Sugar Magic (4 of 6)

Vaguely she thought of sneaking into the sala to retrieve the ‘sigbin’ ring while he slept, but she quickly dismissed it. Suddenly it wasn’t so important anymore, not when there was a guy she wanted to keep talking to, who was cute and sweet and so very,

(Fourth of six parts) 4: The Night

Ihope you don’t mind. We actually sell it as a souvenir, but–”

“It’s fine.”

They were back in the dining room. Dark had fallen, so the heritage house’s lights blazed around them.

As soon they had realized her plight, Art called the bus station and learned that the highway had flooded. The bus that was supposed to be Noreen’s ride home had to turn back; the water was too high to cross and now there was a kilometers-long traffic jam entering the city.

She was stuck here. At least for the night.

Noreen stared at the plate of tuyo that Art had rustled up. He added slices of tomato and calamansi as garnish, while another plate held paper-wrapped cup servings of rice. Art had run out to the 7-Eleven next door for it, and bottles of water and essential toiletries, too, when the rain lulled for a bit. Now it was storming again like the rain had it out for them personally. Venturing outside again was out of the question.

“Thank you,” she said. Her tummy rumbled. “I’m sorry. I’m so hungry.”

“Please, eat.” He picked up his utensils and scooped dinner onto his plate.

She swallowed a spoonful of food and swooned. “This is so good.” Aside from the souvenir tuyo, Art had also opened a bottle of sinamak, which added a sour and spicy counterpoint to the salty fish. “Thank you for letting us use your heirloom porcelain.”

“I’m sure my great-grandmother will forgive me for using it. It’s not like we have any other option.” Art winked at her. “Let’s pray she doesn’t make her displeasure known later.”

“L-later?” Noreen gulped. “Like ... a visitation?”

Art nodded, leaning conspiratorially. “We have a guy who comes here twice a week for maintenance, repair work and gardening. He was tending the front garden once when he heard a ‘psst!’ from the second floor. Looked up and swore he saw an old woman glaring at him from the balcony of the master suite.”

“Oh my god.” She dropped her utensils, looking around. The fluorescent tube on the ceiling lit up the table, but it was also somehow inadequate to get to the corners of the room. Shadows seemed to dwell there, dark, velvety and growing long. She shuddered. “Is that why you don’t live here?”

“Practically speaking, it’s hard to live in a museum. But yes ... this is, in all respects, home; but I can’t deny that it gets a little spooky after dark.”

He swallowed another spoonful of tuyo and rice. “My place up the hill is cozier.”

“I saw it from the sala on my first visit. It looks like a cute modern cottage.”

“Thank you! That’s what I wanted–a small, liveable, minimalist space where everything has its place. Do you know it takes me exactly eight steps to get from my bedroom to anywhere else in the house?” He shone with pride, and Noreen, despite the storm, the spooky old house and the lack of clarity as to tonight’s sleeping arrangements, was absolutely charmed.

“Do you live there alone?” She felt herself blush. Smooth move, Garcia.

Art’s inner glow dimmed a bit. “Yes,” he said softly.

They ate more of dinner in silence. Noreen gathered all the courage in her bosom to ask what she’d been dying to know all day.

“Art ...?”

“Yes.” He chuckled, anticipating her. “I was kind of married. Long time ago.”

“Oh.” She felt her courageous bosom deflate.

He picked up on her mood. “Oh no—it’s really not what you think. Finished?” He took their plates.

“Please, let me help.” She joined him by the low sink, rinsing the plate he handed to her. She summoned every ounce of carefulness she had in her body, lest the plate slipped and she angered the ghost of his great-grandmother.

“So.” Art cleared his throat. “Since we’re washing the dishes. The kind-of married story is that while I was studying for my master’s degree in the US, I met a girl, fell madly in love, and on a whim, decided to marry her.”

Noreen stared at him, gripping another plate tightly. “You do not seem like the impulsive Vegas wedding type.”

“Don’t I?” He sighed. “To be fair, it’s been more than two decades. I was in my long-delayed rebellious phase back then. I was sure it was all going to