to a Philippine military tradition where all ranks of soldiers ate with each other, sharing one big meal.” He walks around the table, then puts a hand on my shoulders. “Don’t be scared, iho.”
Everyone at the table laughs, and I look up at Chef Ritchie, who called me son. I picked up a couple of Tagalog words filming the Aquinos, and the idea that he would do so makes my stomach drop, and I’m sure the smile I return is pretty fucking pathetic. “I think I’m good.”
“Great. Let’s go over some rules.” He goes back to the head of the table. “Notice that all the food here can be picked up. Feed yourself with your right hand, take from the middle with your left. Everyone has a buddy here. Help each other, okay? Besides the steamed rice, there’re alternating dishes: sisig, which is a sizzling pork dish. Grilled squid. Grilled tomatoes.” He points to the beef with onions. “Bistek. Sautéed string beans. But instead of me explaining everything, I invite you to dig in. We can discuss later.”
The group digs into the food in the middle, though I hang back. Sure enough, everyone reaches in with their left hand, and it’s truly like a fight. Fingers clash, sorrys and laughter abound. Mr. Aquino balls the rice and the pork with his fingers, forming it into a bite-size piece before placing it into his mouth. The whole experience is loud and relaxed. I take a little of every dish, my stomach growling at this palate cleanser of a meal, drastically different from the barbecue I’ve had the last couple of days.
Victoria is across from me, engrossed in conversation with her sister and Ellie. From my periphery, I notice Ellie glancing at me every so often, which can only mean I’m the subject of their conversation. Did Vic tell her? I dig into the food, enjoy the feeling of the warm rice on my fingertips, the tang of vinegar on my tongue from the sisig, and the pop of the sweet steamed tomatoes.
Mr. Aquino’s voice shakes me out of my thoughts. “I worry for my girls. At least Bryn is in one place, but my Vicky? I know she’s an adult, but she’s still my bunso—my youngest. She insists on being on the road. To know there’s someone like family nearby who she can go to when she needs help is such a comfort. I wanted to make sure I thanked you.”
The man’s vibe is somewhat of a force, and I sit tall and swallow all the food in my mouth before I speak. “No need for thanks, sir.” Guilt courses through me, because the kind of help I’ve been giving his daughter is probably not what he’s thinking of.
“Do you have family? You’re on the road quite a bit.”
“I do, sir. Central California. My sister and her son, Seth, are the closest family I have.”
“Good. Well, you have us here, too.”
Again, that feeling of my stomach dropping. I can barely get the words out. “Thank you, sir.”
The table settles into eating while the conversation rocks from Paraiso’s wedding schedule to True North’s fall events to Drew’s next military assignment and Camille’s food truck, and whether there’s the potential to relocate. People break off into side conversations only to come together again with a crescendo.
I am immersed in everything. The food, the family. All of my senses are being worked on, and it’s like watching an HD video—so fucking satisfying.
From across the table, Victoria’s sister asks, “So, Joel. You jumped from Paraiso to this job, and then what’s next?”
Shit. I hate these kinds of questions, the “what do you want to do in the future” question. Everyone thinks that by the time you hit your thirties, you’ve got everything figured out. But what if you feel like life’s just getting started? “Not sure. I haven’t yet looked into my next gig, but I will, soon.”
She frowns. “That seems like it could be an unstable life.”
I know that look of hers. She’s appraising me, judging. Before I can step in to answer, Victoria speaks. “I think it’s exciting to go with the flow.”
Bryn doesn’t let up. “What did you do before you were a cameraman?”
I wipe my fingers on my napkin. “I was in the Army.”
“No shit.”
Her father nods as if impressed.
“I was in for four years, with one deployment. It was a great start. Once I figured out what I wanted to do, I used the GI Bill and went to Cal State. Worked and interned in between and made my contacts, and I sort of jumped from one place and one job to another.”
Bryn’s still assessing me, and she’s balling up her rice like she’s preparing to chuck it my way. “So, you’re what, thirty?”
I’m not sure where this line of questioning is going, but I answer, “Thirty-one.”
“Interesting.”
The table falls into a silence, until a server comes in and fills our water glasses. The sound of ice and water hitting glasses incites another round of conversations, though my mind is on Bryn’s questions.
A buzz sounds next to me. Mr. Aquino sits up in his chair. “That’s my alarm. It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Victoria asks, suspicious.
