The Mango Bride by Marivi Soliven

Author:Marivi Soliven [Soliven, Marivi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101613740
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2013-04-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

A Falling-out, 1989

Marcela should have suspected something was up when she caught a whiff of Beverly’s new, intensely floral cologne when they met at the mall.

“What’s that smell? You wasting money on imported shampoos now?” Marcela pulled away from their hug, startled to see her niece wearing lipstick for the first time.

“It’s the cologne Lisa sent from Florida. A Christmas present she forgot to mail last year.”

“It’s already September. If she waited, she could have sent it for this Christmas.” Marcela wrinkled her nose. “I prefer the one your mother used to wear.”

“Ninang, naman, I was fifteen when I started wearing Inay’s baby cologne.” Beverly linked arms with her godmother and steered her along their usual paseo down the noisy gallery of the large mall. “I’ve worn Nenuco for eleven years; she’d have told me to try something new.”

“Would she also have said you needed lipstick? That color makes you look so old.”

“But I’m turning twenty-six in two months. Isn’t it time I looked my age?”

“Ayyy, but how time flies.” Marcela gazed ahead at a little girl, plump arms windmilling as she toddled away from her nanny. “You will always be a baby to me.”

“For you, always.” Beverly rubbed her godmother’s back, gone meaty in middle age. “But for the rest of the world, I must grow up.” She paused before launching into the careful announcement she’d spent weeks rehearsing. “Ninang, could you get an extra Sunday off in the first weekend of October? My boyfriend and I want to take you to lunch.”

“Aba! Since when did you have a boyfriend?” Marcela stopped so suddenly that the shoppers behind them had to swerve. “Where did you meet him?”

The questions sounded like accusations. Marcela had to raise her head to look directly into her godchild’s eyes, but she managed to make Beverly feel like a naughty child.

“Don’t be angry, Ninang.” Beverly nudged her godmother to resume walking. “I met him through a pen pal service. We’ve been writing each other since January.” Beverly smiled, remembering how their letters had progressed from cautious introduction to teasing flirtation to the wistful longing she now felt whenever she looked at his photograph. Would Josiah’s touch be as warm as his words? “I’m finally going to meet him this month. Will you come to lunch with us while he’s in Manila?”

“What do you mean ‘while he’s in Manila’? Where is he usually?”

“He’s from California. That’s in America.” Beverly faltered, made nervous by the sudden sharpness in her godmother’s voice. “His name is Josiah Stein.”

“He’s American?”

“Yes, Ninang.” Beverly pulled an envelope from her backpack. “Here’s his picture.”

Marcela stared at a pallid man with hair the color of faded asphalt. The slightly flared nostrils made his nose resemble an arrow pointing to pale lips that were parted in a wide smile. The gap between his teeth lined up exactly with a deep cleft in his chin. If she squinted, he would resemble Kirk Douglas, whose movies she had never liked. She handed the photo back to her godchild, her mouth a thin line of disapproval.

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