Chapter 10: Sari-Sari Spirit and a Father's Ghost
The heavy bronze key from Lakanbini Susan felt like a promise in my pocket.
Morning in Pasig arrived like a chismosa tita—loud, nosy, and far too early. My limbs protested every movement, but duty—and a newly inherited shop in another dimension—was calling.
By seven sharp, I was at Aling Bebang's carinderia. The order was sacred: chicken arrozcaldo, thick and comforting, with a generous snowfall of toasted garlic. For drinks: a tall iced kape barako for me—black as my sense of humor—and chilled orange juice for Marikit.
Clutching the steaming containers, I stepped through the lagusan.
The morning in Sarimanook hit differently.
The coastal air wrapped around me like a salt-kissed shawl. Gulls circled lazily above the rooftops. The scent of seawater, grilled fish, and pandan rice drifted between the pastel houses. Somewhere, a fisherman hummed a lullaby older than the tides.
The market was still half-asleep, but it buzzed with that pre-festival energy. Merchants swept storefronts. A boy chased an indigo chicken through a maze of clay pots. Sea breeze danced through the palm leaves, whispering secrets to anyone who listened.
I made my way to the two-story, stone-and-narra-wood house that now bore my name. And there she was—Marikit—already waiting by the weathered door, the morning sun catching the red threads in her hair.
"Good morning, Kuya Pepito!" she beamed, practically vibrating with joy. "You brought food?"
"Only the best," I said, lifting the containers. "Arrozcaldo from a legend named Aling Bebang."
Her eyes lit up like fiesta lanterns. We sat on the wooden steps, backs to the sea breeze, eating in silence. She spooned with ballet grace. I slurped like a goblin. Together, we were a perfectly balanced breakfast.
After the last spoonful, I stood and unlocked the door.
Inside: ancestral dust and the weight of old memories. The air was thick with silence—the kind that remembers.
"I was thinking we keep the shop closed today," I said. "Focus on cleaning."
"I had the same idea!" Marikit declared, holding up a wooden bucket and washcloth like weapons. "Let's make it sparkle, Kuya!"
We scrubbed, swept, and dusted every inch. Cobwebs were banished. Sunlight filled the corners. Our laughter echoed off the walls like a blessing.
By noon, the place gleamed.
And with a polished shop came the need for a polished look. That led us to Sarimanook's one and only clothing store, where the sign read, in elegant sarcasm:
"Oh, Cute. Really."
Inside, it felt like falling into a fabric fever dream. Fifteen minutes later, Marikit emerged from the changing room with a twirl that could have summoned magical girl powers.
Her skirt matched the blue of her sash. The hem twirled like it was enchanted. She posed like a boss.
"This look is called…" she said seriously, "Maximum Efficiency Sparkle Mode."
I gave her a slow clap. "You look like the final boss of all the other cute girls."
The next few days blurred.
We opened the shop. Stock flew off the shelves. By Day Five, people were queuing before sunrise. Rumor had it someone was reselling our Pocket Infernos in the next town over—for double.
"Sorry, we're out for today!" I called, voice hoarse from morning till noon. The crowd groaned as I rolled down the shutters.
Inside, Marikit wiped her brow with her apron. "I'm done cleaning up, Kuya Pepito."
"You've done great," I said, ruffling her hair. "I'll make tea. You rest upstairs."
"I can help—"
"Nope. Rules are rules. Cleaning done, duty done. Go rest."
She gave a tiny nod, too tired to argue. I watched her climb the stairs, her steps slow and wobbly. The tea kettle hissed on the stove. I plated the puto I'd brought from Pasig and followed her up.
She was already curled up on the couch, the old woven blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon.
I set the tray down gently. Her breathing was soft and even—dreaming, maybe. I sat nearby, sipping my tea in the hush of the upstairs room.
Then, a whisper.
"...Papa."
My heart stopped.
"Papa, I was waiting for you… for so long," she murmured, half-asleep, half-somewhere else. Her arms lifted in a small gesture. "Cuddles, Papa… Cuddles…"
She wasn't my bright, sassy partner right now.
She was just a tired little girl, aching for her father.
"Sure thing," I whispered. I lifted her gently into my arms. She fit like a secret—small, warm, and fragile.
She nestled against my chest. "You finally gave me cuddles…" she sighed. "Mama was waiting, too… give cuddles to Mama, too, okay?"
Her voice faded. Her breathing slowed.
I laid her back down, tucked the blanket in tighter, and watched her smile in her sleep.
Papa.
That word echoed in the stillness.
I sat for a long time, tea cold in my hands.
"Marikit," I whispered, "whatever you need… just ask. I'll be here."
She didn't reply.
But her sleeping smile answered loud enough.