The Home of a Heart

Part Four

It was hard to pretend he wasn't really there because there was no way anyone could miss him.

David looked completely out of place with his blond hair and pale skin and his height in a room with a low ceiling but my heart still jumped in my chest, so hungry for the sight of him after more than a week's absence.

He slowly rose, a smile on his tired face. He wasn't wearing a business suit this time. He was in a plain blue shirt and jeans, looking ten years younger. Even his smile seemed younger.

"Hello, Diana," he said quietly, his forehead wrinkling as if he wasn't sure what my reaction would be.

And my mother probably sensed that I couldn't decide yet how to react exactly so she clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. She even spoke in English this time—thick with her Filipino accent and sounding just a little self-conscious. "Well, now that everyone's here, we can have dinner. I made Diana's favorite dishes which David told us are also his favorites. You will have to stay and join us, David."

My mother, shorter than me by at least four inches, easily commanded a yes from six-foot-tall David. My siblings cheered, Luis saying he'd been starving for a while now, and Abigail bumping me in the arm and giving me a meaningful smile on her way to the dining table.

My mother guided David to a chair next to mine as we all crowded around the small table with Luis having to bring in an extra stool for himself. The table was set casually the way most Filipinos would and I wondered what David would think of the absence of dinner knives and the pairing of spoons and forks instead. Or the possibility of one or two of us just eating with our bare hands as some Filipinos did. Casual dining couldn't get any more casual in this country. Abigail said the prayers and in less than five minutes, the table was erupting with dinner chatter.

"Don't be mad at me," David whispered as he leaned in to me in the act of reaching for the bowl of rice.

"I'm not mad at you," I said, shaking my head a little. "I'm just not sure if this is a dream."

Underneath the table, I felt his hand take mine and squeeze it. "It's not a dream, Diana. I'm really here."

At that reassurance, I slowly came back to my normal self. My family was having a great time at dinner, entertaining David with stories mostly about me, and even speaking in English for his benefit. Even my father, still unable to speak, had a smile in his eyes as he listened to us.

"You know I love your cooking," David whispered to me again just as we were finishing our food. "But your mother's cooking is waaaaay better."

I burst out laughing, finally snapping out of the last of my shock. David grinned, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim fluorescent light of our tiny dining room.

"Let's go walk in the backyard," I told David after dinner, when my mother shooed us away from trying to help put away the dishes. I ignored my mother and sister's teasing smiles as I led David away and through the back door that led us to our small yard with patches of grass here and there and a thin fence made of bamboo. The evening air was still warm, the skies full of stars.

"So, tell me," I said as I made my way to the wood and rope swing my father had made me years ago hanging from the branch of our old tamarind tree. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I've heard so much about the world-renowned Philippine beaches and thought I'd check them out. I haven't gone on vacation in a long time," he said in a perfectly serious tone even though I could tell he was teasing.