Page 83 of Not That Into You

My mom grew up in a large, tight-knit family outside Angeles City in the Philippines. She met my dad when he was still in the US Air Force and stationed nearby, working as a mechanic. They got married and moved back to the States, to Dayton, Ohio, where my dad completed his service and then left the military.

My mom was forced to adjust to a new country, a new culture, and a new life over eight thousand miles away from her family. I once asked her why she left the Philippines when it was clear she missed it, and she’d smiled and said, “Love.”

My mom had cooked most of our meals, and although she’d experimented with American classics—mac and cheese, meatloaf, casseroles, and potato salad—her favorites from childhood featured heavily in our menu. She was raised not to waste anything, so it wasn’t uncommon for her to make dishes that included animal parts many Americans don’t eat. To this day, my mom’s favorite soup is still chicken feet tinola.

My classmates viewed my mother’s resourcefulness, generosity, and hard work as something to ridicule. And because I invited one of them into our home, I felt as if I’d betrayed her.

I still feel guilty that I spent most of my teenage years pushing my mom away in my quest to be popular. I’m proud of my mother—I’m proud of both my parents—and I promised myself I wouldn’t change who I was for any reason ever again.

“No wonder you didn’t like me at first. I probably reminded you of them.”

With a shrug, I admit, “A little.” I narrow my eyes. “But that wasn’t the only reason.”

He smiles. “Right. It was also my big, impressive?—”

“Ego, yes.”

He grins. “Not where I was going with that, but I understand if you’re still intimidated.”

I shake my head. “Case in point.”

Picking up the rest of my half sandwich, I finish it off in one bite.

I glance over at Cameron, who’s giving me a sly smile. “What?” I ask around a mouthful of chicken.

He shrugs. “I just like watching you put things in your mouth.”

I groan. “Stop. You’re ruining the sandwich.”

He laughs, and I can’t help but join in his laughter until we’re both bent over, finding the situation far funnier than it actually is. Catching my breath, I shake my head and smile at him. Our gazes meet, and his smile softens.

For a moment, I forget everything except the contentment warming my chest.

Across the park, a child screams with delight, and the spell—or whatever that was—is broken.

Clearing my throat, I look down at my other half sandwich. What am I doing?

“Monica...”

Swallowing, I look up. “We should probably head back to the city.”

His brows wing up as he studies my face. “If that’s what you want.”

I nod. “There’ll probably be traffic.”

He frowns. “Right.”

“Good.” It’s time to get back to reality.

Chapter 22

Monica

“Have you talked to Hayley?”

I glance over at Cameron, who’s staring straight ahead, eyes trained on the road as we make our way along the Long Island Expressway back toward the city. I almost forgot he was Hayley’s best friend. Over the last few days, he’d gone from being my roommate’s irritating friend to being. . . something else. My friend, too?

I swallow. “Today?”

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