“The show. Let’s turn it on.”
Her eyes widen, and she fumbles her next words. “B-but Dad.” She faces her sister. “I told you no.
”
Bryn stands to keep her father from turning on the flat-screen over the bar, but he’s already got the channel up, the West Coast BBQ logo already on the screen. But instead of Victoria’s face smiling back, it’s mine.
23
VICTORIA
I shouldn’t have cared that it wasn’t me on the screen. I should’ve been proud to say that our team was so good that I didn’t even have to be there. I should’ve thanked Joel in front of my family for doing a hell of a job. Because he did. He radiated confidence during the segment. He knew what the heck he was talking about.
But I did care, and I was selfish. I shut up; I smiled weakly. While the family praised him, I could barely get a compliment to leave my lips. Though we sang “Happy Birthday” to Mitchell and passed around slices of cake, it no longer felt like a celebration.
And as we Uber back to the campsite, our bellies full of food, I feel no better than when we arrived at True North almost four hours ago.
Joel leans his head back on the headrest, shuts his eyes. I stare out my window, into the sea of red lights on Highway 80 heading to the East Bay.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I separate work and pleasure? How can he be so relaxed, so confident in this non-relationship that we have, and why can’t I be like him and enjoy our fleeting, exciting, blood-pumping moments?
Because when I’m with him, I forget everything and everyone. The present is enough.
When we turn off the exit to 580 West, onto a dimly lit freeway, Joel’s phone rings, startling him out of sleep. His hands fumble against his pants, though he placed the phone between us on the seat along with a wrapped plate of leftover food. After the second ring, I pick the phone up for him, first glancing down at the bright screen.
And I see the picture of the caller. It’s of a little boy.
“It’s for you.” My voice shakes. After he thanks me and takes the phone, I snatch my eyes away and focus on the road. We were interrupted once again when I wanted to ask him about Seth, and in the middle of and after watching the show, I’d forgotten all about it.
But here we are again.
Joel answers with a gravelly voice and it cracks as he greets Seth. “Hey, what’s up?” Turning his face to the window, he settles back into his seat, and it’s as if I’m not there at all. He laughs under his breath, answers with hmms and uh-huhs, almost flirtatious and sweet.
So I scroll on my phone and pretend I don’t care an iota. Meanwhile, the car is getting hotter and stuffier. Irritation buzzes through me like a speaker before the scream of feedback. Bile is at my throat, the phone call a trigger to my panic. This can’t be happening to me twice. Is it only a child? Is there a wife, too? Or is it a significant other? And God, while he and I are becoming something.
Then again, we don’t have anything, right? He wanted simple.
Simple for a reason.
My breathing picks up as my blood pressure rises. I start humming to the radio so I don’t have to hear the rumble of his laugh.
We’re turning into the campground when Joel finally gets off the phone, and by then, I’m ready to be alone, to get into my pajamas, and to shut off the lights. But Joel? He’s cheery, as if the phone call was what he was waiting for all day.
Why do I seem to be attracted to men who are already involved with someone else? Because I can’t do that again. I might have had my suspicions before, but I’m not going to repeat what I did with Luke. I’m not going to be made a fool.
The campground is virtually silent except for the crickets and the occasional cough or conversation, and the crack of twigs under someone’s feet. Aside from the lit path between the vehicle and tent areas, the only other light is the water reflecting the stars. The tent area is dark; the rest of the crew is sound asleep.
I’m fiddling with the keys to the RV when Joel inhales what sounds like a lungful of air. “Well, thanks for inviting me. I have to admit, that might have topped all of my food adventures.”
He continues on, but I’m simply focused on sifting through this ginormous key ring because the keys all look the same in the dark, dammit.
Joel turns on the flashlight app on his phone. Duh. Finding the key straight away, I turn toward the door to stick it into the lock, though I’m unsuccessful because he covers the keyhole with his hand.
He shuts off the flashlight app so we’re plunged into darkness. “Victoria.”
Resignation bleeds in his voice. It’s one word—my name—but in the dark, with him this close, he doesn’t have to say anything else. He wants to finish our conversation from the way over to True North. And he doesn’t want a bullshit answer.
And, equally, in the dark, I’m brave enough to tap into what’s been on my mind, of what could be something that could break me again.
“Who’s Seth?”
“What?”
I shake my head, my bravado giving way to shame, but I keep going. “I heard you on the phone last night. I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but—” My rambling gets the best of me, but Joel cuts me off.
