by Maida Malby
John visibly started, his right hand lifting to the scar above his right eye.
“I insisted on escorting her home. She patched me up.” He looked at Krista, then his wife. “She couldn’t stop shaking. Still replaying in her mind what almost happened. I wanted to show her the act didn’t have to be brutal.” John’s mouth turned down. “We slept. My internal alarm clock woke me up. There was a curfew at the base at the time. Two hundred hours. I didn’t have time to write a note. I was facing being declared AWOL.”
Krista’s heart rejoiced, even as she strove hard not to show it. Her mother had told her the same story, almost word for word. “She tried to find you, but she didn’t have access to the base. She waited until she couldn’t. When she started to show, she married her suitor—my tatay—and they moved to a different town.”
John shut his eyes, as if pained by the memory. “I was deployed for six months. When I returned, she no longer worked at the restaurant. Nobody knew where she went.” Tears seeped from his closed lids. “No one told me about a child.” When he opened his eyes, they were full of regret. “I never knew about you, Krista. Forgive me, my daughter.”
Krista nearly started bawling. She felt an overwhelming sense of joy. There it was. His acknowledgment of her. The one thing she’d prayed for after she found out he was going to live.
She squeezed his arm, careful not to jostle him too much. “There is nothing to forgive ... Father. You were both victims of circumstance. What’s important is now, and how we move on from here.”
“So young, so wise. Must have gotten it from your mother. The only thing I could give you was my good looks,” he joked, flashing the charm that must have been potent when he was younger.
He moved his arm and turned his hand over, asking her silently to hold it. She complied. “Krista, I know I don’t deserve it, and I hope I can make up for thirty years of absence in the near future, but it would please me if you called me Dad.”
“Dad,” she repeated, testing the word out. “Dad,” she said louder, with more conviction. It felt good to say it out loud.
“Thank you.” Her dad relaxed back on his pillows. He was getting tired. They should go.
“Where is your mother now?” Tita Belen asked. Her gaze held mild curiosity, no jealousy reflected there.
“Nanay and Tatay now live in Lucena City in Quezon. They own and operate a roadside café there.”
“Krista, your mother Marissa, is she also a cook?” Tita Belen asked.
“Opo, Tita.” She looked at her dad. “She said she was one when you met in Angeles City.”
“John, you have a type,” his wife teased.
“I did, mahal.” His left hand closed over his wife’s. The look they exchanged was tender.
I did, love. In the past. No longer.
Krista looked back at Blake, who stood behind her as he’d promised. Her eyes shining with hope, she held tight to his hand on her shoulder.
There it was. She knew it. The Irish-American and Filipina couple whose relationship they could emulate. That’s us in thirty years.
***
Krista paced in front of Jack O’Connor’s pictures at the pub. Even though there were enough hands, she and Blake had decided to help with the dinner service. Their conversation had exhausted Jack, so they’d left with promises to return the next day for more catching up.
She also wanted to call her mother, to tell her she’d found her biological father and show her his photo. It was already Sunday in the Philippines. The café would be closed, and her parents would be home after attending mass. They’d relax before Marissa started preparations for noche buena, the midnight meal that was a Filipino Christmas Eve tradition.
Krista had texted her sister as soon as she and Blake arrived at Ryan O’Connor’s. She’d asked Farrah to let her know when she could do a video call with them. That was five minutes ago; no response yet.
Blake opened the door. “Nothing yet?”
“No. It’s Christmas Eve, on a Sunday. Maybe the mass went long.”
He chuckled. “Ah, yes. The two-hour long Filipino masses. I’ve been to a couple of those.”
She slapped his arm without much force. He’d spoken true. In her excitement, she’d forgotten about the Filipino Catholic traditions.
There would have been a dramatization of the birth of Christ, starting with a couple playing Mary and Joseph entering Bethlehem, seeking a place to stay the night. The play would end at the stable where Jesus was born. Traditionally, the play continued during the midnight mass, with a full choir proclaiming Gloria in Excelsis Deo.
