Page 33 of Between Here and There

It feels like this is the fake relationship.

I don’t hate my parents. I don’t even resent them for the chaos of my childhood. Not anymore. They were flawed people trying their best. Or at least, what they thought was their best. They’re trying now, in their own awkward, tentative ways, to make up for it. I see that. I do.

But seeing them like this… it doesn’t make me believe in love. If anything, it reinforces everything I’ve spent years convincing myself is true.

Love is fleeting. It’s fragile. A lie you tell yourself to survive the chaos, until the chaos catches up.

Eventually, this delicate balance they’ve built will shatter. It’s inevitable. And when it does, I’ll be the one left to pick up the pieces, just like before.

I take a step back, retreating toward the door. The sound of their laughter follows me, unbothered by my absence. I grew up in a space where hate overpowered love (if there ever was any). So this? Whatever this is between my parents? It doesn’t erase the years of bitterness, broken promises, and raised voices.

It’s just a fragile truce. A temporary ceasefire. And no matter how much I thought about it these past weeks, love still doesn’t belong in my world.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Emily

“Karaoke?” Bon says skeptically as we enter the car after the fitting. “You want to go to a KTV Bar?”

Haley, Kate, and I agreed that a private KTV bar is the best place to hold Bon’s bridal shower. Since it’s only an intimate event with just the four of us and a few of Bon’s close friends, we figured it would be nice to eat and drink and belt out some 90s Britney Spears.

“Don’t you?” I ask. “Come on, it’s been ages since I went to one. I don’t really have many friends in New York, you know. Just wanna sing my heart out.”

“I’m not surprised about that,” she says, apparently convinced. She starts the car and we drive off. “There’s this great KTV down the block from here.” Perfect. That’s exactly where we’re going.

The air tonight is surprisingly cool, so we drive with the windows down, the soft hum of the engine blending with the distant sounds of the city. My thoughts drift back to the atelier.

Earlier, at the shop, I slipped into the most beautiful baby blue dress—soft fabric cascading like water against my skin. And then there was Bon’s wedding dress. I nearly cried when she stepped out of the dressing room, she looked like something straight out of a fairytale. The look on her face was radiant. Even now, as I sit in the car, I can still feel the glow of that moment.

“Did you love your dress, by the way?” Bon asks, glancing over at me as she slows for a turn.

“Love is an understatement,” I say, grinning. “It was gorgeous. And don’t get me started on your wedding dress.”

She laughs, light and easy, like she knows exactly how breathtaking she looked.

When we arrive, Bon parks her car in front and we make our way inside. The KTV bar is a modern, chic space bathed in ambient blue and purple lights. Soft neon accents give it a high-end feel, though there’s just enough retro charm to make it feel like a throwback. We go into the hallway lined with private rooms, and when we finally reach the room number Haley texted me, I let Bon go first.

“SURPRISE!” a chorus of women screams.

“Oh my god!” Bon says, then she turns to me. “Just want to sing your heart out, huh?”

“I still do,” I say, grinning. “Congrats, Bon.”

Bon takes it all in, eyes wide, and then shakes her head with a smirk. “Well, you’ve outdone yourselves.”

She barely has a second to adjust before Kate rushes forward, thrusting a plastic tiara and sash toward Bon. “For the bride-to-be!” she cheers, draping the sash over Bon’s shoulder while placing the tiara on her head. It’s gaudy in the best way, rhinestones glittering under the lights. Bon laughs, rolling her eyes but clearly loving it.

With everyone settled in, we order an assortment of drinks and plates of food to pick at throughout the night. As I take a bite of nachos, the room fills with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the unmistakable strains of ‘Genie in a Bottle.’ Haley grabs the mic first, effortlessly belting out the lyrics with exaggerated dance moves that make us all crack up.

“Perfect score, thank you very much,” she says with a bow when the TV flashes a giant 100 and fills the room with applause. Karaoke bars in the Philippines always have that score at the end. Nobody knows how you get a perfect 100, but when you do, it really is an opportunity to be smug.

“That’s unfair, you sing for a living,” Kate says.

“Don’t worry, hun, next time there’s a bake-off or a contest on how to make crying kids stop, you’ll have your moment,” she pats her sister’s head.

When Haley takes her seat, I stand up. I select Hit Me Baby One More Time and throw everything I have into it, channeling my inner 90s diva. It’s also worth mentioning that I’m three glasses of sangria in, and I’m starting to feel a bit woozy.

“MY LONELINESS IS KILLING ME,” I sing—no, scream—onto the microphone. Bon laughs so hard that she nearly spills her drink, and Haley records the whole thing on her phone, promising blackmail material for later.

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