“I can’t blame this on her. Yes, ignorance makes her happy, but I left Bibo in Tondo, far from me and on her own, because I didn’t want a scandal. I didn’t want my family to know. I wanted to keep my perfect standing at the university. I wanted a private life, to have it both ways.”

“What else would you have done?”

“You say that, Ting, because you’re blind like everyone else here. What I could have done is brought Bibo to Quezon City and set us up in a little apartment, lived cheaply. Bibo wouldn’t have been wandering around in the same neighborhood where people knew she had once been a drug dealer. I could have taken her love and given it its due. But I didn’t. And you know why?”

“Because you were scared?”

“Because I am a coward. Because I was happy to live a lie. Because I could claim that it was a sacrifice that I was making and you and Chet and Zackito all felt bad for me, that I was making this great sacrifice for my family. And you know who made the ultimate sacrifice?”

“Bibo wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, Inchoy. Try to make peace with it.”

“Peace? There is no peace in this kind of grief, Ting, I feel . . . this grief is a rage. And I know no one will pay for Bibo’s death, that Bibo died for nothing. We all die for nothing here. It’s as if . . .”

“What?”

“Nothing. Bibo’s death should matter.”

“It does, Inchoy. It does matter. We are remembering her. What else can we do?”

“Have another drink?” he suggested, pouring himself more whiskey.

“Yeah,” I said, extending my glass.

We were getting monumentally drunk. I was already anticipating the hangover.

Later, we decided that to honor Bibo we would sing Mariah Carey songs, but the only one we knew was “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” so we stood on the balcony belting it out into the chilly mountain air.

VIII

VIII

How do we remember days that start so inauspiciously yet manage to turn a metaphysical corner, leading to a new reality? I awoke to the door being opened. We had forgotten to put the do not disturb sign out, but whoever came in quickly apologized and left. I was lying under the blankets fully dressed. I opened one eye, careful to enter slowly into the day, and saw that Inchoy was curled on his bedspread, his feet resting on the still-covered pillow.

“Inchoy,” I whispered. “Happy birthday.”

“Am I alive?” he asked. He did not sound hopeful.

“If Bibo were here, she would get us coffee,” I said.

“If Bibo were here, we could get our own coffee,” he replied.