“Okay lang ‘to. Chill lang sila,” he said, trying to reassure me while adjusting the collar of his polo shirt.
“Sinabi mong chill, pero may nagdala ng lechon sa harap ng bahay n’yo. That’s not chill, Andrè. That’s a fiesta,” I muttered, holding the tub of buko pandan I promised to bring.
“Hey, relax. They’re gonna love you,” he said with that stupidly calm confidence, gently squeezing my hand as we stood outside the gate of his Tita Linda’s house. “I mean, who wouldn’t? You brought dessert.”
“Baka hindi dessert ang kailangan nila. Baka birth certificate, NBI clearance, at prenuptial agreement.”
He laughed, then leaned in to whisper, “Just be yourself. ‘Yun lang ang kailangan.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a curse.
Pagkapasok pa lang namin, sinalubong kami ng dalawang bata n