Krista watched Blake as he sat down behind the desk. He looked good there, the consummate businessman. “What are you going to tell them?” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head.
Tired of pacing, she sat. “That I’ve found John. They’d know what it means, particularly my mom.” She hadn’t prepared a speech; she just planned to state the facts.
“If you say ‘found,’ that means you’ve been looking for him. Have you?”
Frowning at Blake, she replied, “Not actively, no. I’ve often wondered, but I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t know I wanted to find him until I got here and the pieces began to fit.” Krista started to feel irritated with her boyfriend. “Why are you asking this now? You know the answer.”
Blake stood and walked around the desk. He sat on his haunches and held her hands. “Baby, I like and respect Uncle Jack. I’m glad he’s your biological father.”
She could hear a “but” coming on.
“I also like and respect Tito Arsenio. He’s been your father for thirty years, Uncle Jack for only a couple of hours. Just be careful how you phrase your news, is what I’m trying to say.” Blake turned her hands over and dropped a kiss on the center of each palm. He laid his head on her lap.
Oh. Krista absently combed her fingers through Blake’s hair, mulling his words. He was right. She had planned to announce it exactly the way she told Blake. She’d found her father.
Her father had never been lost. Her tatay had always been there for her and her mother. She might have John O’Connor’s genes, but she’d had Arsenio Lopez’s love even longer than she’d been alive.
Krista leaned down to give Blake a brief kiss. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world. Some people don’t even have one, but I have two fathers. I’ve loved the first all my life, and now I’m looking forward to getting to know the second. Thanks for reminding me.”
She reached for the phone when it beeped. “Do you want to stay with me while I talk to them?”
Blake was already on his feet. “Sure. I’ll practice my Tagalog. Maligaya’ng Pasko, po. Tito Arsen at Tita Marissa. Kumusta, Farrah? Kumusta, Alex?” He singsonged the Filipino greetings for Merry Christmas and hello.
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy for youuuuu,” he crooned to the tune of Madonna’s eighties hit, making her giggle. She needed five more minutes before she could video chat with her family.
“Nanay, Tatay, Merry Christmas po,” Krista greeted her parents when their images appeared. She used Blake’s tablet instead of her phone to call her family, to see them better on the wide screen. Blake waved from behind her and said his practiced Tagalog words.
“Maligayang Pasko, Anak. You’re quite early, ha,” her mother remarked.
“Opo, I wanted to greet you before the networks get too busy with overseas calls. I know you need to get ready soon for the carolers and the neighborhood kids asking for their pamasko.” Once their financial circumstances had improved, since Alex graduated from college, her parents had started the tradition of giving away wrapped presents to children under twelve.
“May balita ka ba, Anak?” her tatay said teasingly, asking her in Filipino if she had any important news to share.
Krista was intrigued when Blake made slashing motions with his finger across his throat, then gestured forward. On the other side, her adoptive father indicated his understanding by raisin
g both thumbs in the air.
Assuming the two were done with their male bonding, Krista spoke again. “Actually, I do have news. I met someone today. I wanted to share this with you right away because this is important to me. He is important to me.” Without giving her parents a chance to speak or herself time to chicken out, she switched the camera to the rear-view, to her biological father’s pilot photo.
“Nanay, I met John.”
Krista watched as her mother’s face paled in shock.
“O, Dios ko. That is John.” She was so surprised, she took the Lord’s name in vain. Marissa gaped at the camera as Krista panned to the other pictures, pausing lengthily at the one with the fresh scar. She visibly jumped when Tatay placed his arm around her shoulders. She tore her gaze away from the photos and turned to her husband. Cupping his face with both hands, she whispered, “Arsen.” A tender smile crossed Tatay’s face. He brushed his lips against her forehead and whispered her name just as softly, “Marissa.”
A lump formed in Krista’s throat at the sight of her parents’ affection. She switched the camera back.
Clearing her throat, her nanay faced her again. “How did you meet him? Where was he?”
She and Blake had discussed not mentioning the stabbing and attempted theft, so Krista replied, “Here, at the pub co-owned by Blake’s parents. John and his wife are the other owners. His full name is John Jackson O’Connor.”
