Their Days of Nights

47 : Sound

Kimberly

Benjie is preparing food this gloomy Friday morning. He won't even let me peek as he works in their kitchen.

"It's a surprise," he said with his sunny smile.

I'm in their living room, browsing the channels on their TV. I'm no longer familiar with what shows are running nowadays. I only watch series when I buy their DVDs or when they can be downloaded online. I stop at a local news channel, but it's as if I'm listening to white noise.

This house feels unfamiliar without anyone else in here.

Benjie's dad is at work. Jessy is home, but she's at their office right now. It's a school day for Althea. And their mom rode with Jessy on her way to a baking workshop two cities away. Benjie said their mom is recently fond of making creatively designed cupcakes.

He takes this rare opportunity when no one else is here. It's just us. And I know this has something to do with what I said last Sunday.

I didn't plan it. My brother got into my head earlier that day when we were walking out of the hospital. He asked if Benjie's treating me right.

"I'm not judging," my brother added.

It slowly dawned on me what he was implying, and I quickly changed the topic before it got to an awkward point.

I asked Benjie a stupid question that night, for I also wanted to know if he has certain expectations. And of course, I know he's thinking about it. At our age, who doesn't?

I often ask myself the same thing. If I really am ready, with my self-conscious, overthinking self. Because, what if it gets weird after? I know of some relationships that ended when things went spiraling down after feeling dissatisfaction with their incompatibility in bed.

I don't want it to be awkward. I want it to be special. I want to like it. I want to want it, and not just to get over it.

It doesn't have to be right now. It doesn't even have to be laid in some formal or perfect plan.

Benjie checks up on me from behind their couch. I look up, and he says the food's almost done. Then he turns around and goes back to their kitchen.

I stop wasting their electricity and turn off the TV. I check my phone, and it's as idle as an hour and a half ago.

He's on the side of the couch now. "La comida esta lista," he says. "Food is ready now. Or I think that's what it means."

He grabs my hand and leads me to their table.

He prepared pasta with chopped Spanish sardines, mixed with spicy chili, and topped with parmesan cheese. There's also a pitcher of his signature iced tea next to the plate.

He remembered that I wanted a similar dish from the menu of one coffee shop we went to two weeks ago. I instantly craved for it, and then the barista told me it wasn't available that day. So, we left that place, and I was in the darkest of moods after. I was also PMS-ing at that time.

Even though Benjie doesn't have to, he makes up for it this morning.

He has his hands on my waist and smiles at me. "I figured this out on my own," he proudly says, nodding for a second at the plate on their table. "No help from mom," he adds.

It isn't that complex of a dish, but it's the thought and effort that matters more.

I smile back at him.

Then we're both alarmed by a sound coming from upstairs. It sounds like a heavy object falls and rolls on the floor.

"There's someone else in here," I whisper.