Page 60 of The Five Stages of Courting Dalisay Ramos

Dalisay’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised.

“I know, shocking, right? Me, quit my dream job?” He laughs, catching her expression, but his smile falls again. “When I told my dad about it, it didn’t go over well. He thought I was valuing her career over mine, and that we weren’t serious enough for such a big change, that I was dumping my future for …” He trails off. Suddenly, his dad’s word “logistics” floats through her mind.

“Long story short, my dad talked me out of it,” he continues. “Long distance was out of the question. It was either all or nothing. So I took Becca out to this fancy restaurant that made me wear a jacket, maybe to try to get her to stay so we could be together, or maybe I already knew it was too late and was trying to lessen the blow …” His smile is sad, as if he’s amused by his own mistake. “She ordered champagne,thinking we were celebrating, but I … broke up with her. After she left, I grabbed the bucket of ice and dumped it over my head so I wouldn’t cry in front of everyone.”

“Evan, that’s …”

“Ridiculous? You can say so. I think it’s pretty ridiculous at least.” He laughs again, but there’s no joy in it. “I know Becca and I are over, it’s done, but … if I’d done whatIwanted, instead of listening to what my dad wanted, what could have happened? You know? Not to make it sound like I’m not happy with you right now, but it’s one of those moments that you wonder what would be different if you’d gone right instead of left.”

A lump forms in Dalisay’s throat. “No, I know. Really. I do.”

Her whole life, all she wanted to do was write, and if she’d listened to her parents when they tried to talk her out of it, where would she be? Sometimes she stays up at night and thinks about it. Just like she thinks about how she might have to pick between supporting Nicole and appeasing her mother one day.

Evan clears his throat. His words sound thick now. “Maybe I’m psychoanalyzing too much, but my parents’ divorce was … rough. I know, being able to look back, none of it was my fault, but at the time I really thought that I didn’t do a good enough job being their son, that I was somehow supposed to keep them together, that their fights were always about me. But when my dad told me to put my future first, it was like getting a sneak peek at the truth. And for a brief moment, when I watched Becca walk out that door in tears, I wondered if I was going to wind up like him and … it scared me. I never want to be that person who lets other people decide things for me. Never again.”

Dalisay remembers how upset he was when theparolbroke, like it was his responsibility to please the people in his life, and suddenly a lot of things about him start to make sense. The only son who bears the burden of a parent’s expectation. Anything less than exceptional is unacceptable.

Dalisay lifts his hand to her mouth and kisses it. “Thanks for telling me,” she says. “I’m sorry you sort of had to.”

Evan laughs and groans.

“Hey,” she says. “I’m glad I’m with you.”

Evan glances at her again, his brown eyes warm, crinkling at the corners when he smiles. “Me too. I wouldn’t change us for anything.”

“Good. Because if you did, I’d be the one emptying a champagne bucket over my head.”

“Don’t get me thinking about you in a wet T-shirt until we get home,” he says, narrowing his eyes at her mischievously.

She gawps at him and smacks his arm playfully as he laughs, and she laughs too.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Pinky opens the door and breaks into a relieved smile. “You made it, thankGod,” she says, her voice rising.

Dalisay shushes her but can’t help but laugh. “Don’t make a scene. It’s a wake.”

“The body’s not here. He’s in a funeral parlor,” Pinky says, offhandedly.

“As if that makes a difference?” Nicole whispers as she slides her shoes off at the entrance. “A funeral’s a funeral.”

The day after lunch at the Saatchis, Pinky invited Dalisay and Nicole over to her aunt’s house to help makepancit palabokfor Pinky’s second cousin’s stepfather’s brother’s funeral. The family tree may have a lot of roots, but no matter how far it stretches, family is family.

“You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here,” Pinky says, leading them into the house. “I think you’re the only people under sixty to walk through those doors.”

She isn’t kidding. Dalisay counts at least a dozen older women sitting around on couches in the living room or at the table in the dining room, laughing and chatting as they make preparations for the funeral. It’s far livelier than Dalisay expected, but it’s still a wake. Most are talking about memories of the recently deceased.

Pinky introduces them to the house, and Dalisay and Nicole wave to the groups, before Pinky guides them to the kitchen where a woman is already there peeling garlic and shrimp.

“Auntie Tala,” says Pinky. “Nicole and Dalisay are here.”

Looking up from a bowl full of garlic slivers, Tala—an older woman wearing a bulky beaded necklace and huge, coke-bottle glasses—smiles at them. “Welcome, girls! Welcome! More hands the better.”

Nicole and Dalisay get situated, setting out bowls and cutting boards, as they ready themselves to make enoughpancit palabokfor what they assume must be to feed the entire West Coast.

Tala leaves to attend to other things around the house while Nicole and Dalisay work quietly, sitting side by side at the table, not saying much of anything except “Pass the bowl?” And “Can you get some more garlic?”

When Nicole focuses, her whole face changes. Dalisay knows this look. She’s lasered in on dicing the garlic, concentrating with furrowed brows and firm lips, maneuvering the knife like a surgeon. Right now, she looks much like she does when she’s studying for exams.

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