Page 78 of The Five Stages of Courting Dalisay Ramos

The second day, he leaves a Vietnamese-style lantern, like the ones seen in Hoi An. It’s made of red paper, hand-painted with delicate jasmine flowers, like the flowers Dalisay wore in her hair during the first day of Simbang Gabi. He still thinks about how beautiful she looked.

The third day, he leaves a framed sketch he drew himself depicting the Parthenon in Rome. When he was there, he thought only of Dalisay. As he leaves her house, he spots Mrs. Ramos watching him from the window. Evan simply waves and continues his trek to work, feeling Mrs. Ramos’s eyes following him all the way down the block.

The fourth day, he leaves a framed photo from their day with Lola at the ice-skating rink on Christmas Eve, the one the photographer had taken in front of the tree. The built-in lights on Dalisay’s sweater threw off the exposure of the photo, pitching the rest of the background into darkness but making their smiles brighter. It was one of the best days of his life.

Before he can set it down, the door flies open and Mrs. Ramos stands there, staring at him. Her eyes go to the gift in his hands, and he holds it out to her. When she takes it from him, he just smiles and leaves for work.

The fifth and final day, Evan makes leche flan. He found a recipe, bought all the ingredients, and—the whole week leading up to the day—he tested it himself so he could get it just right. It was a lot more technical than he’d expected. He’s no baker, but he’s proud of his work, despite it looking like it’s melting. He nearly dropped it getting off the bus.

On the note, he wrote:

I know this won’t be as good as your mother’s, but I have to start somewhere.

He leaves the Tupperware on the doorstep and by the time he turns to look back, it’s gone.

Dalisay watches Evan go, holding herself tightly in the living room window, but she leaves before he can look back. She hears the door close, and her mom comes up the stairs, holding the Tupperware. Another gift from Evan. She can’t help the thrill that swoops inside of her at the sight of it. All of his gifts have made her swoon.

The map, the lantern, the sketch, the photo … It’s all perfect. He’s actually doing it, the Five Stages. She’s not reading into things at all. A ridiculous smile spreads across her face and she doesn’t even try to hide it. Pinky and Nicole have to be in on it. If she didn’t love them so much, she would pinch them for it, both by way of appreciation and for playing with her emotions.

Her mom hands her the note Evan left, and the family gathers around the kitchen island to look at his attempt at a leche flan.

“It looks like it’s melting,” says Daniel.

Mom takes a spoonful and tastes it. She nods. “It’s not terrible.”

That, coming from her mom, is practically singing praises.

Lola barges her way through, peering into the Tupperware. “Hmm. This from the boy?” she asks.

“It is,” says Dalisay.

Lola gives her a knowing wink and takes a spoonful. She doesn’t say anything, but she hums a love song as she heads back to her room.

“Who made the fucked-up leche flan?” Nicole asks, appearing from the bathroom. Her hair is wet, having just gotten out of the shower.

Their mom doesn’t reply. She cuts an untouched slice and puts it into another, smaller Tupperware. “Take this to work tomorrow,” she says, handing it to Nicole. “For Claire. Tell her next time she comes over for lunch, I’ll make her a real one.”

Nicole’s eyes are round as she wordlessly takes the Tupperware. It’s like she can hardly believe her ears. She and Dalisay lock eyes and Dalisay’s heart swells at the hope in her sister’s eyes.

Dalisay takes her portion of Evan’s leche flan to her room. Working from home has been a blessing, but she does miss working in an office. Sure, being remote means she gets to see her family more, the thing that’s always been most important to her, but she misses the buzz of being downtown, of seeing familiar faces … One in particular. Heavily, she drops in her chair at her desk and sighs as she looks at the book-scented candle on the corner of her desk. Evan’s old note leans against it.

Here’s to stories worth telling. —Evan

She’s smiling so much, it makes her cheeks hurt, but she takes a bite of the flan. Her mom was wrong—it’s perfect. Creamy, sweet, delicious. Maybe it tastes even better because of who made it.

The sun breaks through the window, basking her in morning light. Despite the brightness of the day ahead, she lights the candle and gets to work.

“You really think Mom’s coming around?” Nicole asks. She’s out of her scrubs and in her bathrobe, having just gotten home from the hospital earlier that night. She sits on Dalisay’s bed, her knees tucked up to her chest while Dalisay finishes editing an article.

It’s late, and her eyes hurt from looking at a screen all day, but Dalisay finishes typing with a flourish and spins in her chair. “It’s a start, right?”

“It has to mean something,” Nicole says. Her cheeks are pink, and she presses her face between her knees.

“Have you talked to Claire about it?”

Nicole nods. “She understood what it’s like for family to freak out. She told me her parents reacted the same way too …” Her gaze goes distant, then she blinks a few times, as if clearing her thoughts. “And Claire loved the flan, obviously, but the fact that Mom wants her to come over for lunch again? Maybe you’re right, maybe she’s mellowing out.”

“Mom loves you,” Dalisay says. “I think maybe she was in shock at first. You know how obsessed she is about tradition and grandkids.”

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