I had been in the States when Bibo and Inchoy got together, and Inchoy had never shared how, exactly, they had become romantically involved. What I did know was that there had been a hole in Inchoy, an anger that Bibo had settled. Or maybe Inchoy had just mellowed with age. Or maybe it was a combination of the two. Inchoy had rescued Bibo when she was just a teenager and still dressing as a boy. Bibo had been a small-time drug dealer and a distant relative of one of the maids at Inchoy’s house. There was secrecy around the relationship. Not even Inchoy’s mother knew of Bibo, although the two had been together for a decade. Only three of Inchoy’s friends were aware of the relationship, which I felt was excessive, but Inchoy was a private person, private for the sake of being private.

The apartment was just one room with a kitchenette and a small sink. The walls were crowded with wood carvings from the mountain provinces, Bontoc masks and shields, and Kalinga woven drapes. Inchoy was enamored with Ifugao culture, although his family was from Cebu in the Visayas. A small table was set by the window, which gave a view to the street. The other window was filled with an air conditioner that was working hard. The room felt deliciously cold, although it couldn’t have been cooler than eighty degrees. Inchoy set the crispy pata on the counter and Bibo waved me over to the table. Bibo said little and performed all her tasks with an exquisite sense of purpose. Even the ladling of sinigang into bowls seemed a performance in Bibo’s hands. Bibo was from Negros and her first language was Cebuano. She spoke some English and her Tagalog was fluent, but she and Inchoy seldom used these languages with each other. They spoke in Cebuano, even with me there. Cebuano was not a secret language, but they used it with each other as some kind of affectionate code, translating what they thought I should know. The food now served, I began to eat, but Bibo and Inchoy were gossiping. Bibo said something, then hid a knowing smile behind her manicured hand.

“She wants to know if you really left your husband,” said Inchoy.

“Yes, I did, Bibo, but don’t get any ideas. Inchoy would be destroyed if you ever left him.”