In Motion

Chapter 11: Control Freak by Copeland (2006)

Dinner with my family was not supposed to be weird. At least not whenever Gab came over. He'd usually take one look at the table, say shit like "I love it here", and devour half the food. Nor was it supposed to be elaborate. My Dad cooked pasta and pan-seared steak like it was freaking noche buena.

"Uh, what's the occasion?" Mel asked as she sat down, examining the table spread.

Mom tilted her head and blinked at Mel. "Your brother has a guest," she replied with a smile.

Eyes wide in panic, Martin gulped and glanced at me sideways. His whole face screamed "Oh no."

"You didn't have to, Tita," Martin said, a little mortified. "I'm not a picky eater."

"Kyle doesn't bring a lot of people home," Mom explained to him, making me sound like a friendless head case.

"What? Gab is a figment of our imagination?" I mumbled, spearing a slab and plopping it on my plate.

"Kyle," Mom chided me. "No, but Gabriel is..."

"Your mother's other son," Dad finished as he passed the pasta to Martin. Martin smiled at his jibe and took the bowl.

"Are you in the same year as Kyle?" Mom asked, a motherly expression plastered on her face.

Martin swallowed his food. "Freshman po, Economics. Kyle and I are classmates in an elective, Tita."

"Elective in your freshman year?" Dad clarified with a probing smile. Martin gave him a sheepish look while he chewed his food.

"Dad's Econ, too," I interjected. Unable to stop myself, I added: "Martin is an Oblation Scholar, by the way."

My parents and Mel turned their heads to Martin. He looked like he wanted to sink in his seat. I had no shame in announcing that, if the pride swelling in my chest were anything to go by.

"High school valedictorian, I'm guessing," Dad said, sounding curious and impressed.

"Yes po," Martin affirmed, his voice trembling in shyness. "Anselm Night School."

"Night School?" Mel piped up to the table. She knew Anselm as an all-boys school. The appendage wasn't familiar to her. I squirmed in my seat and shot an irritated glare to my sister.

"It's a separate system in Anselm, Mel," Martin explained with a kind smile. "Boys from low-income households. Our classes are from 1 to 7 PM. That's why they call us 'Night School.'"

Mel formed an "Oh" with her mouth and nodded. She looked embarrassed for asking and started picking at her food.

"One of the junior managers at work is from the Night School," my Dad swooped in, sounding nonchalant. "Smart. Young. Though I don't think he was valedictorian." He gave Martin an approving look. Martin chuckled shyly at the attention.

I had never been fonder of my Dad than at that moment. Mom must have felt the same way. I didn't miss her grateful glance toward him.

Martin turned to my Dad while helping himself to steak. "You went to Econ, too, Tito?" Martin asked.

Dad nodded and chortled. "A long time ago," he replied. He passed the gravy bowl to Martin.

Martin took it from him. "How was it like?"

"Lots of kids from political families," Dad said, looking Martin in the eye. "I was a public school graduate. It was intimidating."

"You graduated magna cum laude," Mom teased while shaking her head. "And high school valedictorian."

I had always known about my parents' story. Dad had this pull-by-the-bootstraps background and Mom was the daughter-of-doctors colegiala. Nothing telenovela about it, though. They met in UP, my maternal grandparents liked my Dad's drive, and the rest was history.