Page 101 of The Close-Up
When her mouth starts to wobble, I pull her into a hug. She mumbles, “Thank you,anak,” before pulling away a second later. Then her gaze darts to the side, as if she’s scared of anyone seeing her like his.
“Here.” I gesture for us to go back into the bathroom together. I shut the door behind me as she sits on the edge of the tub.
“Well. Now you know. Uncle Reuben and I are getting divorced.” She stares at her lap before fussing with the gold bangles on her wrist.
“What happened?” I ask gently. I know it’s none of my business, but at the same time I’m aching with curiosity. I file through every memory I have of them. They always looked so happy together. They would always hold hands, always kiss, always look at each other with adoration in their eyes. I never once saw them argue growing up.
She shrugs, and I hand her the tissue box from the bathroom counter. “It’s hard to say. We used to be so happy. Then one day, we weren’t.”
“But...how?”
“I wish I knew.” She shakes her head, studying me with her bloodshot brown eyes. “You know, sometimes you just get used to a person—in a good and bad way. I think when the kids grew up and moved out, we realized we didn’t have as many things in common as we thought we did. We were just going through the motions for so many years. In a lot of ways, we felt more like friends. Roommates even. And then when it was just us and no one else there, it felt...different. We started getting on each other’s nerves and fighting so much, about the littlest things. We weren’t happy anymore. I can’t keep living like that, neither of us can.”
I open my mouth, speechless, my head in a daze. If one of the most loving and affectionate married couples I know can’t make it work, what hope does anyone else have?
Auntie Gigi stands up and walks over to look at the mirror. I watch as she tidies up her eye makeup. Her lipstick has faded to a light pink and most of her mascara has been cried or wiped away.
She turns to look at me and grabs my arms. “I’m sorry to unload all of that on you,anak.”
The guilty look in her eyes is too much. I start to tear up, so I pull her into a hug. “Don’t apologize. I’m so sorry for what you’re going through.”
When she pulls away, she keeps hold of my arms. “Please don’t tell anyone, okay? Not even your mom. I... I still need to tell her. She knows something’s wrong, though.”
I promise her that I won’t. The heavy sigh she lets loose echoes in the small space. She slips out and I’m left standing in the bathroom, unnerved in a whole new way. A barrage of memories crash in my head. I recall every other time I’ve introduced a boyfriend to my family. It inevitably ends. Always.
The only reason things with Simon feel so fun and easy right now is because we’re early days. We’ll reach our disastrous end eventually. And someday, I’d end up just like Auntie Gigi, crying in the bathroom when it all comes crumbling down.
I go back to where Simon and Harper are sitting. For a while I just sit and say nothing.
“You two are getting quite the reaction,” Harper says as she nudges me.
Simon’s stubbled cheeks redden. He starts to grin. “Really?”
Harper nods and chuckles. I grit my teeth.
“Auntie Cindy asked me while I was playing mahjong with her a bit ago how long Naomi has been dating the guy who looks like the handsome army doctor fromGrey’s Anatomy.”
Simon laughs, then immediately stops when he looks at me and notices I’m not joining him.
“Oh, come on,” Harper says. “You know that’s just typical family talk.”
“Yeah, well, it gets kind of annoying after a while.” I flick my hair of out my face. When I look up, I notice Harper’s brow is slightly raised, probably at how hard my tone is.
“I don’t need you on top of everyone else teasing me about a relationship,” I say. “You more than anyone know how much that annoys me.”
Harper’s brow is to her hairline by the time I finish talking. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and frowns. “Fine. Sorry.”
I hazard a glance at Simon, who looks equally shocked.
Thankfully no one else noticed my little outburst. Cousins are still singing karaoke in front of us. Behind us relatives are still chatting and eating.
I turn to Simon. “You ready to get out of here?”
His eyebrows crash together, but he nods anyway. We stand up and say quick good-byes to everyone, then drive back to San Francisco in silence.
“Everything okay?”
It’s the third time Simon’s asked me that since we arrived at his apartment. And every time I give him the same answer. A terse “Yes, it’s fine” with zero elaborating.
