Chapter 7 | The Landlord
1247 Words
Cassie's POV
Friday came too fast.
I didn’t sleep the night before.
My shop was empty.
3 sunflowers left.
Dead.
Rent: 8,000 pesos.
Due today.
I had 200 pesos.
Dante said he’d have 3,600. For the hospital.
I told him to keep it.
He didn’t listen.
He never does.
At 9AM, there was a knock on my door.
Hard.
“Ms. Torres! Open up!”
Landlord.
Mr. Dela Cruz.
I opened.
He was big. Sweaty. Holding papers. Angry.
“8,000. Now. Or you’re out by tonight.”
“I’m getting it,” I said.
My voice shook.
“Today.”
“No more today,” he said.
“You’ve had 2 months of today.”
“Dante’s giving—”
“I don’t care about your boyfriend,” he snapped.
“He’s not my—”
“8,000. Or I change the locks.”
My chest caved in.
Like someone sat on it.
That’s when I heard footsteps.
Heavy.
Fast.
Dante.
He was in chef pants. Hair wet. T-shirt clinging to him. He just came from his shift. He looked like he hadn’t slept.
“What’s happening?”
Mr. Dela Cruz turned.
“You her boyfriend? You paying?”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“She’s my neighbor.”
“Then move. 8,000. Now.”
Dante looked at me.
I shook my head.
Small.
Don’t.
He ignored me.
He pulled out an envelope.
Cash.
He counted it.
Slow.
Deliberate.
“3,600.”
Mr. Dela Cruz laughed.
“That’s not 8,000, kid.”
“I know,” Dante said.
Flat.
“This is for the hospital bill. To her. Not to you.”
He put the envelope in my hand.
My hands shook.
“Dante, no—”
“Shut up, Cassie,” he said.
Not mean.
Tired.
“Take it.”
Mr. Dela Cruz stepped forward.
“I’m not leaving without 8,000.”
Dante moved.
He didn’t touch him.
He just stood between us.
Big.
Broad.
Chef arms.
Wall.
“You’re not touching her,” he said.
Low.
“You want money? Talk to me.”
“I want money from the one on the lease.”
“Then give her until Monday,” Dante said.
“I’ll get the rest.”
“Monday?”
The landlord laughed.
“No.”
“Then I’ll call the barangay,” Dante said.
“Illegal eviction without 3-day notice. Check the law. I looked it up at 3AM.”
Mr. Dela Cruz blinked.
“You—”
“I’m a chef, not stupid,” Dante said.
“Monday. 4,400. Or barangay.”
Silence.
The landlord looked at me.
Then at Dante.
Then at the cash in my hand.
“Fine. Monday. But I’m watching.”
He left.
Slammed the door.
The hallway went quiet.
I fell back against my door.
Dante didn’t move.
“Why?” I whispered.
He looked at the envelope.
At me.
“Because you paid 3,600 for Mimi,” he said.
“I pay debts, Cassie.”
“This isn’t a debt,” I said.
“This is my life falling apart.”
“I know.”
He stepped inside my shop.
Looked around.
Empty table.
Dead flowers.
Rent paper on the wall.
Red.
“This is your shop?”
“Yes.”
“It’s small.”
“I know.”
“It smells like you.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Paint. Coffee. Hope.”
My throat closed.
I couldn’t speak.
Dante picked up one dead sunflower.
Held it.
“They’re dead,” I said.
“Not if you water them.”
He put it down.
“You have to sell something today.”
“How? No one comes in.”
“I will.”
“What?”
“I have 2 hours before my next shift,” he said.
“I’m going to buy every sunflower you have. And I’m going to stand outside with them. And sell them.”
“Dante—”
“No arguments.”
He was already rolling up his sleeves.
“Where’s the bucket?”
I stared at him.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
So we did it.
We put the 3 sunflowers in a bucket.
We went outside.
10AM.
Manila heat.
Sidewalk.
Dante stood there.
In a white shirt.
Hair messy.
Holding sunflowers.
Looking like he wanted to murder the ground.
“Sunflowers! 150 pesos!” he yelled.
People stared.
A mom stopped.
“Are you a chef?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Buy a flower. For your kid.”
She bought one.
150 pesos.
Then a college girl.
“Ang gwapo ni Kuya ah. Isang sunflower po.”
150 pesos.
Then an old man.
“Para sa asawa ko. Nasa hospital.”
150 pesos.
In 1 hour,
3 sunflowers = 450 pesos.
Dante looked at me.
Sweaty.
Tired.
Hair stuck to his forehead.
“See?”
I was crying.
I didn’t know when I started.
“Stop that,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re supposed to be loud and brave, Cassie. Not crying.”
He wiped my tear with his thumb.
Right there.
On the sidewalk.
In front of everyone.
A girl walked by.
“Aww, couple goals.”
“We’re not—” I started.
Dante cut me off.
“Shut up. Buy a flower.”
She laughed.
And walked away.
At 12PM, we had 450 pesos.
Not 4,400.
But not zero.
Dante’s phone rang.
Hotel.
“Morales, where are you? Shift starts in 30.”
“I’m coming,” he said.
He turned to me.
“Keep the money. For food. For Mimi.”
“No—”
“Yes.”
He put the cash in my pocket.
His hand lingered.
“Monday,” he said.
“I’ll figure it out.”
He ran.
I stood there.
With 450 pesos.
And a bucket.
And a man who yelled “Sunflowers!” on a sidewalk for me.
Mimi came running at 3PM.
“Ate Cass! Daddy said you sold flowers!”
“Yeah, baby,” I said.
“Did you sell all of them?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“Working.”
Mimi frowned.
Then held out her hand.
“I have this.”
She opened her palm.
50 pesos.
Coins.
“For rent,” she said.
Serious.
“I saved it. From my baon.”
My heart broke.
I knelt.
“Baby, no. That’s yours.”
“Family shares,” she said.
Like it was law.
I hugged her.
Hard.
At 8PM, Dante came home.
He looked wrecked.
Dark circles.
Shirt wrinkled.
He handed me another envelope.
1,350 pesos.
“Tips,” he said.
“And I sold my old knives.”
“Dante, you can’t—”
“I can,” he said.
“1,800 total now. Plus 450. 2,250.”
We were still short 2,150.
He sat on my floor.
Head in his hands.
“I’m trying, Cassie.”
“I know,” I said.
And I sat next to him.
Not touching.
Just there.
Mimi climbed into both our laps.
Small.
Warm.
“We’re 2,150 short.”
Dante almost laughed.
“You counted?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Math is easy. Family is hard.”
Dante looked at me.
I looked at him.
Monday.
We had 48 hours.
“Okay,” I said.
“We’ll figure it out.”
We.
I didn’t say I.
I said we.
And Dante didn’t correct me.
He just nodded.
End of Chapter 7
- Writer
