Page 3 of On the Beat

“I also write a music review blog,” I say. “It’s not as popular, but I review all kinds of music. Pop, heavy metal, classical—”

“Did you cover anything good on your gossip blog? The Bachelor? Keeping Up With The Kardashians? Selling Sunset?”

Does this man… actually enjoy reality TV?

Am I going out with a man who watches reality TV forfun?

I have to watch those just to cover them for work, and even I can only sit through ten minutes of the brain-rotting catfights before I have to go scroll through Twitter for something at least one step above in terms of intellectual stimulation.

Then again, he’s a doctor. Maybe they help him relax? Who am I to judge, since I make music review vlogs as a side hustle?

“I don’t really watch TV,” I say weakly. “I mostly just talk about pop stars or TikTok influencers.”

“Oh.” His shoulders sag under his too-baggy dinner jacket.

A moment of silence. I use it to mourn any last hope of this relationship, the last shred of excitement for this date going up in flames. My phone remains absent of any texts from Kaiden telling me to come and help him save his (nonexistent) cat who climbed up a palm tree or another ridiculous excuse he comes up with.

How didmyparents meet? I’m sure they didn’t fall in love over a blind date in an overpriced Los Angeles restaurant, looking at one another in the too-dim ambient lighting and trying to calculate how many times to check their phone was too many times. They didn’t swipe endlessly through Tinder or Bumble or Hinge trying to find a man who could actually carry a conversation that had nothing to do with sex or partying. My parents fell in love in the Philippines, in the tiny beach town of El Nido, when they were both on vacation with their families.

They both lived in different parts of Palawan, but they would come to the island every summer on holiday, and their parents became friends. They grew up as the best of childhood friends, and eventually, they became something more. What they have is all that I want: a romantic love story. Not a distant relationship between two people who are shoved together by conniving parents or late-twenties desperation.

“So… what’s your family like?” I say, deciding to run through the perfunctory checklist of a first date..

“I’m an only child,” he says. “But I have cousins who are as close as siblings. My parents both come from big families, and they all moved to California around the same time, so the house was never empty growing up.”

The smile that forms on my face feels genuine for once. “That sounds really fun.”

“Yeah, and chaotic,” he says, wearing a matching smile. His eyes are far away. “What about you?”

“Some of my dad’s siblings came to the States but fewer on my mom’s side. They’re all over the West Coast, but I grew up in New York so I never saw a lot of my cousins. But I do have two older brothers and a sister so it made up for that.”

I miss them. Even my messy, loud, annoying brothers, Gabriel and Francisco, who used to tease me or tried to find my diary to read it. I especially miss my little sister, Analyn, who’s now twenty-two. I haven’t seen any of them since I left New York five years ago.

“Wow, four kids in New York,” he says, his eyebrows rising. “Your parents must have had—”

“Isla!”

The sharp, shrill ringing of a bicycle’s bell reaches my ears. I turn around.

It’s Kaiden, shouting through the cracked-open window of one of Los Angeles’s most expensive restaurants while straddling a tandem bike. He has the world’s worst timing, which may be why he quit stand-up comedy to become a paparazzo.

“Do you know him?” Eric says, his grip tightening on his wine glass.

“I live with him,” which might not be the best response, but it’s true.

“Youlivewith him?” my date repeats.

Well, I look forward to him reporting this news to my parents.

Finishing my red wine, I eat the last scallop on my plate, fish out fifty dollars from my purse, and slide it across the table to him. “This has been really fun. Unfortunately, I’m being summoned away.”

“I see,” he says, blinking. Then, his eyes widen and he reaches for my hand.No. His hand is clammy. He smells like red wine and too much cologne. “Don’t go.”

I back up. “Uh, listen, Eric, you know this isn’t going to work out, right?”

“No, Isla, please, listen to me.” And then, before I have any idea what’s happening, he drops to one knee and produces a ring box. “Isla Romero, will you marry me?”

My jaw hits the ground before his knee does. “This isour first date!”

---