Page 78 of Something in Between

“Isko!” Mom says. “Tarantado!Apologize to Royce!”

“Oh, that Francisco,” Lola laughs. “Maybe he should wear a black dress for the rest of the day and say Hail Marys. You have black skirts, Jasmine. Maybe you can lend him one.”

“I’m not wearing a dress!” Isko says. “It’s Danny’s fault! He dared me to see if I could make him fall!”

“How about I make you fall?” Dad says. “You and your brother get out of here.”

The boys dart out of the room.

I turn to Royce and hug him. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him back for you later.”

“Or I will.” He grins. “Don’t forget, I have an older brother. I can defend myself.”

Lola has her glasses back on her face. “Neneng.You didn’t tell me your friend was white.”

Oh no, I think. Here she goes. Lola may be wild, but she’s also still more traditional than my parents in some ways.

This time Royce speaks up. “Italian-Mexican-Norwegian-German-English actually,” he says. “Oh, and some Irish.”

Lola gives Royce a bizarre look. “Running for politics like your fancy dad?”

I glance at Mom. She shrugs apologetically. She must have told Lola Cherry everything about Royce. And Congressman Blakely.

“If my dad had his way, I would be just like him,” Royce says.

“Then don’t be a fool. Be like JFK. Now there was an American president! He looked good in a suit too. Charming. Handsome. He was a playboy though. Are you a playboy?”

Royce laughs. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’tthinkso? You sound like JFK already. Maybe you should run for president.”

“Nah, that’s my dad, not me.”

“Lola,” I interrupt. “How are your friends in the home?”

“Oh, them,” she says. “They’re fine. Boring. Same old stories every day. My son’s family is doing this. My daughter’s family is doing that. My son’s family is wealthier than your son’s family. My hip is going out. I can’t eat pork anymore. I get tired of it all. I just want to watch movies and dance, but this knee hurts too much. I watch some of them dance and I say, ‘Hey, you got two left feet. What’s wrong with you?’ But it does no good unless I can show them.”

I sometimes feel bad for Lola. Old people in the Philippines never go to a home. Their families take care of them. But then I remember not to feel so sorry for her, because Lola actually seems to like being social with the other old people. She might complain about them, but they allow her to constantly be the center of attention, which is her favorite thing to be.

Lola turns her attention to Royce again. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you taking Jasmine out?”

I give Dad atold-you-solook. Royce glances at me and smiles.

“He wanted to meet you,” Dad lies. “He heard so much about you.”

“Do you want me to hit you with my cane?” she says to Dad.

Dad chuckles. “You look like Charlie Chaplin when you walk with that.”

“You say that again,” Lola says like she’s daring him.

“Tell us about the boys you snuck out to meet in Cebu City,” says Royce. “What were they like?”

“You don’t even know,” Lola says. “There was this military man on leave taking classes nearby. He was in World War Two. There was a scar hole on his shoulder you could put your finger in from a Japanese bayonet. Oh, and there was a French scholar who liked my dancing. Wild days, those were. He came to the ballet to see me once. He was studying birds and politics. Can you believe that? He called me his falconet. You ever see one? Glossy. Blue black. They yellkek-kek-kek-kekwhen they’re diving between the trees.”

“Stop it, Lola,” Mom says. “You’re giving Jasmine ideas.”

Lola’s eyes brighten. “Oh, I don’t have to do that. She’s young. She has her own ideas. Don’t you,neneng? I don’t need to help you come up with those.”

---