Sugarland

Alex Palmada booked a last-minute flight to Cagayan de Oro, via Manila, en route to his home town: Malaybalay, Bukidnon. In his mind, not much had changed along the Sayre Highway. It looked almost exactly like it did when he left just over a decade ago; a dull, insular agricultural hub in the sticks. Dawn was just breaking when the company van pulled into the Poblacion area.

He already promised his estranged mother that he would take care of the funeral arrangements for Don Aldo. It was always Don Aldo – never "Pops" or "Tay" or "Dad".

He sat bleary-eyed near the edge of the courtyard, at the Café Sta. Maria, dealing with a combo of guilt, jet lag, and brandy-induced hangover. He ordered a strong cup of local coffee, hoping it would make sense of all this.

That's when he got a voice call from his daughter Serenity. In spite of the lousy data connection, he was vaguely able to discern her request to send BitCoins. Something about a flash sale for a new indie tower defense game.

"Why are you even home right now, sunflower? Don't you have class?" he asked, trying to calculate Pacific Daylight Time in his head.

"Oh, right! Look... Just ask your mother, okay?" More static-filled rambling followed.

"She went there?! With who?" Alex already knew what the answer would be but he dreaded hearing it anyway.

"That insufferable douchenozzle!" He spat out the words on impulse.

"Yes, sweet pea, I know. I'm a terrible person, and you shouldn't follow my example. I'll send over another fifty cents to put in the Swear Fund. Just... Just tell her to message me when she gets up, alright? I love you, sweet pea."

He cussed a bit too loudly after ending the call. That's when he spotted the young woman a few tables over.

By the look of it, she had been trying to read a weathered Ursula LeGuin paperback until his outburst broke her concentration.

She didn't seem to be a local either. At least, he didn't remember meeting her before. Not even in Manila, where all the young folks from Bukidnon seemed to gravitate towards each other, by circumstance if not affinity.

He regarded her features – flushed complexion, almond eyes, toothy Catalan grin – and tried matching them with his personal database of land-owners, upper middle class arrivistes, and other buenas familias in the province. But he'd deliberately avoided such concerns for so long that he kept drawing blanks.

He must have focused his gaze a bit too often. She took note of his glances and understood them as a go-signal for small talk.

"Hey! You're not from around here, are you?"

He let out a short, bitter chuckle. "That's a long story, actually," he said with a non-committal tone.

"Well, sometimes I like long things."

"Excuse me?" He was trying to figure out her accent – definitely not Manila colegiala, but not quite 'neutral' contact center diction either – when he was taken aback by the actual content of her words.

"Oh!" said the woman, realizing the unfortunate phrasing. "I meant, like summer days! And the Lord of the Rings movies! And Scandinavian post-rock songs! And..."

"Look, if you don't mind, Miss..."

"I'm Diwata," she said, offering her hand. "But people usually call me Watts."

"Very well... Watts. My name's Alex, and I kind of want to be left alone right now," he said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. "You might say I'm having a bit of a rough patch."