“What a small world talaga, ano?” A note of wonder entered her mother’s tone. “I’m happy for you, Anak.” Marisa Lopez held hands with her husband. “I’m glad you met your father on Christmas. That’s a wonderful blessing.”
Krista’s eyes gleamed when they met Blake’s. “Truly, Nanay. A wonderful blessing, indeed.” Her mother’s reaction pleased her. It didn’t surprise her at all. She knew her love for Arsenio Lopez was deep-abiding. John was a short chapter, Krista’s tatay the whole book. “Enjoy your Christmas, ‘Nay, ‘Tay. Mahal ko po kayo.” Krista signed off by telling them she loved them.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Lady Liberty
The crowned female figure, draped in a green robe with a book tucked in her left arm and a torch raised in her right hand, had welcomed millions of immigrants to the United States of America for over one hundred and thirty years. The Statue of Liberty greeted Krista now as she and Blake and a couple of hundred revelers awaited the fireworks that would signal the arrival of the new year from aboard a boat idling in the New York Harbor.
Her eyes shone as she beheld one of the symbols that represented New York City—the entire USA—to the world. It was among the must-visit places on her list, along with the Empire State Building, Times Square, and St. Patrick’s Cathedral. They’d gone to the others in the past week—the 9-11 Memorial, the Rockefeller Center, a matinee performance of Hamilton on Broadway, and they’d even taken a day trip to the Hamptons—but they’d saved Lady Liberty for last. She and Blake were set to return to the Philippines in three days.
Krista breathed deeply, glad the cold dulled her sense of smell when she sniffed the brine of the Atlantic Ocean mixed with alcohol and the perfumes of the partygoers. Shuddering at the thought of doing this in the summer, she tugged her hood forward to cover her face.
The forecast had said fifteen degrees Fahrenheit with not much wind, one of the reasons they chose this custom cruise instead of the horse-drawn carriage in Central Park.
Krista had come to New York to meet the Ryans. All she’d wanted when she arrived was for Blake’s family to like her. On her first day, they’d done more than that: they’d convinced her that they wanted her to be a Ryan.
Then, after the unthinkable had happened, the biggest coincidence of all: she met her biological father the next day. She and Jack O’Connor had attempted to forge a bond in a few days that should have been made over thirty years.
Only when her dad was discharged from the hospital on Boxing Day did Blake and Tita Belen celebrate their joint birthday. They’d closed the pub at nine and had fun taking turns in front of the mic.
Krista grinned, remembering Dad’s attempts to sing. She’d certainly gotten that talent from her mother. Jack O’Connor’s voice could send dogs howling. Everyone enjoyed the party so much, they’d planned another for January 2nd, a farewell dinner for Krista and Blake, Aidan, and Craig.
Jack O’Connor was given strict instructions not to overdo the exertion, so Blake still managed the books and Krista assisted in the kitchen so that Tita Belen could go home early. Starting on New Year’s Day, the older Ryans and O’Connors planned to turn over the closing hours to a manager. The four owners wanted to leave before midnight every night from now on.
Krista and Blake had also checked out of The Plaza upon the insistence of his parents. Giulia and Sean were aghast at the idea of them spending thousands of dollars on a place they barely stayed in. Blake’s bedroom at his parents’ house was adequate for sleeping, but hardly conducive to romantic moments.
She started when a champagne flute appeared in front of her face.
“Tell me again whose crazy idea it was to freeze our butts off on New Year’s Eve?” Blake nudged her earmuff aside with his lips to mutter in her ear. “What’s his name? I’ll kick his ass.”
Krista accepted the glass and turned around to face him. “Blake Ryan, Boracay has spoiled you. You’re now a cold-weather wuss.” She poked his cleft chin with her gloved finger.
“I am. I admit it. I’d rather swim in that clear balmy water, sunbathe on the powdery white sand, sip mango shakes, and make love with you in the hammock than shiver in this damnable cold.”
