5 Days of Summer

Chapter 27: Friday

If my clothes could talk, they would've complained by now. I stare at my heaps of clothes piling on my bed like the Chocolate Hills in Bohol. After a long day of worrying about whether I should tell my dad about my dilemma or not, I have decided to deal with this problem on my own. They already have a lot of things on their plate; I don't want to add more. Besides, this isn't the first time I encountered this kind of problem, so I'll eventually manage to find a way out of this. As Rico Blanco says in his song entitled Antukin, "Kung ayaw may dahilan, kung gusto palaging merong paraan" (A person who doesn't want to do it will always have a reason, while a person who wants to achieve it will always find means to attain it).

I place my clothes neatly next to each other as I try to see if they would pass for a formal dress, matching my skirts with the blouses I managed to pack for this trip. None of them are even close to being formal! Sighing, I freefall on my bed with the dresses under me, crumpled like scratch papers filled with a failed attempt to write letters for your crush.

I let out a frustrated scream as my feet dangle wildly, hitting the bedpost. If I don't have an important role today, I would've called in sick and stay at home — snuggled in my warm fuzzy blanket — already. I roll over and stare at my yellow dress, hoping it will turn into something regal, just like how the Fairy Godmother turned Cinderella's ragged dress into a ball gown.

I stand up when I heard someone knocking on my door. I open it slightly and peek outside to see who it was. Marielle is standing before me; her long brown hair is perfectly curled, her face perfectly caked with makeup — I mean it in a good way — pieces of jewelry adorned her body, and her black and gold caped dress perfectly suited her.

She is holding a black and whiter paper bag and invites herself inside my room. Blood rushes on my cheeks as I watch her stop in her tracks when she saw my clothes scattered on my bed. She carefully picks up some of my clothes and sets them aside. I remain behind the already closed door as I stare at her with curiosity.

She motions me to come near her, and I follow. I choke a sob when she takes out a piece of fabric and lifting the rest of it out of the bag. It's a dress — which is also a gown, what? — a pink and silver dress!

"Ever since your dad told me about you, singing at the ball, I searched for a dress that would suit you best on your behalf," she starts, "I may not be your mother, but I know that troubled look on your face you're giving off during lunch. You never got the chance to tell your father about finding you a dress because your anger overpowered you, and I understand. What I did in the past has no excuse, and I understand if you won't forgive me immediately."

I stay silent for a while until the lump on my throat finally disappeared. A tear escaped my eye. I remember how she cooked my favorite dish, how she kept in mind my favorite color to prepare my room. And now she remembered to buy me a dress when I and dad have forgotten to do so.

She never acted like an evil mistress in front of me, all her intentions were pure, but that doesn't erase the fact that she was the reason why my family fell apart. However, I am ready to accept her's and dad's relationship, and this time, I hope she will be the last woman my dad will ever lay his eyes on.

My mom once said — when I threw a tantrum because I feel so envious towards my cousin for having a complete family — that maybe their relationship didn't work out because they weren't meant to be together in the first place.

I brush away my tears and mumble, "I'm sorry," I feel the tightness and comfort her hug gives off, making me wail. She didn't say anything; she just let me cry on her shoulders and mess up her dress.

"Don't cry, or else your voice might get hoarse," she says and wipes my tears away. Her smile reminds me of my mom. "You still have to sing tonight,"