“Yes, now. Just be back by six.”

I sat in the back of the minivan with my book bag and my sunglasses, sure that Tita Rosa was right to get me out of the house. The Santo Tomas library was always a safe place—a quiet retreat where everyone was rooted to their own studies and indifferent to my presence. At the circulation desk, the librarian would stamp the dates on the inside covers of the books, hand them back with respectful silence, and ask no questions. But I wasn’t in the mood for silence or books, particularly not my book.

Mannie peered at me questioningly in the rearview mirror. “Saan po?” he asked. “Santo Tomas?”

“Not today. Let’s go to Greenhills,” I said.

Greenhills was home to Tianggé, and Tianggé was home to the pearl dealers, and buying pearls required some concentration but not much. I made my pilgrimage to the pearl dealers every time I was in Manila, despite rarely being in the mood to shop. The market was a warren of stalls, counters spilling over with strands and earrings, bangles and rings. Loose pearls were available, displayed in cases beneath the glass countertops. The music of tawad marked the proceedings as women bargained, grimacing, calculating, moving little piles of loot in with other little piles of loot as new deals were struck. Women in head wraps waved to me, calling out that they were the cheapest, the best. The pearl dealers were all Muslim, and the pearls from the exotic shores of Mindanao. I had my own suki, so I just smiled politely at those determined to entice me with their ropes of iridescent jewels and seductive prices and moved on. My dealer met my appearance with a frank nod. She knew what I liked and started to place merchandise on the counter.

Mannie had insisted on accompanying me, as Greenhills actually had a parking lot and he didn’t need to stay with the car. He said I needed him to carry the bags, but I suspected he was just bored. He followed closely, listening to me barter in my flamboyant and often incorrect Tagalog, occasionally making suggestions as to what I might want to purchase. Finally, I made my way to the woodworking section of the market and acquired some heavy cutting boards, in order to give him something to cart around. Most of these purchases were pasalubong for when I returned to the States. In the past, I’d made a habit of stockpiling various gorgeous things when I traveled to Manila and, on birthdays and other special occasions, would present these to my friends. But I knew I was likely just shopping to reaffirm that I was indeed returning to the States. I had already been in the Philippines for over two months, longer than I’d intended, and Chet’s offer—appalling as it was—revealed that others too could see my hesitancy to leave.