Krista’s breath caught at the evocative images he conjured with his words. She took a sip of the champagne to cool her suddenly heated body.
Before she went to Boracay for her thirtieth birthday, she didn’t like the beach, and she hated getting dark. A funny attitude for someone born in an archipelago. It took a foreigner—an American, for her to appreciate the beauty her birth country had to offer.
She cleared her throat. “We’ll be home soon. Maybe we’ll go to Perlas during the weekend of Valentine’s Day, too.”
“Then Holy Week in March, Labor Day in May, Philippine Independence Day in June. And the Fourth of July—”
“Not the Fourth of July,” Krista interrupted. “I promised Dad we’ll come back here for his birthday.” A note of petulance had crept into her voice.
Blake peered at her face, sensing her mood change. He cursed when somebody bumped into him. The other passengers had come out onto the deck, seeking prime positions for viewing the fireworks.
“Let’s go.” He took her elbow and steered her towards the cabin.
Krista approved. They were on the upper deck and could still see the fireworks through the roof and port holes without the noise of the explosions to deafen them. People milled around, but there were fewer bodies here than outside. They could talk.
Blake led her to the bow side of the room where a free table conveniently awaited them. Cushioned seats lined the wall on one side. A round table for two held two glasses and a wine chiller containing a bottle of champagne. Similar arrangements were scattered throughout the room.
She removed her winter gear and dropped it on the seat. Blake did the same before sitting down and pulling her onto his lap.
“Honey,” Krista admonished him.
“I don’t care. They don’t either. I want to hold you. I haven’t done a lot of that during this vacation.” He punctuated his words by nuzzling her neck and hugging her tight. After another squeeze, he loosened his hold. “Okay, tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Why you don’t want to go back to Boracay.”
“I do want to go to Boracay, just not every month.”
“Why not?” He seemed genuinely confused.
Krista held his face and looked into his eyes. “Because if we do, it’ll lose its special meaning. It’ll just be another place. Do you know what I mean?”
Blake brushed a lock of hair from he
r face. “I do.” His finger traced her features as if he was learning them for the first time. “Is Boracay special to you?”
“Yes,” she breathed. His finger traced her lips.
“Why?”
“Because that’s where we fell in love,” she said huskily.
He brought his hand down from her face. She moaned at the loss of contact.
When he spoke again his voice was gravelly, as if he had a lump in his throat. “So, Boracay is somewhere we should be celebrating momentous events in our life. Is that what you mean?”
Krista nodded. His intensity was palpable. He was almost vibrating beneath her. Outside, uniformed servers refilled champagne glasses and distributed noisemakers. Through the bottom of her high-heeled boots, she felt the sway of the boat.
“A momentous event like our wedding.” Blake held up a ring between his fingers. The heart-shaped diamond in the center was cradled by two hands, one on each side. Three small diamonds formed a crown over the heart.
She teared up and smiled at the same time.
“This was my mother’s Claddagh ring, given to her by my father. I asked her for it. Nothing in the stores could match its meaning for me. Ma told us boys that it will go to the first of us to fall in love. She said to only give it to the woman who holds my heart in her hands. That’s you. Maria Krista Lopez, will you marry me?” He put the ring on her finger.
“Yes, Blake Henry Ryan. I will treasure it and care for it, but not as much as I will treasure and care for your love. For our love. I love you, and I’ll marry you.”
Both reached for the other at the same time, lips meeting in a kiss filled with promises.
Three.
Two.
One.
Everywhere around them, people kissed and sang Auld Lang Syne, fireworks exploded, and the new year began. For Krista and Blake, it was more than a new year; it was the beginning of a new life. Together.
EPILOGUE
Blake grinned as the women in his family flocked around Krista to admire her engagement ring. They’d come straight to the pub for their farewell party after an overnight trip to Niagara Falls. Unlike his and Tita Belen’s birthday celebration, the parents decided to keep Ryan O’Connor’s regular hours; they’d blocked off a section for the family, but welcomed customers in. At ten in the evening on the second day of the new year, the place was full.
