Page 47 of Something in Between

He leans on my mother’s shoulder. “Why are you so happy, then?”

“Am I not supposed to be happy?”

Now he knows I’m covering up. I don’t know how he figures this stuff out. He’s always called me on the tiniest of lies. I should just shut my mouth, become a nun, take vows of celibacy and silence. If I let Dad get what he wanted, I’d be alone forever and never move out of his house.

He trades looks with Mom. “All right. Out with it,” he says.

I hold on to the thinnest shred of denial. “Out with what?”

But that’s it. He’s calling in reinforcements.

Dad stands up and gazes down at Mom. “Your daughter. She has a secret!”

“All daughters have secrets,” Mom says. “If you’ve lost your interrogation skills then just leave her alone! She’s old enough to have a life outside of us.”

I give Dad a wide smile. This is an unprecedented victory in our household.

He points a finger at me, “We better meet him soon, whoever he is!” and leaves the room as I’m still beaming.

* * *

Later that night, after I’m already in bed in my heart-print pajamas, Mom comes into my room. She knocks so lightly, I almost don’t hear. I’m surprised she didn’t just do her usual barging in, talking at some sonic level. Something must be wrong. She sits on the edge of my bed, asking if I’m asleep yet.

“Not yet,” I say. “What’s up?”

“So, can you tell me anything more about your trip to D.C.?”

Oh no. She’s going to ask if I did meet a boy. The whole day I was sort of glad she didn’t ask too many questions. I don’t think I can hide Royce from her like I did from Dad. She and I think so much alike.

“I told you guys all about it already,” I say lightly. I showed them a few of my photos (although not the ones with Royce).

She lies down on the bed next to me and starts stroking my hair. It makes me feel like a little girl again. Mom’s being so nice, I can tell she’s about to ask me something else. Something private. I sit up in bed, forcing her to stop touching my hair.

“Did you make any friends while you were there,neneng?” she asks.

Iknewit. She’s playing the rare good cop. Mommy-Daddy role reversal. “I made several friends from around the country,” I say just to make a point. “Some from LA too.”

“Really? What kind of ‘friends’?”

“Mom. Come on. You know, with the other honorees. We had a chaperone. We ate together, we bonded. But since you’re playing detective, yes, I met ‘a boy.’” I can’t hide the smile on my face anymore. Mom will understand, and I do want to tell her about Royce. He’s too important to me not to tell her about. Especially if I want to be able to see him in LA.

She sits up straight and turns on the lamp, blinding me. “You met a boy from the other side of the country?”

“Sort of,” I hedge.

She pauses for a moment, considers a thought, then crosses her arms. “Is he Filipino?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, of course not.” Mom shrugs.

I know my parents don’t care who I marry, but they do care that whoever I marry shares our values. They always talk about how Americans aren’t close to their families like Filipinos are.

“Well,” Mom sighs. “I guess it’s okay. He still lives on the other side of the country.”

I shift on the bed. “I never said that.”

“Where does he live, then? Who is this boy?”

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