Inked Star

three.

Cal frequented my place more. He would message me to check if I was at home, despite knowing I worked remotely and I rarely left my place. His follow-up question would always be, 'May I come over? I have food.'

My older brother was a chef in a five-star hotel. He had a permanent scowl on his face, and his thick eyebrows only made him look more intimidating. His voice was just as rugged as his looks. His hands contained calluses, and faded burn marks ran up his arms. Despite his rough façade, he remained popular with the opposite sex. Cal was the school heartthrob, and his no-nonsense attitude—even back then—bolstered his charm.

We were four years apart, and despite our clashing personalities, we rarely fought. He was a very straightforward person who said things as they were. To strangers, he may be seen as blunt and insufferable. But to me, he was a loving son and a responsible brother. His work ethic was exceptional, and that was an undeniable fact. As for me, I was equivocate. I kept to myself, and I grew up thinking I never owed anyone an explanation. This mindset, however, snowballed into something more, which led me to struggle with communicating and expressing myself in general as I entered adulthood. I knew I was a difficult person to deal with, and it would take a lot out of me to actually open up to someone. Still, I was used to being alone, and I was comfortable with my own company.

It was a Thursday evening when Cal dropped by. I eyed the grocery bag he was carrying as he removed his shoes and slipped into his pair of Crocs, which he purposefully left at my place. He told me to leave it by the door. He also left random pieces of his clothing hanging about after hearing about the breakup, staged in a way that it would be conspicuous to whoever would peek through the doorway.

Cal cooked ramen, and it tasted like he made it from scratch. The broth was light, but the flavor was robust and the noodles were firm and chewy.

"How are you?" he asked.

"You just saw me more than a week ago," I answered. "But I'm all right. And yourself?"

"There's nothing much to report, as well. Mom's back in the province. Let's visit her this weekend."

I nodded. "She called me a few days ago, too."

"Did she make a fuss?"

I chuckled. "You bet she did."

She found out that my ex was getting married—to his colleague, on top of that. She started ranting that it was too soon and that I was right for not obeying her when she asked me to beg for forgiveness. It was a long phone call, and I merely listened to her vent. She apologized to me, and she told me to take my sweet time, because what she wanted was for Cal and I to be happy with who we were, and she said she must have done something right for us to be the complete opposite of her.

"I couldn't imagine myself defying the adults around me back then," she admitted. "But you and Calix have your own lives to live. I do feel a little disappointed at times because of your decisions, but that also indicates your strength and your desire to be happy. I will still be your mother, and I will continue supporting you. Thank you for being patient with me, too."

Our relationship with our mother was not strained, but it was far from perfect. We had to learn and unlearn things, at times together and at times separately. The older we got, the more we realized that this was our first life. Mom lost a best friend and a husband, and Cal and I lost a father. I knew now that Mom felt like she had to compensate somehow because of our loss, and because of that, my brother and I agreed to give her the assurance that she needed.

"You made the right call, Aster," Cal said. "Don't let other people tell you otherwise."

"I know," I replied. "You're here, and Mom's here. I don't have to justify myself."

"But don't you feel robbed?"

"Robbed?" I repeated. "Of what?"

"Of those five years. It only took him a month to find someone else to bring to the altar."

"That's not being robbed, I think," I stirred the soup in my bowl with the spoon I was holding. "When I heard the news, I was relieved. I can breathe a little better now, knowing he can finally achieve his dream of having a family."

Silence.

"Cal, I'm having this strange thought," I began.

"What kind of thought?"

"What if I developed this subconscious fear that my future child will also experience loss, and what if that's the reason why I don't want to be a mother?"

"That's not a strange thought," he said. "That's childhood trauma. If it helps, I think about that, too."

I looked at him. He picked out a piece of meat from his bowl and popped it in his mouth.

"We worry about the inevitable, and so we try to avoid it as much as we can. But we forget just how resilient we are as humans."

I sighed, and not really knowing what to say, I stood up to put my bowl in the sink.

"Hey," he called out when I walked past him. The tone he used made me freeze. I looked back at him.

"What?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Did you get a tattoo?"

I looked down, and realized I was wearing a cropped shirt.

"I did," I stuttered. "What about it?"

Despite being an adult, my old reflexes from adolescence would occasionally emerge whenever Cal spoke that way. He rarely did, and that was what made it scarier. He was a strict brother, but it wasn't the suffocating kind. In a way, he raised me. I never had to walk home alone because he would be there to pick me up after school. He attended all of my graduations and special school events despite being a student himself back then. He also had a part-time job. I wondered how he managed, all the while maintaining his grades to keep his scholarship.

"The line work's really neat. Your artist did a good job."

"You won't tell Mom?"

He scoffed. "Aster Hope Oliveros, we're not in high school anymore."