Black Sheep

Chapter 5

At the edge of the tables fronting his stall, he spotted her. Ling held a phone to the dishes on the table while Hera shined her phone's light and read off the menu card.

"So this one is a barquillos cannoli," Ling was saying as he approached their table.

"Ano man na?" a voice from the phone trilled.

"Tita,'extra-large barquillos piped with coconut custard and topped with a layer of crushed pinasugbo' gali," Hera read.

"Namit gid?"

"Namit bala," he said as he reached them. Ling turned in surprise while Hera let out a terribly loud screech.

"Tita Emma, this is Chef SJ, he invited us to this event."

Ling turned the phone to him. A video call was in progress with two gray-haired, bespectacled ladies wearing identical sweet smiles. "Good evening po," he said.

"Abaw ah, you're the boy who used to walk Ling from school when she studied here!" the taller one, whom he remembered was Tita Emma, said.

"Yes Tita."

"Bata ka gali ni Joe San Joaquin?" inquired the other lady, Tita Bebot.

He nodded and smiled, though his skin prickled at the thought of his father. Would he have been proud of what his son achieved on this night? The sad answer was: probably not. His father had a superiority complex, as befitting the son of landowners clinging to the faded glory of the old sugar days. But SJ did not grow up with French crystal and crates of imported goods that totally bypassed Manila; he only knew of his mother pawning her jewelry, his father losing land used as collateral to fund some scheme or other, and the endless dinnertime sermons when his father and uncles got together. On and on, they gossiped about the other families, who were either crooks and cronies or poor sons of bitches who'd turned away from their legacies to migrate abroad or work at BPOs. On and on, they talked of the old days, when they lived as literal feudal lords, every whim granted on the sugarcane-bound lands they owned, as though all it took was one scheme, one deal, to get it all back.

So, no. His father would not have been proud. But SJ realized that he didn't care anymore. He had the courage to build something that wasn't handed to him. He would be proud of himself enough for them both.

"...your menu is so creative ha," Tita Emma was saying. "Ling was telling me about the fruit-infused creams and the repurposed Negrense pasalubong. So inventive! I hope I get a chance to taste them."

"I hope so too, Tita. Please visit Ling in Manila, I will make sure to treat you."

"Hay but my sugar, oh no!"

"Ambot, Emma." Tita Bebot rolled her eyes. "Ling, pangga, can you give the phone to Hera? We need to talk."

Ling handed the phone to Hera, who took it with the air of someone facing their doom. She pulled earphones on to spare them the oncoming sermon.

"Poor Hera," Ling said. "Tita Bebot heard all about your wrong order."

"I hope she goes easy on her. After all, if she hadn't messed up, I wouldn't have seen you again."

Under the evening sky and the softly blinking lights, she looked up at him. Her eyes were full of hope and sweetness. He wanted to slow dance with her right in the middle of the tables full of his guests.

Unfortunately, he caught a glimpse of two approaching men who were sure to put a damper on this night.

He glanced back at the stall. Dom paused in the middle of piping cream onto a new batch of parfaits and shook his head at SJ. He had spotted them too.