today's dinner is sinigang sa miso. i put the mustard leaves in the pan and cover them. i switch off the electric stove; the remaining heat will cook the greens.
— do you think i've cooked enough? i ask. i ladle the milkfish into a medium-sized yellow ceramic bowl. the bowl makes the orange soup look even more orange. my mouth waters at the bright, sour smell. i've tasted this too many times.
« are you trying to impress her? » william asks.
— i haven't cooked in a while. i don't know if this is enough for two people.
there is no dining room table to set, so i have to use the tea table. i pick up my green teapot with the bamboo handle and carry it to my room. i do the same for my two glass teapots with the flowers painted on them, my four matching teacups, and my silver sugar bowl. and the ukulele.
she could come in at any minute, and here i am being so fucking slow about this.
what if she comes late, though? do i start eating dinner by myself? do i wait? what if she eats at one of the diners outside? what if she's allergic to something in the soup? should i apologise for not asking her if she had any food sensitivities before making her dinner?
« the table! »
heck, the table.
two by two, i set the table with bamboo placemats, large red dinner plates, medium-sized yellow ceramic bowls, forks and spoons, and gently tapered glasses. i take two white napkins embroidered on the corners with sunflowers and try to fold them into something artistic, but settle on rectangles. i open the rice cooker and spoon rice into another yellow bowl.
and then the door opens.
« hi, they made dinner, » william says.
“oh, that's — that's really nice,” robyn says. she puts her purple shoulder bag down on the couch. “is that sinigang?”
— it is.
does she like it? maybe she hates it. this was a mistake. she's probably already had her dinner and now she's just being polite. that would actually be really nice of her.
we both sit on the couch, and william watches us. he keeps looking at me. i think i should try to start a conversation. what do people talk about over dinner? when i have dinner with other people, they just talk to me about school. but she hasn't started going to classes yet, so i can't ask her about her classes. she just did her registration. i should ask her about the registration.
— were there very long lines at the registration?
she looks up from her plate and covers her mouth for a while. she starts talking. “uhm, no, actually, because i'm kinda late, and the majority of the students have already registered. i finished today.”
— that's nice. when i registered, it took me a week. the lines were so long.
i try to smile. is it appropriate to smile? did i say something funny? most people probably think it's horrible, how the lines are so long. but she probably can't relate to that, because the private colleges probably have really good registration procedures, and she didn't go through the usual registration here.
she looks away.
“well, a printer in one of the offices did get jammed while i was there. they fixed it, though, and it didn't really delay me that much.”
— that's nice.
is that nice?
i reach for my glass. it's empty. i successfully stand up, and go to the kitchen. i open the fridge and get a tall rectangular glass pitcher full of water. i go back to the tea table and pour her a glass first.
“oh, uhm, thank you,” she says.
i pour myself a glass and sit back down.
— there's a mass tomorrow at noon, i say. i leave the flat at around eleven because i like walking to the church.
“okay,” she says. she swallows before continuing. “is there anything that needs to be done while you're away?”
— wouldn't you be in church, too?
“oh, i don't really….”
« good for you, » william says, rustling the easter lilies. « now we're even, two churchy people and two non-churchy people. »
she smiles a little at him.
— i'm not as churchy as juliet, i say to the both of them. juliet is the other ghost, have you met him? i ask the flatmate in particular. juliet disappeared for a while, he'll be back soon.
i put my bowl to my lips and take a sip of soup. she picks the bones out of her milkfish.
— and, no, there isn't anything that needs to be done while i'm away. keep william busy, i guess. he likes having someone to talk to.
« can i play your video games? » william asks her.
she smiles at him again, but it's not the same smile. she says, “i'm, uhm, not actually sure, can you?”
« another pedant, » william says. he gets droopier, and turns to me. « don't you two start ganging up on me and spouting syntax. »
“i didn't mean it that way,” she says. “i meant, since you'd have to touch the buttons….”
— oh, you'll figure it out, i say to no-one in particular.
she nods. she stands up, more fluidly than i did. “thanks for making dinner, you really shouldn't have.”
— it's okay. i just missed cooking. did you like it?
“i did; i like milkfish. are you done with your plate?” she reaches for my plate and bowl after seeing me nod. “thanks for dinner. i'll do the dishes.”
— thank you.
i take the glasses to the sink anyway, and then the placemats. i lean against the counter, cross my ankles, and watch her scrub the glasses and the cutlery.
i should say something. i should really say something. what do people say?
— from which college did you transfer? i ask her.
“pretty much the same college, actually, the college of science. i'm majoring in microbiology; what about you?”
— i meant university. i major in computer science. i want to shift, but i want to graduate on time more than i want to shift.
she chuckles. her smile stays on her face longer than the sound of her voice stays in the air. “i get that feel,” she says, swirling the pink sponge smoothly around the yellow ceramic bowl. “i guess we could always just take graduate classes or something afterwards. what year are you in?”
— i'm second year standing.
“huh, me too,” she replies. she starts rinsing the glasses and laying them facedown on a crocheted cotton dishcloth to dry. “are the, uhm, ghosts, are they taking classes here too?”
— william is an english literature major, juliet was in art studies. can i help you dry the dishes?
“sure.”
« i'm a law student, » juliet says, with a global falling intonation.
i push myself off from the counter and open a drawer to get another, softer crocheted dishcloth. i made this myself. it took me a whole afternoon, and i had to keep frogging it because i kept forgetting to crochet in just the back posts. i ordered the special antibacterial silver-ion yarn online, from japan, the first thing i ever ordered online.
i wipe the glasses dry, then place them back into the cupboard. i wipe the cutlery dry and put them back in their drawer. i switch to a new corner of the dishcloth because this one is wet now. i wipe the dishes dry and put them back on the white dish rack. i wipe the pot dry and put it in its cupboard.
i unplug the rice cooker.
— do you want to dry your arms with this? i say, holding the damp dishcloth out to her.
“oh, thanks,” she says. she pulls at the end of the white dishcloth, and i let go. she starts drying her arms. “dinner was great, by the way. you really shouldn't have.”
— it's okay. i haven't cooked sinigang in a while, i say. i try to smile without overdoing it, without showing my teeth.
she looks away. “i don't usually eat fish.” she looks back at me. “though milkfish is the exception to that.” she folds the white dishcloth and lays it flat and square on the glass countertop.
— okay. i'm going to bed now, but you can use the bathroom first because i'm gonna be crocheting something in my room until before midnight, probably.
“uhm, sure,” she says.
— if you hear weird bumps, that's just william throwing pillows because he's bored and doesn't need to sleep. though now he mostly just pulls them off the couch instead of throwing them, so you might not hear that anyway.
i start walking back to my room, then turn back.
— good night, robyn.
“good night, henrie.”
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