His tone eases. “Seth’s my nephew.”
The answer renders me speechless for a moment. “He’s the one you speak to every day?”
“Yeah, sometimes twice. In between texts. He’s always busting my balls over something, and I can’t help but check up on him.”
Relief spills out of me, and I bark out a laugh.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Promise not to freak?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“You sounded so sweet on the phone, and I thought . . .” I wish I could see his face. While I’m close enough to hear him breathe, smell the soap he cleaned up with at True North, I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“You thought that Seth was my son.”
My face burns with shame. “Yes, I did.”
“What if I said he was like a son to me?”
My heart softens; it becomes putty. “I think that’s wonderful. Every child deserves love from everyone, from parents and uncles and friends and framily.”
“Framily?”
“Friends who are like family.” I smile.
“Well, my sister and my nephew are all the family I have, and they’ve always come first.”
“That’s good, Joel”—and feeling the need to explain more, I add—“But the reason I mention it is that I thought . . . I assumed . . . I know the thing we have is supposed to be simple, but I got scared.” Taking a deep breath, I push out the rest of my thoughts. “I don’t think I’m made for this . . . fling. Especially with it mixing with work. I don’t know if I’m always going to be a little naïve or if I’m ever going to get over what happened to me. Or if I can ever separate work and play. Tonight was an example of it. I’m sorry.”
“I see.”
I bite my lip and start to grind my toe into the ground. My plan was not to be this forthcoming. There’s a power you give up when you say what you feel, when you bare your fears. Before Luke, I was all about pure honesty, but since then, I’ve held back.
“So, you’re saying that we should . . .” he starts.
“That maybe we should ease off.” I lower my face, though I know he can’t see my expression. “I don’t know what simple means. I like you, Joel, but I can’t just be a body.”
“Is that what you think you are?” He jumps in, tone curt. “Did I ever do anything to make you feel that way? To me, simple doesn’t mean careless.” After a pause that feels like days, Joel clears his throat. “I’m gonna go. Honestly, I didn’t expect for you to underestimate me.”
My heart falls in my chest. The hurt in his voice tempts me to stop him, but it’s better this way, right? We are two different people; our conversations are evidence of it. “Yeah . . . okay.”
I shove the key into the rig lock rougher than I probably need to after he turns to leave. Was that the end of us? What did I think would happen? You threw down an ultimatum, dummy. You put the truth out there.
But as I climb
the steps into the rig, the sound of footsteps causes me to turn.
“Nope. It’s not okay.” Joel comes to the bottom of the step. “I’m not done. Can I come in?”
My heart lurches in my throat. Stunned, I blink at the sight of this beautiful man looking up at me, then nod.
He takes two steps up into the rig, shuts the door behind him, and turns so our faces are even, so close that it would be easy to lean in and steal a kiss.
He lays his hands on my hips, inching me backward, then takes the final step up. I don’t fight back; I don’t question him. I sit on the edge of the bed while he takes a knee in front of me, and I’m breathless when he puts his hands on my thighs. My heart’s pounding in my ears as I take in the mixture of determination and patience on his face. “The things you do, the things you say—I can’t stay away from you.” His right hand caresses my cheek, pushes a long bang from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “Look, what that guy did to you was wrong. Fucking cowardly. You didn’t deserve it.”
“I know that.”
“Then you know that real men aren’t like him. That I am not like him. I won’t lie to you, Victoria. This job does put a wrench in things. I might not always do the right thing, and I’m sometimes too quiet. I’m not perfect. I’ve gone my own way in life. But I’m not a liar or a cheat.”
“I believe you.”
“Good, because I’ve got a couple of things to admit. The slow burn of watching you behind a screen for two months was a tease. And Vegas? You fucking rocked my world. And, yes, you and me here on this trip is light-years away from simple. But you are not just a body. Yes, your mouth, your lips, your voice, and your body are irresistible. But you’re also fucking sweet and smart. You’re a good person. And I don’t think I can resist crawling into your bed, burying myself in you. Whenever we’re together, I want to make you feel like the powerful, amazing woman you are.”
I shiver, letting his words flow across the surface of my skin, stripping me down to a mass of nerves. My body hums, my core coiling in anticipation at the kind of strength and power this man has behind the shell he has up for everyone. My hands fist the front of his shirt. “I don’t want you to stay away. But what happens after?”