“My fault?” Just past the fountain, the agaw bitin was being set up. Beng and I had spent some time that morning decorating the bamboo frame with streamers, attaching little toys and bags of candy to it. This apparatus was then tied to a rope that would be thrown over a branch and someone would lower it and pull it up as kids tried to grab the treats. I saw the rope thrown over the branch and noted with some alarm that Chet had volunteered to operate it.

“I need to talk to Chet,” I said.

“Yes, you do,” said Inchoy. “But that involves having something to say.” Inchoy raised his eyes to me with a grave kindness. “I have to ask. Why didn’t you go with that other guy? The guy you had the affair with?”

“Oh, so now Chet’s telling everyone,” I said.

“I am not everyone,” said Inchoy. “And Chet, shithead that he is, would never do anything to harm you, so relax.”

“Really?”

“He did ask you to move into his apartment and that was inappropriate.”

“Yes it was.” I felt myself stiffen. “Strangely, even given Chet’s buying power, I am not for sale.”

“Ting, chill out. Maybe Chet’s being opportunistic, yes, but he’s doing it because he loves you. He’s always loved you.”

I didn’t believe this. But Inchoy wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t think it true. “The feeling is not mutual. And how did Chet know about—” I didn’t want to say it out loud. “You know.”

“He probably hired an investigator. When you have money like Chet, no one has any secrets. But you still haven’t answered my question. What happened to that other guy?”

I watched Chet pulling at the rope and the children leaping to grab the prizes. He was laughing and making jokes. He caught me looking and delivered a dazzling smile.

“I didn’t want another man,” I said. “I just wanted out.” This was the first time I’d articulated this, even to myself. “I had forgotten who I was and I wanted to remember.”

XI

XI

A few days had passed since Miggie’s party. My laptop was sitting in silent accusation on the nightstand, but I thought I should bathe first. When I was done, I stepped into the bedroom, surprised to find Beng standing there. I stood, dripping in my towel, as Beng fumbled with a small package wrapped in metallic blue paper.

“Tita Ting,” she said. “There’s a gift for you.” Beng handed me the package and waited. I really ought to have gotten dressed before I opened it, but I knew that Beng was hanging around to see what it was—although, from the size and weight of it, I was sure it was a book and that it would disappoint.

“Who brought it?”

“Si Kuya Top Gun po.”