Black Sheep

Chapter 4

SJ was at her side in a flash, taking her hand and tilting her face to his. "Pobrecita. Did you burn yourself?"

There it was again. His penetrating gaze, deep in those large eyes of his, framed in lashes so lush she envied them. He'd always had such expressive eyes. They'd been her clue that he was not the black sheep everyone told her he'd been.

"You...got tan," she said, and winced. What a witty thing to say!

But if SJ found her repartee lacking, he wasn't letting on. He smiled, instead, and looked away, like he was feeling kilig at being noticed. "I took up surfing when I left my last job."

"It suits you."

He moved back to his seat and sipped his tea. "How are your parents?"

"Still working. Ma is a real estate agent and has an online shop. Pa is still at it with the MLMs."

"I'd hoped he stopped, after losing his money all those years ago." He patted her hand.

"You remember?"

"Of course I do. You told me that's why they had to take the job in Singapore and leave you here."

"Yeah, well...he still hasn't learned his lesson, clearly. He still hopes one of these will be his ticket to riches."

"That's why you dreamed of opening your own business, so you could help them out."

"When did I tell you that?" She took a careful sip of the tea.

"It was at our recollection. You said, one day you'll have your own successful business, and you would buy your parents anything they wanted. They would retire in a house they would own, not rent; and that you would take care of everything."

Her cheeks heated up at the unlocked memory. She did tell him all about that. At their grade 6 recollection, they'd found a mango tree with a cement planter behind the church. They'd planted themselves there and talked, blissfully uninterrupted by malicious teachers and disapproving priests. She'd innocently shared with him the one hope she had in her heart–the hope to grant her parents the financial security they'd so desperately chased all her life. They were good people, and they tried so hard. They deserved to rest.

"Look at you now, Ling!" He beamed at her. "You have your own company. I'm so proud of you."

"It's small, but it's my baby." She cast a glance at her cramped apartment and felt a surge of that same pride within her: pride mixing with apprehension and a heady dose of wanting to succeed so badly, she could almost taste it. "It took so long to get here, and I still have so far to go..."

"You'll make it. I just know it."

He said it with such conviction, too. She wished her heart would stop leaping about in her torso. She was starting to feel it would swell up like a balloon and that she'd float up to the ceiling with it.

"What about you? Your shop looks so cool!"

He looked away for a moment, his expression turning somber. "Some people would say it's a downgrade."

What could she reply to that? "Um...how are your parents?"

The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back.

"Still disappointed in me." He gave her a sarcastic thumbs up.

They were quiet for a couple of minutes. Their eyes met over their mugs of tea, and both burst out laughing.

"Well. That was awkward," he said.

She nodded. "I'm pretty sure that ice cream is firm now."

"Right!" He perked up as he extracted the container from the freezer. "Can I...?" He motioned to their mugs. She assented, and he proceeded to dump their tea and rinse the mugs. He pulled another container from his bag, this time containing thin wafer discs.

"What else is in there?" she laughed.

"A whole bunch of tricks."

He filled their mugs with alternating layers of the wafer discs, cheese ice cream, and powdered pinasugbo, all the while talking about the ingredients, how he learned to make them in pastry school, and what 'flavor profiles' he hoped to achieve. She could barely follow the conversation, but he looked so animated–so different from a few moments ago–that she couldn't help but feel swept away by his enthusiasm.

"Here we go," he said, presenting her the mug of his concoction with a flourish. "Azucarera de Papi sweet-savory parfait, made with muscovado stroopwafel, roasted quezo de bola ice cream, and pinasugbo dust." He was so excited, he didn't wait for her to take the mug; he grabbed a spoon, and, mumbling something about "the perfect bite," scooped a big spoonful for her. "Taste it!"

She dutifully opened her mouth and let him feed her. At the first contact of the cold spoon with her tongue, she shut her eyes. A complex meld of flavors danced inside her. "Mm!" she moaned, allowing him to give her a second spoonful. "I didn't expect the ice cream to have that smokey undertone. It plays off so well with the muscovado. And the pinasugbo dust is genius!" She opened her eyes, excited. "It's miles away from that sticky, chewy pasalubong wrapped in paper that's impossible to peel."

She caught her breath as his gaze caught on her mouth. Their eyes met, and suddenly the mood shifted. The appetite she had, awakened by his dessert, turned from a desire for sweets to a deep and vast wanting. She was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close he was, of how thick and veiny his hands were; she pictured them on her bare skin and shuddered.

"Ling," he said softly, the lilt of his Ilonggo accent coming through to her like a gentle, seductive swing of a hammock. "You remember the braided bracelet I gave you, the day before you left for Manila?"

"Yes." She was conscious of whispering, overcome with a feeling that anything louder than a breath would break this spell.

"Did you wear it everyday until the thread wore off and broke?"

"I'm sorry. I took it off to play volleyball at school and forgot where I placed it."

"That's alright." He tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "I didn't call and text after you left."

"I didn't either."

"I thought you'd forget all about me once you were back in Manila."

"I didn't. I thought you'd forget all about me."

"Huh. Funny how that worked out." He leaned closer and touched a fingertip to the corner of her lips. He lifted a tiny bit of ice cream and licked it. "I thought about you almost every day since you left."

She swallowed a sudden attack of the shakes. "Same."

He looked at her, satisfied. He reached into his bag again, pulled out a card, and handed it to her. It was an invitation.

"Azucarera's launch is tomorrow. It would mean a lot to me if you came."

"I'll be there," she said.

He stood, pushing the other mug at her. "I'll make sure to serve that. Since you enjoyed it."

"So very much."

They paused as she opened her door. The roar of a passing tricycle broke the weird mood that had fallen over them, and SJ rubbed the back of his neck, just as he did as a boy.

"See you tomorrow," he said, and left before she could bid him goodbye.